Chapter Seventeen
SIMON
My toxic trait is my need to keep busy. I grew up getting a swat to the back of my head if I was caught doing anything other than praying or plowing, and I don’t mean the fun kind.
Any resistance I might have had to constant productivity as a teenager was later trained out of me by the demands of nursing school. Trouble is, nursing school is done, and now it’s only a matter of passing my certification exam. Which I’ve been studying for until my eyes bleed.
When I haven’t been getting fucked into a coma by the ice prince of Belle Argo.
Which is why I’m hiding out at Toe Beans Animal Rescue. I try to come here at least once a week, more if I can manage it. I love animals. They’re cuddly and cute and they don’t give you any shit.
Except Penelope. She gives me plenty of shit.
I’m surrounded by barking dogs. Usually, it’s a welcome distraction. The noise helps me to clear out my thoughts. Not today, though.
Lately, I’ve got myself taking Sebastian’s dick over his desk on a loop in my head, and nothing is working to make it stop.
No amount of barking, whining dogs seem to be quieting the memory of the filthy things he whispered in my ear or erasing the feel of his teeth sinking into my lip, and then later, my shoulder.
That spot at the crook of my neck is a major button for me. Major.
Every time I remember, I shiver. Even though I’m in a cement structure in ninety-degree heat.
I’d hoped being here would take my mind off Sebastian.
Hurricane Hecate is gathering off the coast, and even though it’s expected to pass slightly north of us, they’re predicting it’ll hit land as a category four.
There’s a good chance I’ll be called into work as emergency help.
Before then, the shelter needs help prepping for the storm and shuffling dogs around.
I’ve already driven Penelope to Brennan’s place, which is built to withstand two hundred-mile-per-hour winds.
I’m cleaning the kennel of a pregnant mama dog when my phone lets out a rapid series of buzzing sounds in my pocket. Usually, that means the group chat is active. I pull it out to find I was right.
Michael: Does anyone need help prepping for the storm?
Adam: Troy’s got us stocked up on juice and those little packs of donuts.
Michael: Consider some batteries and flashlights, guys. Bottled water if you can still find some.
Troy: We’re good. Our building used to be a hotel, so it’s pretty sturdy, and the manager lets us use his generator to charge stuff if we blow him.
Ravi: The trouble here is I don’t know if you’re joking.
Adam: It’s kind of messed up that Troy keeps trying to put a finger up the guy’s butt when he didn’t ask.
Dean: Do you think that’s the messed-up part? I’m no expert, but I think you guys need therapy. Or Jesus.
Troy: Adam called me Jesus just this morning
Have I mentioned there’s a pool on them revealing their actual couplehood? The pot is over a grand.
Brennan: What the hell is wrong with you guys?
Alexis: Nobody’s got that kind of time.
PJ: groooaaannn
Brennan: Seriously, though. I want everyone to stay safe. I know we all get used to the storms around here, but this bitch is looking like no joke. You guys need help or a place to stay, call me ASAP.
Eve: Why you gotta call her a bitch just because she’s a hurricane? If they gave her a male name, you know you’d call it assertive.
I shake my head, dropping my phone back into my pocket. I love these guys. It also sucks, though, because escorting isn’t a long-term gig for anyone. I’ll miss them when I’m gone.
While a few of us have been at it for a while, Dean the longest in our group, it’s hard to become friends with people and then they leave. Maybe we’ll all stay in touch, even after we’ve moved on. Probably not.
Another text comes through from Brennan, this one just to me.
Brennan: Got a call out for a BF experience. You in?
No, I definitely don’t want to do a boyfriend experience. No way it’s happening anyway with a hurricane coming. I’ll hold off a bit on answering. Brennan’s impatient. If he doesn’t hear back soon he’ll ask someone else.
As I’m about to put my phone away, I get an incoming call from DON’T FUCKING ANSWER, which is how I put Sebastian in my contacts. For good measure I added that emoji of a red circle with a slash going across the center.
But I answer anyway, because I’m weak. Also, I reason with myself that it could be important. Maybe he urgently needs to bend me over his desk again.
The clap of thunder overhead when I lift the phone to my ear sounds ominous as fuck. It also kind of turns me on. This is a problem. I will absolutely need to leave the state if every storm from here on out makes me think of sex with Sebastian.
“I need you.”
For a second, I pull the phone away from my ear to take a nice deep breath. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You said you do some sort of animal rescue stuff? I hit a dog. The rain’s so heavy and it ran right in front of my car.”
“Is it still alive?”
“It’s alive. It’s whimpering. I don’t think it can move.”
“Big dog?”
“Looks like maybe he’s supposed to be, but he’s all skin and bones.”
A pang hits my chest. “You think you can pick him up then? Do you have a blanket or a towel in your car?”
“Yeah, I always keep a towel in my gym bag.”
Right. Flashbacks from another storm. He’s wet in his car. He hands me a towel to dry off.
This is not the time to get distracted.
“Scoop him up carefully. Wrap the towel around him. Where are you?”
“On Seacrest. A few blocks from my condo.”
“Hey, Debbie,” I call out into the hallway. “Do we have room to take in a stray hit by a car?”
Debbie, our constantly harassed kennel manager, sticks her head in. “You know we’re less than seventy-two hours from a hurricane, right? We had to move all the dogs from the perimeter kennels to the ones at the center of the building. We can’t do any more intake right now.”
Fuck.
“I’ll text you the address of a nearby emergency vet,” I tell Sebastian. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “I can meet you there.”
Double Fuck.
“I’m getting him in the car now. Thank you, Simon.”
Luckily, he hangs up without giving me the chance to answer, because I’m unsure what I would have said. Those three simple words, Thank you, Simon, are making me dizzy.
On my way out the door, I clean the cage in record time and make a hurried excuse to the volunteer coordinator. I try not to think too hard about what I’m doing the entire drive to meet Sebastian.
* * *
Belle Argo vet clinic sits adjacent to an abandoned church, in a single-story L-shaped building on the far north of town.
I find Sebastian in the waiting room, his tailored suit covered in mud and a filthy, skeletal dog in his lap.
The dog’s fallen asleep, which is probably a good thing because he’s got a gash on his hip and one back paw pulled protectively against his body, and he’s soaking wet.
“You want me to hold him?” I’m wearing the same ratty old scrubs I always wear when I volunteer at the kennels, not a suit that probably costs more than my car.
Sebastian seems surprised when he glances down at himself. “It’s fine. I’m already dirty. That’s what dry cleaning is for.”
“I don’t know jack about dry cleaning, but this looks like more than the usual pit stains and a splash of coffee.”
“If they want to keep my business, they’ll get the suit clean.”
“Spoken like a rich guy.”
He raises one eyebrow, and I get an almost-smile, but then he glances back down at the dog. “I didn’t see him. The rain was falling hard. I should have been paying better attention.”
It feels like a rare moment to see him this way. Sad. Unsure. From the moment I met Sebastian, he’s reminded me of a tornado—relentless and demanding, taking what he wanted and fuck whatever anyone else had to say.
My hand twitches. Every bit of me wants to reach for him, to put a comforting hand on his arm. Still, I hold back because I know touching Sebastian Pierce is a gateway drug. One hit and I’ll be addicted all over again.
“Don’t beat yourself up. It was an accident. Besides—” I gesture at the creature, who seems to be shivering a bit. “—he was clearly already in bad shape. He’s starving. He…he might not have survived the storm if you hadn’t found him. In a way, getting hit by a car could be a blessing in disguise.”
After all, I should know.
Sebastian’s eyebrows lift. “A blessing?”
I shrug. “Thought I told you I grew up in a religious family. Hard to let go of that ‘God has a plan’ shit.” Even when God’s supposed plan leaves you bloody and homeless and relying on a pimp for help.
“Tell me more.”
I’d rather not. For some reason I open my mouth and start spewing shit anyway.
“There’s a big chunk of farmland outside of town, in the unincorporated area between Belle Argo and Beacon Hill.
It’s kind of hidden. If you take that road past the restaurant where we almost had dinner, there’s a private drive with a sign that says trespassers will be shot on sight, and then everything around it is barbed wire. ”
“I’ve passed by there. I always wondered what the place was.”
“Seekers of the Light.” It’s a funny name, because growing up there was dark as shit.
“This guy Ezekiel came here from California, claiming, like a lot of cult leaders do, to have a true connection to God. He got some followers, got them all to go in on a huge patch of land, declared himself their leader, and made a bunch of weird, strict rules like living off the grid and marrying who he told them to. Standard cult stuff.”
I did a little research at the public library after I got out. Then I stopped, because it was depressing as fuck.
“That sounds intense.”
In my memory, a whip cracks. Blood runs down my back. You’re not my son. My son wouldn’t betray me like this.
This is one of those times I wish my vocabulary had a better word, but I guess intense works.