33. Levi
LEVI
S o, in this dream, what part do you play?”
Fuck me. Why’d I feel the need to mention the damn dream?
I should have just kept my mouth shut, but it slipped.
“She’s yelling at me.”
“Which one. The girl in the bed, or your mother?”
I run my tongue over my teeth.
“My mother.”
Proctor nods, scribbling something down in his pad.
If you want the truth, I’m ready to get out of here and get back to my girl. The last couple days I’ve spent holed up in the cabin with her, but it’s not enough. It’s like my blood can sense her, and all I want to do is forget about this state-mandated therapy and go to her.
There’s just one problem.
Every night, she’s ripped away from me in my dreams.
“Why do you think your mother was there and not your father?”
Because he’s too busy haunting the fucking house.
“I don’t know.”
Proctor eyes me. He sees right through me.
“Are you being truthful, Levi?”
Jesus Christ.
I scrub a hand over my face, listening to the sound of the clock on the wall. I swear the fucking thing is the loudest clock I’ve ever heard.
“I don’t know. Mom never did anything to me. She never hurt a fly.”
Shouldn’t have said that . . .
“Your father, though . . . he’s a different story, isn’t he?”
“Maybe.”
Proctor closes his book, placing it on his lap.
“Levi, is it possible that you’re imagining your mother in your father’s place because you haven’t accepted your father’s death?”
“Oh, I know the fucker’s dead.” I watched the life die in his eyes.
“That’s not what I mean. It could be that subconsciously, you’re harboring resentment towards your mother for leaving you so soon. Perhaps for leaving you with an abusive father.”
“I never said he was abusive.”
“You didn’t have to,” Proctor counters.
Touché.
“Look,” I sigh, ringing my hands in my lap. “My father was a dick. He used to beat my ass for anything he could. You want the truth? I’m glad the fucker’s dead . . . but it has nothing to do with my mother.”
“So, if it has nothing to do with your mother, perhaps it has to do with the girl? Do you know who she is?”
I swallow past the burn in my throat. “No.”
“This girl . . . it could be a representation of someone you’ve failed. Perhaps your mother, though you were too young to do anything about your mother’s death. This girl could be part of you that you’re trying to save.”
He has no fucking idea just how right he is. It’s almost scary.
“Why would I picture my mother, though?”
I can’t believe I’m asking him this, but I have to know.
Since having the nightmare, I’ve thought about it nearly every night.
I can’t get it out of my head, no matter if I fall asleep next to Ava or alone.
It’s like my mind is hell-bent on torturing me with the images until I either go insane or drink myself to death.
Lately, the only way I can sleep and make sure I don’t do something stupid is by downing a couple drinks before I climb into bed with her. If not, I wear myself out enough that I have no choice but to sleep through the night.
I know she’s noticed the way my hands shake sometimes. How I’m never far from a bottle. I fucking hate it, but I feel powerless without it.
“I think you need to address the elephant in the room.”
“Which is?”
Proctor eyes me, studying. I fucking hate it.
“Your parents failed you. In return, it created trauma that you are projecting into your life now. I’d say you need to go in that room where your father died, clear it out, and find a new purpose for it.”
Immediately, I’m shaking my head.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Then it will continue to haunt your nightmares until you do.”
Fuck.
It would be simpler to slice that part of the house off. Blow the shit up so there’s not a cold chance in hell that it can be used for anything, ever again.
“What am I supposed to put in there instead?”
Proctor shrugs, his eyes twinkling deviously. “Could be a library. A sitting room. Whatever your heart desires. What’s important is replacing the bad memories of that space with good ones. Maybe even with this mystery girl you know nothing about.”
Dick.
“Have you worked on the homework I gave you?”
No.
“Yeah, uh . . .” I haven’t even thought about his bullshit homework. I clear my throat. Five things I’m grateful for. Fuck. “My house. My family. My car—”
Proctor holds up a hand, signaling me to stop.
“I don’t want five material things you’re grateful for. I want to hear about five feelings you’re grateful for. Five things that resonate with you.”
Jesus fucking Christ .
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“Think love, for instance. I’m grateful for my wife’s unwavering love and support. Those are things that resonate with me on a deeper level than the material objects in my life that any act of God can take away at any moment.”
The mention of love makes my skin bristle. Love’s a bullshit excuse for two people to stay together even if they’re miserable.
“I’m not in love.”
“No?”
I don’t like the way the fucker smirks at me.
“No.”
“Well, perhaps one day.”
“Perhaps not.”
Proctor eyes me, challenging me. “So, this mystery girl . . . She means nothing to you?”
Fucking hell.
“You like to make shit difficult, don’t you?”
He chuckles. I don’t because I’m serious.
“I think it’s important to note that this hatred for your father has built a wall around you. You’ve closed yourself off from what you think you can’t have, which is the idea of love.”
“Well, I think you’re reading too much into it.”
“Answer this for me. If she were gone tomorrow . . . Would you care?”
Possession burns in my chest.
Of course, I’d fucking care. I’d rip the world to shreds until I found her.
But . . . I’d do the same for Mila. Doesn’t mean anything.
The buzzer dings, signifying our time is up. I stand, fixing him with a look, needing him to understand before I leave.
“I’m not in love.”
He smiles, though I can see the challenge behind it.
“Whatever you say, Levi.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
Ava’s voice is barely above a whisper, taut with nerves. She pulls me to a stop outside her grandmother’s door, glancing around nervously. Her face has gone a shade paler, like she might be physically ill right here in the hallway.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She opens her mouth, like she might argue, but nothing comes out. Her throat bobs, and for a second, I think she might bolt. But I don’t give her the chance. I lace my fingers through hers and gently push the door open.
The room smells faintly of lavender and something sterile, like antiseptic and old cotton.
A heart monitor beeps quietly in the background, the only sign of time passing in a place where it feels like everything is frozen.
The woman in the bed looks up as we enter.
Her skin is paper-thin and spotted, her body so frail beneath the covers that she barely seems to make a dent in the mattress.
She smiles kindly when she sees me, but her face doesn’t light up until she sees Ava come in behind me.
“There’s my girl,” she says, her voice thin but warm. Ava moves past me, going to the side of the bed, and leans in to wrap her arms carefully around the small, fragile woman.
“I missed you,” Ava murmurs, her voice caught somewhere between joy and guilt. “How are you feeling?”
“Never mind that,” her grandmother says, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. “Who’s your friend, Ava? Don’t be rude.”
Ava’s cheeks flush so bright, you’d be able to see them from space.
“Uh, Gran, this is Levi. My, uh . . .”
“Boyfriend,” I finish for her smoothly, offering the old woman a smile as I step forward.
Ava gawks at me, eyes wide, but Gran lets out a triumphant little wolf-whistle.
“Finally,” she grins. “You must be the Cross boy. She’s told me all about you—”
“No, I haven’t,” Ava lies, embarrassed. I can’t help but smirk at her. It’s cute, in an I want to tie her down and fuck her until she agrees to be mine forever kind of way.
Gran doesn’t miss a beat. “You know, I’ve been telling her she needs to date you for a long time.”
Interesting.
Ava shoots me a look that could peel paint off a car.
“Gran,” she groans, her voice laced with mortification. I chuckle under my breath, moving over to the side of the bed.
“Is that right? You and I should talk, Gran,” I say, giving the old woman a wink.
“Let’s not,” Ava mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.
“I can see where Ava gets her good looks from,” I add, and Gran gives a tired but genuine smile. It reaches her eyes this time—but only just. There’s a heaviness behind it, a shadow of weariness that I couldn’t see the last time I saw her.
It hits me then. She looks worse. Paler. Smaller. Like the sickness is winning, and she knows it.
A knot tightens in my gut. I wonder—not for the first time—what it’ll do to Ava when she’s gone.
Gran’s all I have left . . .
“For you,” I say, handing her the pink roses in my hand. Ava said they were her favorite. I don’t know much about how to keep a woman happy, but I do know most like flowers. Why the fuck do you think I picked up lilies for Ava?
“ Levi wanted to meet you,” Ava says, brushing past me. “I tried to talk him out of it.”
“Oh, please,” Gran waves her hand. “I’m a national treasure. Of course, he’d want to meet me.”
Ava starts to speak, but a knock at the door interrupts whatever she was about to say.
“Ava, good to see you,” says a woman in scrubs as she walks in, clipboard in hand. I assume she’s a nurse—probably mid-forties. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me.
“Oh, I wasn’t aware you’d brought someone with you.”
“Levi Cross,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand.
Her cheeks flush slightly, and she gives me a quick, appreciative once-over before smiling. “Well, aren’t you the charmer?” she teases, stepping back. “You must be Ava’s boyfriend.”
“No,” Ava chimes, but everyone ignores her.
“Yes.”
Ava lets out a strangled sound, her mouth opening in horror as her blush deepens.
The nurse chuckles. “Well, Mr. Cross, it was a pleasure to meet you. Ava, can I steal you for a moment? I’ve got some treatment information to go over.”
Ava looks at me, her expression tightening with concern.
Without thinking, I tilt her chin up gently, brushing my thumb along her jaw before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I’ll be fine,” I murmur. “Go take care of what you need to.”
She lingers for a moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, she nods and follows the nurse out of the room, leaving Gran and me alone.
“Well, you may as well sit down. I’m sure they’re discussing end-of-life care, or whatever the hell they call it.”
I take the seat next to her, unsure what the fuck I’m supposed to say in a situation like this.
“I want to thank you, by the way.”
I cock a brow, confused.
“For taking care of her. She wouldn’t come out and say it, but I know she was struggling.”
“Don’t mention it,” I murmur gruffly. I wish I’d done it sooner.
“She’s always been a quiet girl. Never was much for parties or crowds. I suppose when the first decade of your life is chaos, you learn to avoid it.”
“Sounds like she’s only really ever had you.”
“And you . . . She likes you,” Gran says, her voice softer now. Quieter. Like she’s telling me a secret.
I nod slowly.
There’s something I want to say—but I can’t. The words are right there, burning the tip of my tongue, but they don’t come out.
“Some might even say love.”
My grip tightens on the armrests of the chair. The word hits me like a sucker punch.
Love.
Why the fuck is everyone accusing me of being in love lately? I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake.
I’m not in love.
I’m obsessed.
They aren’t the same.
I’m not planning a future. I’m not building dreams. I’m just holding onto a moment I already know will slip through my fingers. Ava Ryan may be mine right now, but one day, she’ll belong to someone else.
I’ve known that from the beginning . . . so why the fuck does it feel like I took a knife to the ribs now?
“Some might,” I grunt, suddenly too warm. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. Or maybe it’s just the guilt.
Maybe it’s the pit of hell opening up underneath me for ever thinking I deserved her. Fuck, it wouldn’t surprise me at this point.
I’ve never deserved Ava. Especially not with the laundry list of secrets I’m keeping. Sooner or later, she’ll learn the truth, and God help me when she does because I don’t stand a fucking chance.
Gran watches me closely. She doesn’t smile this time. Instead, she twists the rose in her hands—absently, thoughtfully.
“You know, Levi,” she begins, voice turning serious, “I remember when Ava was a little girl. She was always so cautious. Always holding back. Even as she got older, she stayed in the background. Quiet and careful.”
I swallow against the lump rising in my throat. This is that talk—the one I’ve never wanted to have. The one where you meet someone who finally realizes you’re not enough.
“That’s changed recently,” she says, locking eyes with me. “She’s coming into herself. I wonder why that is.”
I glance toward the door. Ava’s just outside, talking to the nurse, her expression bright and animated in a way I rarely see.
And for some reason, I can’t look away.
“She’s learning to take care of herself,” I say, my voice low.
“When her mother met her father, I was ecstatic. A wealthy heir who seemed to worship the ground she walked on. But . . . like all roses, they have a way of cutting you when you least expect it. That man is trouble. Not only to my daughter . . . but to his, as well.”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes grow wary, and she glances at the door.
“Let’s just say money can buy anything, but that doesn’t mean it should.” She lowers her voice, leaning closer. “You’ll protect her, if it comes to that. Won’t you?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat as lead fills my chest.
“I will.”
“There are things in this life she’s not ready for,” Gran continues. Her tone has shifted—no more teasing, no more soft smiles. Just raw truth. “And I’m only saying this because I might not get another chance.”
Here we go . . .
“She’s got a soft heart, Levi. Always has. But she’s never quite known where to put it. If you’re not going to stick around—if this is temporary for you—then leave now. Because that girl’s already falling for you.”
She pauses, holding my gaze with iron resolve.
“I’d hate to see her crash.”