23. Levi
TWENTY-THREE
Levi
I must have fallen asleep because I find myself drifting up from a dark, unthinking space.
I’m aware first of the solid press of Ethan’s body and his limbs entwined with mine.
We’re lying on our sides front to front.
My face is tucked under his jaw. Then I become aware of his fingers stroking my hair.
I draw a deeper breath as I wake up more. I open my eyes a little. Pressed against him, I can’t really see anything, but I can tell there’s a light on somewhere behind me. A harsh light. The cellar light.
My heart sinks as I remember where we are and what brought us here. I remember what I did. All the things I did.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Ethan’s hand stills for a moment then he resumes stroking my hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I know that’s not true, but I can’t think enough to argue with him.
“I want to take you upstairs,” he says. “This isn’t a place I want you to be.”
I have questions, but I can’t get them to form, so I just nod.
Ethan sits up, pulling me up with him. We’re on a thin pallet on the stone floor.
Ethan pulls aside a blanket that’s lying partway over us.
As we get to our feet, he keeps his hands on me.
I try to keep my hands on him too, but he’s moving too much.
He picks up the blanket and draws it around my shoulders.
I take the ends of it and pull it tight.
Ethan snags his sweats off the floor and drags them on, then he hooks an arm around me and guides me across the cold, eerie space of the cellar.
I see things but don’t really process them. I only know that this is a place of suffering. We walk to a different set of stairs than we came down. Ethan is limping. He walked through all that glass I broke. A heavy weight pulls down on my heart.
These stairs are wood, and our feet thump hollowly as we walk to the top. Ethan opens the door, letting in soft light. I follow him into some kind of pantry. I blink, gazing around as Ethan turns off the cellar light and closes the door.
The pleasant hominess of the pantry is surreal after the chilling dark of the cellar. The wood has that soft, old look, and the glass-paned cabinets hold pantry staples and tableware.
We both freeze at the sound of a door. Ethan puts his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet as he creeps past me and opens a drawer. I jolt as Ethan pulls out a gun. He motions for me to stay then slips out of the pantry into a hallway.
I hold my breath, listening tensely as Ethan moves down the hallway. Then he barks, “Jesus Christ, Patrick, you scared the shit out of me.”
I sag in relief.
“And what the fuck do you think you did to me when I walked into your penthouse and found that fucking mess and you were gone. Where the hell is Levi? And why are you limping?”
“Just… hold on,” Ethan mutters.
He comes back to the pantry. “It’s okay,” he tells me as he returns the gun to the drawer. “It’s just Patrick.”
I nod.
Ethan plants his hand on my lower back, and I walk with him into the hallway. It runs both directions, but I don’t have time to look behind me. Ethan leads me into a kitchen that confirms this is an old house.
There’s an old brick fireplace and a long table of worn, dark wood.
The walls are white, and the cabinets are dark green with soft gold fixtures.
That’s all I have time to see because Patrick is standing at the end of the table with his arms crossed over his muscled chest. Behind him, a set of glass doors leads to a patio. Beyond, I can see the black Mercedes.
Scowling, Patrick comes walking toward us. Ethan starts to step back and catches himself. Patrick grabs Ethan’s jaw as Ethan has often grabbed mine. Patrick’s expression slowly softens.
Patrick asks gently, “What happened?”
Ethan shakes his head against Patrick’s hand. He doesn’t want to tell him, or maybe he can’t. My throat tightens at all the things that are answers to Patrick’s question but won’t be said. So many things happened.
Patrick frowns again. “Ethan—”
Ethan pulls free of Patrick’s grip. Patrick sighs and drops his hand. His eyes shift to me, but he doesn’t say anything. I lower my eyes in shame. All of this is my fault.
Patrick says, “You two go clean up. I’ll make something to eat.”
Ethan objects, “Patrick—”
Patrick cuts him off with, “I’m not leaving this goddamn house, so you can deal with it, Ethan. Go take a shower and take care of Levi.”
With that, Patrick brushes past us and goes into the pantry.
Ethan sighs, clearly too tired and overwhelmed to fight with Patrick.
He guides me past the pantry, where Patrick is hunting through the cupboards, and along the hallway in the other direction.
We walk past an elegant staircase into a bright, beautiful foyer.
From the foyer, there are exterior doors in either direction and both have panels of stained glass around them.
Other doorways lead to additional rooms, but Ethan guides me up the winding staircase to a second floor that’s just as beautiful as the first. His penthouse is gorgeous, but this is a different kind of beauty. I can’t take it all in, but I still notice that it’s there.
We enter a huge bedroom with a four-poster bed and a fireplace, but we pass through it to a bathroom with dark blue tiled walls. Everything is so interesting, but it’s all blurring. I’m so tired.
Ethan goes to turn on the shower then comes back to me. He pulls the blanket away and drops it on the floor. He strips off his sweats.
We take a long, hot shower. Ethan touches me the whole time, and it feels good. I start to relax. He’s with me. He came to find me. No one has ever come to find me before.
He washes my hair. He washes my arms. At first I try to pull away, but there’s something in his eyes when he looks at me that makes me submit.
I start crying as he works on the cuts and scrapes.
I feel so stupid. The water hides my tears, but it can’t hide my shaking.
When I have to sit on the shower floor, Ethan lets me.
He’s shaking too, but he just keeps working and petting my wet hair.
By the time he’s done, I’m crying really hard, and Ethan pulls me into his lap. We stay there under the spray until the water gets cold. Then Ethan makes me get out to dry off.
I sit on the bathmat wrapped in a towel while he quickly washes himself in the cold water. When he scrubs the bottoms of his feet and I see how cut up he got from the glass, a fresh wave of shame washes over me.
Why does he bother with me?
When he turns off the shower and reaches out for a towel, I can feel him looking at me, but I don’t meet his eyes. Because I’m blocking his way and can’t seem to get up, Ethan dries off inside the shower. Then he wraps the damp towel around his waist and reaches down for me, pulling me to my feet.
Ethan doesn’t scold me or ask me what’s wrong. He just leads me out to the bedroom, where he makes me sit on an upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.
He vanishes into a closet and returns a moment later with a stack of folded clothes.
Ethan hauls me up and helps me into a pair of sweats.
They’re way too big, but he cinches them at my waist. He gets me into an oversized T-shirt as well.
I’m sure I look ridiculous, but wearing his clothes soothes me just a little, enough that I let him lead me back into the bathroom, where he gets out a first aid kit and bandages my arms. But the sight of them wrapped in white makes me feel sick.
Ethan asks quietly, “Do you want a different shirt?”
I nod.
Back in the bedroom, he finds me a blue and red flannel. While he’s putting the other shirt away, I crawl into the bed. Ethan returns from the closet and looks at me.
I say, “I’ll just stay here.”
“You need to eat. You haven’t eaten in…” Ethan scrapes a hand through his damp hair. “I don’t know how long.”
“Neither have you,” I point out. I know he hasn’t eaten. He was never in the kitchen.
“Then we should both go down.”
“Who’s Patrick?” I ask.
Ethan takes a deep, audible breath and doesn’t answer me.
“He’s more than your driver,” I press.
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s more than that.”
“It’s complicated, Levi.”
“Do you have sex with him?”
“No.”
“But you have sex with other people. In the playroom.”
Ethan scrubs at his face like he’s tired.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just leave me here, please.”
I roll onto my other side, putting my back to him, hating what I’ve asked for. I’ve asked him to leave when it’s the last thing I want. But it’s what I deserve.
The covers lift, and Ethan slides into the bed behind me. He pulls me against him, my back to his front. His arms wrap around me. I start crying again because I want this so much and I know I don’t deserve it. I both love and hate that I’m getting it. His attention. His touch. His… caring.
He says, “I’m really sorry, Levi. I’m sorry I was shitty to you when you came to the church. I’m sorry I was… fuck, I don’t know what I was, but I didn’t take care of you. For days and days. And then… all the rest of it. Fuck, all the goddamn rest of it. I’m sorry.”
I roll over in his arms so I can hug him back. I sob against him as he holds onto me. I don’t even have an exact reason to be crying. I’m just tired and depressed. Ethan pets my hair.
He says, “You deserve to be taken care of. You deserve better than me.”
“No,” I reply and hold tighter to him.
“I didn’t say I was going to give you up. You’re mine, Levi. You don’t get to leave me, especially not like that. Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Baby, you don’t have to be sorry. I just want you to tell me that you understand.”
I nod.
He pets my hair. He holds onto me for a long while. When his dick gets hard, he mutters, “Fuck.”
My dick stirs slightly. Not a lot, but it could. I ask, “Do you want to have sex?”
“I want to have breakfast. With you.”
A weak smile pulls at my lips. “Okay.”
We go back down to the kitchen, where Patrick is making French toast. Ethan pauses in the doorway like he’s just remembered that his dick is hard, and it’s very obvious in his sweatpants.
Patrick’s eyes flick up from his work at the stove. “You know it’s okay, Ethan. Don’t worry about it.”
Ethan sighs in either relief or frustration. He’s acting so strangely with Patrick. He’s not usually like this. But then… Patrick isn’t usually in charge, and he definitely is right now.
I swallow hard as my insecurities swamp me again. Ethan said he doesn’t have sex with Patrick, but… that doesn’t mean he never has.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. I know it’s not my business. I’m just tired. I’m reacting to everything.
Like he senses that, Ethan pets my hair. I take a deep breath and walk with him to the coffeepot. There are two mugs beside it, plus sugar and some diner-style containers of half-and-half.
“The cream was bad,” Patrick explains. “I’ll pick some shit up later. Clothes too. What size, Levi?”
“Oh, um… medium. I can pay—” I cut off at a sharp look from Ethan.
“Shoe size?” Patrick asks.
“Nine and a half. Usually.”
Patrick says, “Both your phones are on the counter.”
I glance over and see them, plus a charging cable.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling bad about my jealousy.
Ethan and I make our coffee then sit at the table on the long side. Patrick scoops the French toast off the griddle and plates it, setting the food in front of us. There’s maple syrup and butter waiting, and he goes back to grab a plate of bacon from the oven.
My stomach rumbles. “This is really nice.”
Patrick replies, “Best I could do.”
“It’s really nice,” I repeat.
Patrick nods, accepting my words this time. He goes back to the griddle as Ethan and I dig in. He brings us two more servings before he finally sits down with his own.
I’m sipping my coffee when he demands, “What the fuck is that?”
I look up in surprise, trying to find what he’s looking at. He’s looking at me. He’s looking at the white bandage that shows where my sleeve has fallen back.
Ethan warns, “Patrick, leave it.”
Patrick’s eyes squeeze shut for a second. “Tell me you didn’t do that, Ethan.”
“Patrick—”
“Ethan, if you did that—”
“He didn’t!” I shout. “I did! Don’t talk to him like that!”
It takes a moment, but then understanding lights in Patrick’s eyes. His dark eyebrows climb. “Oh fuck,” he mutters. “Jesus.”
I’m swiping frantically at my eyes when Ethan grabs my chair and pulls it closer, making it screech on the stone floor. He’s tugging me against him as Patrick is getting up.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick says. “I didn’t understand.” He walks around behind us and puts his hand on Ethan’s head for just a second then he puts it on mine. “I’ll go run the errands. I’m sorry.”
I curl into Ethan, huddling against him with my face in his lap as Patrick walks out through the patio doors. I grip the loose material of Ethan’s sweats.
“I don’t know why I did it,” I say quietly.
Ethan takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“I didn’t mean it,” I say, but it makes fresh tears spill because I don’t know whether that’s true. I think it’s true, but I know that I’m just saying it.
Ethan is silent for a long time then he says quietly, “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Levi, I…” Ethan trails off. It feels like he’s trying to say something, but it doesn’t come out. I tilt my head to look up at him. He looks confused, like he has no idea what he was trying to say. He sighs, giving up. “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I say again, more sure this time.
Ethan’s fingers comb through my hair. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”