Page 21

Chapter twenty-one

Patrick

The pills rattle in their bottle as I toss them into the glove box—old sleeping meds I dug out of the medicine cabinet. Just enough crushed into his coffee to knock him out cold. Not just drowsy—dead weight. Long enough for me to do what I needed to do.

My head’s spinning, but not from panic. No, this is something else. It’s the crash of adrenaline. The fallout. The fact that everything’s just detonated ten steps ahead of schedule and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet.

All I know is it’s too late to take any of it back.

She’s going to struggle to keep up. Her head’s already spinning, she’s already tired, fragile. I don’t know if she’s strong enough.

But I needed to do it. I had to make that choice. It had to happen.

This way’s better.

I grab my phone and start typing.

I’ll be home in two hours. Can you drop the girls off at your parent’s house?

I hit send, toss it onto the passenger seat, and reach for the stereo, twisting the knob until The Ink Spots melt through the car. Something about them always settles me. Like the world slows down just enough for my muscles to relax again.

I lean back against the headrest, eyes slipping shut as I drag in a breath so deep it stings on the way down.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

This is good. It’s exactly what I wanted. Levana’s going to be in my home.

Our home.

I should be excited—and I am—but it’s woven in with something sharper.

Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I should’ve had more time to ease her in. Time to make her comfortable.

Now she’s coming in raw, frayed at the edges, too upset to think clearly.

I should’ve planned better. Should’ve waited. Should’ve—

No.

Me and Mara already talked this through. We’ve planned this. We know how to ease her in. How to gently press her into my life before we fold her into ours .

This is just a bump—not a rewrite.

My fingers dig into my temples as I let the soft hum of the music soak into my nerves.

It’ll be fine.

This is still going to work.

Outside, snow’s starting to come down in heavy clumps, blurring the world into something pale and shapeless, and the windshield’s already fogging up around the edges, beads of water snaking down the glass.

Maybe this really is the right time.

My phone rings.

Incoming Call: Levana.

I freeze for half a second as my pulse jumps, then I swipe to answer.

“Levana?”

She’s crying.

“Patrick, please can you come and get me?”

I sit up straighter, heart hammering hard enough I can feel it in my throat. “What’s happened?”

“Please. I’m in my car in the lot. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, okay,” I say calmly, like I haven’t been sitting here twisting my nerves into knots for the last three hours, waiting for this moment. “I’ll be there in five.”

The line clicks dead, and I set the phone down on the dash.

For a second, I just sit there, staring at the smeared reflection of my own face in the windshield, distorted and faint in the grey light.

This is it.

Her car’s parked crooked near the edge of the lot. The second I pull up and tap the horn, she’s moving, jumping out, locking it, and fumbling with the handle of mine. Her hair’s damp and clinging to her face when she climbs in, and the second the door slams shut, she leans across the centre console, right into me.

Her face presses into my chest, breath sharp and uneven against my jacket.

She’s shaking. Not violently, just a subtle tremble running through her bones.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I murmur, wrapping my arm around her, hand sliding into her hair.“What’s going on?”

“I don’t…” Her voice wobbles. “I don’t know where to go.”

“What happened?” I ask.

She shakes her head, fast and hard, face still buried in my chest.

“Me and Elliot. We had an argument.” She shudders against me. “I don’t know where to go.”

My muscles lock up.

An argument?

That’s what she’s calling it? After everything I set up. After all the planning. After making sure she’d find him exactly the way I needed her to, and she’s calling it a fucking argument?

My stomach twists. For a second, I can’t tell if it’s rage or panic or something else altogether.

Is she still protecting him? Still defending him after what she saw? After what I made sure she saw?

Is she hiding this for him?

I swallow it down.

She’s upset. Vulnerable. That’s all this is. She’s just overwhelmed.

“Do you want to go to my place?” I ask.

She lifts her head just enough to look at me. Her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, her face blotchy from crying.

“Can I?” She asks.

“Of course you can,” I say, drawing her closer, fingers curling a little deeper against her scalp. She slumps into me like her whole body’s caving in.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please, just take me away from here.”

I let go of her, grab her seatbelt, and click it into place across her chest. Her head falls sideways against the window, eyes already closing, like she’s too drained to fight sleep.

I sit there a second longer, watching her face—pale and streaked with dried tears.

Why isn’t she telling me what I need to hear?

Why isn’t she telling me what he did?

I grip the steering wheel tight enough to make the leather groan beneath my fingers.

It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

She’s out of that house. Out of his reach.

And she’s going to be exactly where she needs to be.

The tyres crunch over the thin layer of ice as the house slowly emerges at the end of the long, narrow lane.

I ease the car to a stop, shift into park and let my hands fall slack on the wheel.

Levana’s asleep, head against the window, breath fogging the glass.

I should wake her. I know I should. But I need a minute first.

I rub a hand down my face, pressing hard over my mouth like I can force everything back down—the rush, the nerves, the cold sweat gathering at the back of my neck.

Get a grip. Get a fucking grip.

There’s no movement in the windows. No shadows behind the curtains. No faint glow from any of the bedrooms.

Good.

Oxygen scrapes through my chest like sandpaper as I try to steady myself.

It’s fine. You’ve got this. She’s here. She’s yours now.

I turn to her, pressing my hand to her arm, light enough not to startle her. “Levana?”

She blinks slowly, brow furrowing like she’s trying to make sense of where she is.

“Mmh…” she mumbles, barely coherent.

“I’ve got you,” I say, unclipping her seatbelt.

My boots crunch against the ice as I step out, and circle the car, breath misting in the cold air.

When I reach the passenger side, I pause. Just for a second.

My fingers hover over the handle, still shaking faintly with a nervous tremor that won’t settle. I clench my fist once, hard, trying to stop it. Then I pull the door open.

“Come on,” I say softly.

She shifts sluggishly in her seat, groggy and drained, and I reach down, taking her hand and helping her out.

The porch steps are slick, and I keep my grip on her tight as I lead her up. My fingers are still shaking when I reach for my keys. The metal jangles too loud in my hand, clumsy and awkward as I fumble at the lock.

I have to stop and breathe for a second, pressing my hand flat against the door just to steady myself. Then I slide the key in, the lock clicks, and the door swings open.

“You go first,” I say, stepping back to let her inside.

She steps forward slowly, peering into the house like she’s afraid to be in my space. Her wide eyes sweep the entryway, taking in the warm glow of the hallway light, the tidy shelves, the clean floors.

“Wow,” she breathes, voice still groggy. “This is beautiful.”

“Glad you think so,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips as I lock the door.

She doesn’t move, just stands there like she’s not sure what to do with herself.

“Uh… you want something to eat?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking.

“I don’t know. I feel really sick.”

I nod quickly. “Okay, okay. Why don’t you just try something small? Might help.”

She takes a deep breath and nods.

“Yeah?” I say, smiling a little.

She moves like she’s on autopilot as I guide her to the kitchen. I pull a chair out at the table and she sinks into it without a word, dropping her head into her hands.

Levana’s in my house.

I make her a sandwich, plate it up, and set it down in front of her.

“Here,” I say, sliding a glass of water beside it as I sit in the chair opposite. “Try a little bit. Please.”

She mumbles a tired, ‘thanks,’ and tears off a corner of the sandwich. She’s not really eating, just picking at it, turning the bread over in her fingers like she’s forgotten what food even is.

The room’s quiet except for the faint tick of the clock above the stove.

She finally nibbles the edge of the sandwich and winces like she’s fighting off another wave of nausea. Then she lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m at your house after all this time. Shit, you should’ve brought me here sooner. This is so much nicer than mine.”

I laugh through my nose but don’t say anything for a minute.

“Seriously, Levana,” I say eventually. “What happened?”

I need her to tell me. I need her to say it out loud. Confirm it. Make it real.

She freezes for a second, then she shakes her head, eyes fixed firmly on the crumbs in front of her. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” she mutters. “But… it wasn’t good.”

“So, I’m assuming he’s going to be leaving?”

She hesitates. “Eventually. Yeah. I just need him to find somewhere else first.”

“What do you mean?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, shoulders curling in a little, and her voice drops like she’s embarrassed to say it. “I—I told him he could stay there until he had somewhere to go.”

Thank god.

That’s exactly what I was betting on happening—her being too kind for her own good.

Elliot’s been dragging his heels for weeks now, living rent free in her space, and she’s too soft hearted to force him out.

Perfect.

“Well…” I say, pausing just long enough to make it feel thoughtful. “You’re welcome to stay here until he leaves. If you want.”

She looks up at me, startled.

“Are you sure?” she asks, like she’s worried I’ll take it back.

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles as her face flickers with relief. “I really appreciate it. I don’t have any of my stuff, though.”

I lean back a little, keeping my tone casual. “Do you want me to go by yours tomorrow? Grab some things for you?”

Her face tightens immediately and she shakes her head fast. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

There it is.

I knew she’d say that.

She’s too awkward, too embarrassed.

Too soft to risk even me crossing paths with him.

I lift my hands in surrender, like it’s no big deal.

“Okay. No problem,” I pause just long enough to make it feel like I’m only now thinking of it. “If you want, you could just wear some of my clothes? Just for now?”

“Could I?”

“Levana,” I say, laughing under my breath. “You steal my clothes every damn day. Of course you can. No questions.”

Before she can say anything else, I grab the back of her chair and pull her closer so her knees bump mine under the table. I wrap one arm around her back, the other across her shoulders, holding her close.

She melts into my chest, breath fanning softly against my collarbone.

“You’re going to be okay,” I promise, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.