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Chapter twenty-six

Levana

It’s been like this for days now—snow piling high outside, sealing us into our own little world.

Just me and Patrick.

Wrapped in this bubble of quiet, domestic bliss. In love. And stupidly, deliriously happy.

I’m tucked under one of his heavy blankets on the couch with the TV on in the background. The fires crackling low, the warmth pulling at my limbs.

I sink down as deep as I can.

He makes me breakfast every morning. Toast stacked like I’m royalty, tea brewed just right. Fussing over me like I’m something breakable, kissing my forehead constantly, like I’ll float away if he doesn’t.

It’s like we’ve slipped straight into some strange, happy little family routine. No discussion. No hesitation. Just… ease.

He works at the kitchen table, scrolling through spreadsheets of data I can’t begin to understand, and I stay right here, watching the snow fall in slow spirals past the window.

Eventually, he’ll drift into the living room, kiss the side of my neck, and ask if I want tea. I always say yes. He makes it better than I do.

Later, we’ll go upstairs.

We’ll have sex. No, not just sex. He’ll make me come again and again until I’m shaking.

Then, afterwards, he’ll pull me into his arms and bury his face in my hair, breathing me in like I’m his home.

I fucking love it.

How the hell did I get this lucky?

I finally worked up the courage to call Gordon yesterday. I’d been putting it off—dragging it out like somehow not calling him would stop me from having to explain everything. But it got to a point where I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

He’d picked up on the third ring. “Lev. You alright?”

“I’m so sorry,” I’d kept repeating. “ I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was just tired and sick. Everything’s been too much and—”

“Lev,” he cut in. “It’s fine.”

I’d gone quiet then, chewing on my lip, waiting for him to tell me I’d made a mess of things. Instead, he just sighed, and I knew he was shaking his head.

“I told you,” he said. “You just needed some rest.”

I’d apologised again anyway—kept stammering out promises that I’d come back soon, that I’d make it up to him—and all he said was, “Lev… just feel better, alright?”

And honestly, I do.

I feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe even months.

My bodies more relaxed. I don’t feel as nauseas. My headaches have calmed down.

Every single shitty symptom must have been down to stress.

I sigh and tip my head back against the couch, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. Patrick’s pottering around upstairs again. I’ve noticed he flits between the rooms up there—never for long, just a few minutes at a time. I’ve never asked why, and I’ve never asked to see them. It’s not my business, and I don’t dare.

My phone buzzes and the second I unlock it, I let out a heavy sigh, and begin scrolling through all the texts Elliot’s sent over the last few days.

I’m trying to give you space, but it’s killing me not knowing what’s going on. I love you and I miss you, Lev. Please just let me know if you’re okay. Even if you don’t want to talk, just tell me you’re safe.

Lev, I’m losing my mind over here. Please tell me you’re okay.

I’m so embarrassed. Please talk to me. I hate this.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.

Gordon told me you’re okay. Thank god. I don’t know what to say, but I’m glad you’re alright. That’s all I care about right now.

Lev, I’m sorry I’m texting you so much, but please, if you’re with Patrick, just be careful. I swear to god, this isn’t about me being jealous or something. I’m not trying to cause drama or make anything worse. I’m worried about you. Please just be careful with him, okay?

I tuck the blanket tighter around myself, but not even the warmth of the whole room can reach the ache spreading through my chest.

I miss him.

I miss him so much it makes my ribs hurt.

I’ve been trying to push it down, trying to ignore it as best I can. But no matter what I do, it’s still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I miss my best friend.

I hate how we left things. The way I screamed at him, the way his face crumpled like I’d just ripped something out of him. And the worst part is… I still don’t understand. I still don’t know what happened that day. Why he did what he did.

And he’s so adamant he didn’t do anything wrong.

I deserve an explanation. I deserve something.

My fingers hesitate over the screen before I type out a message.

Have you found somewhere to stay yet?

Not yet, but I promise I’m working on it. I promise.

Are you okay?

I’m okay. Can we talk when I’m home?

Yes. Please.

I love you, Lev.

My heart cracks. Like something sharp and freezing has split right through it, dragging my ribs apart on the way down.

Christ. It’s only been what, two weeks?

But it hasn’t been the same for months. I miss his dumb jokes, his lazy grin, the way he always knows when to show up with a cup of coffee and a bag of cheap pastries so we can snack between jobs. I miss how easy he makes life. Like no matter how bad things get, we can always just laugh it off later.

I type out the words before I can second-guess myself.

I love you too, El.

The second I hit send, my throat tightens, and hot, salty water threatens to roll down my cheeks.

??

I barely have time to process the tiny heart glowing on the screen before I feel Patrick’s arms slide around me from behind.

His lips brush the side of my neck. “Mmm… who you texting?”

I try to lock my phone and slip it out of sight, but he’s too quick. His hand slides down my arm, fingers curling around the phone before I can even move.

“Hey,” I start, twisting beneath his grip, but he’s already pulled it from my grip. “Patrick, don’t—”

Too late.

“Elliot, huh?” he deadpans as his eyes narrow on the screen, something cold flicking behind them.

“Patrick, give it back.”

He doesn’t move, just stares at the screen. The warmth from five seconds ago has been sucked right out of the room.

“After everything he did,” he says, voice sharpening. His eyes dart to mine, sharper than I’ve ever seen them. “Levana, are you serious?”

My throat’s locked tight, not letting a single word slip out.

“He tried to separate us,” Patrick goes on, his voice scarily low. “He’s been trying to poison you against me for so long. And you fucking love him?”

“I—” My voice is small, too soft to sound convincing. “Patrick, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” His hand jerks upward, the phone flashing in front of my face like proof of something awful. “Not what it looks like? Because it looks like you’ve been sitting here texting the guy who tried to rip us apart.”

I flinch. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

My stomach twists hard. I feel wrong. Like I’m suddenly standing on unstable ground and I don’t know how to hold myself upright.

“I just… I don’t know what to think about any of it right now.”

“You know what to think,” he snaps. “You know what he’s like—what he’s been trying to do. And even now, he’s still fucking worming his way in.”

“Patrick, please,” I say quietly, reaching for my phone again. “Just give me my phone back.”

His grip tightens around it.

“What, so you can text him again?”

“I just—”

“You found him in your bed, Levana,” he cuts me off, voice rising. “With your fucking underwear wrapped around his cock, for fuck’s sake!”

My blood turns to ice, eyes widening, pulse hammering in my throat. “I… I didn’t tell you that.”

Patrick freezes, and for a second, the whole room seems to hold its breath.

“Yes, you did,” he says. “You told me.”

I shake my head slowly. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“Yes,” he repeats, sharper this time. “You fucking did.”

I stare at him as I try to untangle the mess of memories that’s been piling up in my head for days now.

Did I?

I can’t picture it—can’t hear the words leaving my mouth.

But… maybe?

No. I’ve been sick, I’ve been foggy, but I don’t think I’d tell him that.

No matter what Elliot did—no matter how betrayed or angry I felt—I wouldn’t ever want to humiliate him by telling people private things between us.

“I know you’ve been out of it,” he says gently, slipping my phone into his pocket and rounding the couch to sit next to me. “You’ve had so much on your mind. You’re tired, you’re sick… I know you’re not thinking straight. I get it. But I’m just trying to keep you safe. I love you, Levana.”

I don’t say a word, just press my cheek to his chest, sinking into his warmth.

“I can’t just sit here and watch him manipulate you like this, baby. You’re worth so much more than that.”

I swallow hard, my chest tightening all over again. “I know, I know.”

We sit in silence for a moment as he traces patterns on my arm.

“Can I have my phone back now, Patrick?” I ask carefully.

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps tracing. “Has he found somewhere to stay yet?”

“No,” I murmur. “But he’s working on it.”

“Then no, you can’t. I’m keeping it until he’s gone. And when he is, you block him,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hand. “I don’t want him in your life anymore. He’s poisonous. You know that. I’m just trying to protect you.”

My stomach knots up. I want to argue, to say ‘Patrick, this isn’t fair,’ or ‘ I can handle this on my own. ’ But I don’t.

Because this has hurt him. I can feel it in the tension in his chest, in the way his breaths are a little harsher, in the way his knee’s bouncing restlessly against mine.

He’s worked up, and pushing him right now will only make it worse.

So I force myself to nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Okay.”