Page 53 of On Your Knees

“This is so little to ask of you when I’m taking care of everything. You will be there tomorrow, in the family section.”

“No,” I say, finally dragging up a word, but of course no is a pointless word. It’s a word that doesn’t do anything.

Ruby suddenly snaps, “Who the hell is this?”

For a second, I think that time has folded again, and I feel the same stab of fear that I felt when I was nine years old and Paul first brought me to the house to meet Ruby.

Then I jolt as I follow her sharp gaze to Levi standing at the opening of the hallway. Ruby and I are standing so close together that I can’t tell which of us he’s looking at, but his eyes are wide and worried and full of questions. My stomach drops. Fuck. How long has he been there?

I didn’t forget about him being in the house, not exactly, but he’s come to exist in a separate space for me. Talking to Ruby disconnected me from that space, and I kind of lost track of it. Of him.

“Levi,” I breathe, and I’m talking to him, centering myself on him, but Ruby takes it for an answer.

“So is Levi the reason you couldn’t reply to me the last few days? You’re playing with a toy? Now?”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” I snarl at her, with a weird sensation of strength returning to my body, like I can actually do something now when I couldn’t a moment ago, like I can actually fight her.

Ruby huffs, “This is not the time, Ethan. You can’t afford a liability right now. You need to focus, and our image must be flawless.” Her attention jumps to Levi as she demands, “How long have you been there?”

“Get the hell out of my house,” I demand, hating that she asked the very question that I was thinking.

I push away from the counter with every intention of crowding into her and intimidating her, but she’s ahead of me, as usual. She’s already stepping back, transitioning to her exit mode with practiced grace.

Ruby walks around the island to where she left her coat. She’s already resuming her mild, feminine manner, delicately putting on her coat and plucking her clutch off the counter.

But a bit of her venom slips back in as she hisses, “Sermon starts at ten, Ethan, in case you forgot.”

With that, her kitten heels snap across the hardwood floor. The sound softens as she walks into the entryway. I wish she would slam the door because I want to slam the door, but it opens and closes with a soft, unsatisfying click.

Levi is in my peripheral vision. He’s moved into the kitchen and is hovering at the end of the island.

I can’t transition quite like Ruby. It takes me a long minute to look at him, and even then I don’t know what to say. The reality that comes with Ruby is lingering, and he doesn’t belong in it. I don’t want him in it.

So I don’t ask him what he heard. I won’t repeat Ruby’s question, and I don’t actually want to know. I want to pretend that he didn’t hear anything.

But I know that he did. I can see the questions in his eyes. I can see the worry. Maybe, finally, he’s scared of me.

But he doesn’t look like he wants to leave, and whatever he wants to say, he holds it back.

Slowly, Levi walks into the kitchen. He doesn’t come straight to me, but he comes close, heading to the percolator. He picks up where I left off, filling the water reservoir and turning it on. He gets out two mugs.

As I listen to the coffee brew, there’s a heavy, awful feeling in my body. I can’t drink coffee with him and make breakfast and fuck like we’ve been doing. I just can’t.

My intention is to say that I’m leaving, but what I actually say is, “I don’t want to be here.”

Levi’s eyes lift to mine. There’s a strange, dark, knowing look in his eyes. He says, “There’s a place I like to go sometimes. Do you… want to see it?”

I swallow hard. I should say no. I should just leave if I can’t speak.

Instead, I nod. I say, without a word, yes.

SEVENTEEN

Levi

Our footsteps crunch through the undergrowth off the main path. I haven’t been here for a while, and I think this spot is my secret. There are so many parks in New York with so many picturesque locations or better accessibility that this tiny, unremarkable nook is maybe just mine. But that means there isn’t really a path, and I worry for a second that this trek through the woods is annoying to Ethan. The ferns are whipping against our jeans. I glance back, but his expression is neutral.

Not neutral.