Page 79 of On Your Knees

“If he doesn’t come back in an hour or so, I’ll go look again. I just… Fuck.” Patrick scrapes a shaky hand through his hair. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Oh my God, what?”

“In the car. There’s a bottle. I need you to get it for me. I need you to pour it out in the sink. I can’t fucking do it.”

“Okay?”

“Now, Levi. Please do it right now.” Patrick’s eyes are bleak and haunted.

I don’t understand, but I walk to the car. I open the driver’s door and crawl partway in to grab the whiskey bottle lying on the passenger seat. I crawl back out of the car and close the door.

I turn to find Patrick’s eyes, still bleak, locked on me. His arms are tightly crossed over his abdomen, and his jaw is set. As I walk back to the patio, his gaze never wavers, but I realize that it’s actually the bottle that his eyes are locked on.

I glance at him as I walk by. He’s not quite as tall as Ethan, but he’s big and intimidating. He holds himself still as I pass by, not moving until I’m through the patio doors, but I can still feel the strength of his energy behind me. I know I’m perfectly fine with him, but my scalp prickles nonetheless. Like Ethan, he can be dangerous.

I carry the bottle to the sink. Patrick follows, stopping about four feet away.

“Pour it all out?” I ask, wanting to make sure I understood.

“Every fucking drop.”

I frown at the oddness, but I pick off the seal, unscrew the cap, and upend the bottle. I glance at Patrick as the whiskey glugs down the drain. He’s watching the stream of amber liquid with an intensity I can’t read.

When the whiskey is gone, he closes his eyes and says, “Rinse it. I can fucking smell it.”

I run the water, rinsing the bottle and washing out the sink. “Better?” I ask when it seems clean enough to me.

Patrick’s eyes are still closed, but he nods.

I don’t know what to do with the bottle, so I stash it under the sink.

Patrick stays where he is for a long moment, taking several deep breaths like he’s trying to recenter himself.

When he opens his eyes, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” The words are stiff, but then he breathes out and says more easily, “Thank you for doing that for me.”

“Do you want a cup of coffee or something?” It’s late afternoon, but I need something to do, and I think Patrick does too.

“Yeah. Sure.”

I’m scooping coffee into the filter when Patrick, who’s filling the pot at the sink, says, “I’m an alcoholic.”

I pause, my scoop hovering over the basket. “You didn’t drink it.”

Patrick turns off the water. “I’ve been sober for three years. But for a second…” He closes his eyes briefly. “That scared me. Thanks for helping.”

I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but I reach out and lightly squeeze his forearm. I do it because it helps me so much when Ethan touches me. It makes me feel like I’m not alone, and I can see that Patrick is very alone.

He freezes at the touch, and I think maybe I’ve done the wrong thing, but then so much tension goes out of his body that he feels like a different person after. He’s more relaxed as we resume our tasks.

It’s strange how much I misunderstood him. He’s reserved and intense, kind of closed up, but he’s not cold like I thought. He’s actually pretty great.

As the coffee starts brewing, I say, “Ethan said you helped him a lot.”

Patrick is getting mugs out of the cabinet, but he pauses at my words. “He said that?”

“He’s never said that to you?”