Page 92 of On Your Knees

The answer is nothing. I will give him nothing.

I change into jeans and the new shoes that Patrick got for me. I put on a shirt and a jacket. Then I leave the room and go down to the pantry. I open the drawer. I stare at the empty space where the gun should be.

Ethan took it.

It makes things harder, but my resolve only deepens. The fact that Ethan took the gun means that I’ve understood things right. I’ve understood what just in case actually means.

I shut the drawer and walk into the kitchen. Patrick is sitting at the kitchen table frowning at his phone. He looks up when I enter.

Patrick demands, “Who is this fucking guy?”

“The journalist?”

“Yeah, the fucking journalist.”

“I only got his last name. Jensen.”

Patrick sighs because that doesn’t help much and maybe he already knew that anyway. Then he does a double take. “Why are you dressed like you’re going somewhere?”

“I need you to take me to the penthouse. I need some things.”

“What do you need? I might have it at my place.”

“I need my Kindle. Please. I can’t just sit here doing nothing. I need it. We’ll be back before Ethan.”

Patrick frowns. “It’s that important?”

“Please, Patrick. I can’t just sit here.”

He gets up. “Yeah, fine. I don’t really want to sit here either.” He pauses. “Are you okay? You sound a little off.”

“I’m worried.”

Patrick huffs. “That’s fair. Let’s go.”

On the way to the city, for the first time, I ride in the front seat. It’s so different to see Patrick from here instead of from the back. I can’t believe I used to think his silence was cold. He’s reserved, a little pensive, but he cares a lot.

Ethan told me that Patrick helped him, and now I understand better what that help looked like. The picture that Jensen sent was at some kind of sex club. Ethan said he agreed to “a scene,” but whatever he wanted, he wasn’t able to handle. Patrick was there and stepped in. He helped. He took care of Ethan. And he never touched Ethan, not sexually.

I get it now, and I think I love Patrick too, for doing that for Ethan. I hope he forgives me.

When we get to the penthouse, Patrick insists on coming up with me. It’s a wrinkle, but I’m not surprised. I ask him to go look in the guest bedroom for my Kindle, and he does it. As soon as he’s gone, I leave the penthouse silently.

I make it to the elevator. I make it inside and close the doors. I push the button for the ground floor.

TWENTY-NINE

Ethan

Jensen’s hotel room is small and cheap and smells like a combination of bleach and mold. I don’t get it. If this is all he can afford, why wouldn’t he take Ruby’s payoff? She surely offered him more than his story could possibly be worth.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks, pulling out a chair at the rickety table. He’s wearing a green polo shirt and cheap dress pants.

“No, I don’t want to sit.”

Jensen pushes the chair back in. The table is covered in stacks of paper, some text, some images. There’s a notebook and a laptop.

“What do you want from me?” I ask.