Fracture

10. Levi

CHAPTER 10

LEVI

“Fuck!” The wrench falls from Dylan’s hand for what feels like the fourteenth time since he started working on the red Harley, and he kicks the tool across the garage with a growl. “Fucking piece of fucking useless shit.” His shoulders are heaving, and he runs a hand over his head. “God fucking dammit.”

I lean on the seat of the bike I’m working on, and tilt my head as I look over at him. “You OK over there, pretty boy?”

He tears his shirt off and wipes his face with it, throwing it to the ground with a snarl. “I’m fine.”

“You seem on edge.”

“I said, I’m fine, Levi.” He’s louder this time, loud enough to be heard over the music playing, and a few of the other guys look over in our direction.

I wave them off with a reassuring smile, and round the bike to stand beside Dylan. “You’re not fine, so stop lying to me. Let’s go get a drink.”

“I don’t need a fucking drink.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, expecting a slap but he sighs instead. “You can lie to everyone but me, Kovac. Now come on, I’m parched, it's hot as balls in here.”

“Can you please stop trying to look after me?” He snaps.

“Nope.” I grin at him as he scowls at me. “Watching pretty boys torture themselves brings out my sweet side. Now get your ass up and let me buy my friend a drink. From our own personal bar, no less.”

He rolls his eyes and brushes the dirt from his hands. “I’m fine, that engine is just being difficult.”

“Yeah, it’s the engine, sure.” I chuckle over my shoulder at his dark look, and we head to the office at the back of the shop. I retrieve two beers from the fridge, clicking off the caps against the edge of the door before handing one to Dylan. “Cheers.”

Dylan barely raises his bottle before downing a long swig. He clenches his eyes shut and throws himself down in one of the leather chairs. “Fuck,” he mutters, before eyeing me apologetically. “Sorry for being an asshole, man. This isn’t exactly professional of me.”

“It’s fine, the guys can handle the shop for a minute.” I sit down opposite him, gulping down my cool beer, eyeing his tortured face. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but you know I’m here if you need me.”

He runs a hand across his chin, leaving behind a smudge of oil, and he sighs heavily. “I think I fucked things up with Stella.”

“How so?”

“I pushed her too hard, I tried to move too fast.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head and raising the bottle to his lips. “She told me to take it easy, and I couldn’t fucking listen, could I?”

“What happened?” I don’t need to ask what happened, I know what happened. I heard it. I stood in my bedroom and listened to Stella moan and scream, furiously jacking myself off. I know what they did. But since then, they haven’t been in a room together.

Dylan rolls his shoulders, avoiding my eyes. “We got all… I don’t know, downtown, we played a game to taunt Jared Marshall, and then it turned into more than a game. We got home, and she… I mean, I thought she wanted… Fuck .” He hisses out a breath and leans heavily on his knees. “I… I went down on her, and she seemed to enjoy it, she told me she loved me, and she seemed to want me. But then she… Came, and then she just… She rolled away from me, wouldn’t let me touch her, and told me to get out.” He raises his eyes to my face, and he looks so hard it feels like my heart cracks a little. “It’s like she regretted it, like she… She regretted doing that with me.”

“I don’t think she regrets it, she probably just needed a minute.” I shrug, trying to remain casual and reassuring and not think too much about Dylan’s face buried between Stella’s thighs, because jesus fucking christ he’s in pain and what the fuck is even wrong with me? “She just needed to get her head clear. Sex is probably a big deal to her, you know?”

Dylan’s eyes widen, and he raises his hands almost defensively. “I didn’t hurt her, I’d never do that.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean… I don’t know, man. I think Stella’s struggling with a lot of things. Like we all are.”

Dylan’s eyes drop back to the floor, and his Adam’s apple races up and down his throat. “Yeah, we all seem to be pretty good at nursing our demons, huh?”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way.” My train of thought is cut off as my phone rings, and my mother’s number appears on the screen. “Sorry man, give me a second.” I suppress a groan, and pick the phone up. “Hello, Mother.”

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Her voice drips saccharine sweetness down the line. “How’s the shop going?”

“It’s going great, thanks for asking.”

“I’ll have to come down and see it some time.”

I laugh at the image of my perfectly coiffed mother coming this far downtown to slum it in a dirty garage with burly mechanics. “I don’t think this is exactly your scene, Mom. Might get some grease on those Louboutins.”

“I’ll have you know I spent a lot of time in that shop with your father.” Her voice shifts, as it always does when my father comes up. “I used to be a very different woman before I became a mother.”

“Yeah sure, Mom, blame me.” I take a swig of my beer. “Anyway, did you need something or were you just calling to see how my job is going?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m calling to invite you to a party.” Her voice brightens, the Miss America annunciation back. “I’m holding a big celebration for all our old friends.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m running for governor.”

I nearly spit out my beer, and Dylan’s brows knit together. “You’re running for what?”

“Governor. I think I could do a lot of good for this state, get some order into it. I’m just what the people need.”

“You don’t know the first thing about politics, Mom. You think poor people should be outlawed and that God belongs in schools.”

She takes a deep breath. “I will have you know that I’m much more progressive these days. I have many gay friends. Even the Blacks think I’m fantastic.”

I clench my eyes shut, and roll my beer bottle along my forehead to try and soothe the headache that’s threatening to erupt. “Mom, please tell me you’re joking.”

“I am not joking, Levi. I’d hoped you would support me and attend the party on the 16th. 7pm sharp.”

“You sure you want your son who has obscenities tattooed on his knuckles there? Your friends might think less of me.”

“No one will think less of you. You are my son, and the grandson of Oswald Perlman. That means something to these people.”

“Great, well at least it means something to someone.” I sigh heavily and roll my eyes as Dylan holds up a hand and mouths what . “I can’t make any promises, Mom. I have a lot going on right now.”

“But you just said-”

“I’ll be in touch.” I hang up and lean my head back against the chair with a groan. “Fucking families, man.”

“You’re telling me.” Dylan watches me expectantly.

“My mother is running for governor.” The words sound ridiculous as they come out of my mouth, and Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up. “She’s throwing a party to celebrate, and she wants me there.”

“Why the fuck is your mother running for governor?”

“Because the Blacks love her apparently.”

Dylan closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, putting a hand to his head. “Jesus tits.”

“You can say that again.”

Dylan eyes me cautiously. “You gonna go?”

I shake my head, taking another swig of beer. “Hell no. My Mum just wants to play happy families and I am not into that.”

“Fair enough.” Dylan’s phone dings, and he picks it up. His brow furrows, and his eyes fly over the screen as he reads. “Fuck,” he mutters, and gets to his feet with a frustrated grunt. “My grandfather had a stroke, and he’s in the hospital.”

I spring to my feet. “Shit, do you need to go? Come on, I’ll drive you.”

He waves a hand, putting down his beer to go wash his hands in the sink. “No, it’s fine. They just need me to sign off on the DNR, I’m his next of kin.”

“Do they think he’s going to die?”

“I have no idea, it was his neighbor texting me, I’ll have to see.”

I stop him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Hey, if you need me, let me know. I’ll be right there.”

He gives me a soft smile, and puts a hand over mine. “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”

I’m overcome with the desire to pull him close, to let him know I’m here, here . But I resist, and watch him leave the garage in a hurry. I feel bad for hoping that his grandfather dies quickly, so that Dylan can finally be free of him.

The rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully, and I keep checking my phone for a message from Dylan. Nothing comes. The sun begins to send long shadows across the parking lot, and eventually it’s time to close up. I check my phone again, and there’s still nothing from Dylan.

I start to worry, then tell myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s probably just caught up at the hospital in a mountain of paperwork.

I head home, wondering if Stella is there, and if I should take her out to dinner to get my mind off worrying about Dylan. When I pull into the drive, her car isn’t there, so I send her a text, before heading inside to wash the grease and grime from the garage off me.

My phone is flashing when I get out of the shower, and I see a text from Stella.

I’m on my way home now. Picked up some dinner.

OK great, see you soon

Where’s Dylan?

Tell you when you get home

OK

I dress and head down into the kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge while I wait for Stella.

I should feel shame for what happened while she was with Dylan. But fuck, all I wanted was to go into that room and be with them, to watch him get her off. I wasn’t even jealous, just aroused out of my fucking mind. I want them both to be mine, I want their pleasure and their bodies, I want all of them.

And I hate myself even more because now it’s gone south for them. For some stupid reason I feel responsible, even though it has nothing to do with me.

Headlights appear in the drive, and a car door slams. After a minute, Stella appears on the back porch, two paper bags hooked over her arm. She gives me a shy smile as I open the porch door for her.

“Thanks. I got us some Thai, I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I just kind of got a bit of everything.”

“Sounds great to me.” I take the bags from her and place them on the table as she takes off her high-heeled sandals. “What did you do today?”

“I went into work actually, just to catch up on some files, and to talk to HR about changing my leave. I took it all when you got out, and well… I guess things have gone a little different. So I moved the rest of it to the Fall.” She goes to the cupboard to get out some plates. “So, I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flash to my face. “What for?”

“That things haven’t gone the way you’d hoped.”

She shrugs, crossing the kitchen with plates in hand, and I can’t help but notice how tight her black pencil skirt is, sitting around her curvy ass.

“I’m used to things not working out the way I’d hoped.” She places the plates down on the table and starts unpacking the paper bags with a bitter laugh. “Jesus, that sounded so self-pitying.”

“I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She sits down and runs a hand through her hair, looking over the food laid out between us. “So, where’s Dylan?”

“His grandfather had a stroke, and he’s in the hospital.”

Stella’s eyes flash up to mine with alarm. “Oh my god. Does he want us there? Is he OK?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard from him.”

“Shit.” Stella snatches up her phone and calls Dylan. She waits as it rings, then exhales heavily. “Voicemail,” she whispers to me. I hear the loud beep after Dylan’s voice, and Stella turns the phone back to her mouth. “Dylan, it’s me. Let me know if you’re alright, please? We’re worried about you.” She hesitates for a moment. “I love you.” She hangs up and dumps the phone on the table. “Goddammit.”

“He’s fine, we’re worrying over nothing.” Even so, neither of us can bring ourselves to eat much, picking at the food and eventually abandoning it on our plates, sending anxious glances at our phones constantly. I go and get another beer, and Stella pours herself a glass of white wine.

“So,” I say as we settle back at the table. “How’s everything with you?”

She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “Everything’s fine. Why?”

“Well, Dylan today, he was a little on edge. He seemed stressed.”

She shifts in her chair, stretching her legs to put her feet up on the chair opposite her. “Things between us are… difficult.”

“Difficult?”

She nods slowly, taking a sip of wine. “I mean, I guess that’s putting it mildly. I… I fucked up.”

“He seems to feel like he fucked up.”

She lets out a small, sad laugh. “I tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Warn him about what?”

“Me.”

I sigh heavily, wanting to reach across the table and take her hand. “Baby girl, why would you need to warn him about you?”

“Because I’m not normal, Levi. And now he feels bad, like he did something wrong, and it’s not even his fault.”

“These things aren’t anyone’s fault, Stella.”

Her amber eyes fix on me, like she’s looking right into my soul. “Actually, it’s your fault.”

My stomach drops, and the room around me spins. Dylan told her. Why would he tell her? That makes no sense. He wouldn’t do that, simply because he wouldn’t want to fuck everything up with Stella. Why the fuck would he tell her about us?

“Mine?” I finally manage to say, grunting out an incredulous laugh. “And how is it my fault?”

“Well, maybe saying it’s your fault is a little harsh. It’s not like you can help it.” Stella takes a large gulp of wine, and takes a deep breath. “I’m broken and Dylan deserves better than that.”

“Stella, I still don’t understand-”

“I thought about you while I came, and I hate you for it.” Her eyes meet mine, and I swear to god my lungs have popped and there’s no oxygen in my body. Stella’s mouth twitches into a cynical smile, and she lifts her wine to her lips again. “So really, it’s not your fault at all. It’s mine.”

“But you love Dylan,” I stammer out. “Why would you think about me?”

“I don’t just think about you. It’s… It’s both of you. And Dylan deserves better than to have a woman who can’t be happy with him, who wants her fucking step-brother as well as him.” She spins the glass in her hand, and tilts her head to give me a side-glance. “I love both of you. I want both of you. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Her words throw me back in time, to her 17th birthday. When I placed that gold necklace around her neck, the one I’d had made for her. When I’d brushed my fingers down the back of her neck, and she’d shivered.

Happy birthday, baby girl , I’d whispered in her ear. She’d planted a kiss on my lips, soft and sweet and full of a promise of something she could never give me. Our families would never understand, we knew that. But that I could live with. That I could overcome.

But I couldn’t hurt Dylan. I couldn’t take his girl. And I’d known from the second he’d laid eyes on Stella that he was gone for her. There’d never be anyone else for him.

Until…

I scrape my fingers through my hair with a grunt. “Fuck.”

“We’re both a mess.” Stella laughs, shaking her head. “I’d tell him, but I can’t bring myself to destroy what you two have. I can’t take everything from him.”

I run my hands over my face, slumping in my chair and looking over at her. “What do we do?”

“Do?” She scoffs. “Nothing. We keep our mouths shut, and we do nothing.”

“So, you’re just going to drop that on me, that you love me, that you want more-”

“I never said I wanted more, we can’t have more,” she snaps. “Don’t talk this into being something that it is not.”

“Stella, I can’t just know that you want me, and that you love me, and have you expect me to just live with that.”

“Yes, I can.” She places her glass on the table, and crosses her arms over her chest. “We both just have to live with it.”

“You know, I heard you and Dylan.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, and she lets out a low laugh. “Did you now?”

“Yes.” I lean on the table, and she lifts an eyebrow. “I liked what I heard.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I did.” My eyes stray to the neckline of her blouse, which is sitting open just enough for me to see an edge of pink lace. “I jerked off, listening to you moaning, thinking of him, buried inside you.”

Her chest lifts as she sucks in a breath, and her eyes widen. She scoops up her wine glass and gulps it down, quickly getting to her feet and crossing the kitchen.

“This is fucked up,” she says, leaning heavily on the counter. “This is fucking wrong.”

I watch her back, her heaving shoulders, and my nails bite into my palm, the voice in my head telling me stay right the fuck where I am. That I shouldn’t touch her, or go anywhere near her because being near Stella Langford means my self-restraint goes out the fucking window.

But I find myself crossing the wooden floor, standing behind her to put my hands on her hips, a gentle touch that has her head shooting up, her breath hitching in her chest.

“What happened in that room, huh?” I move closer to her, so my chest is brushing against her back. “Why’d you send him away?”

“I told you.” She turns her head, not quite looking at me over her shoulder. “Because I’m sick. Because I’ll break his heart.”

I squeeze her hips, and pull her back against me. “Baby girl, you’re not sick.” I bury my face in her hair, and a small moan leaves her lips. “You’re perfect. My perfect fucking chaos.”

“We can’t do this,” she breathes, even as her head falls back against me and her hands find mine on her hips. “You’re my brother, for fuck’s sake.”

“Do I feel like your brother right now?” I press my hard cock against her ass, and her back arches with a gasp.

“Levi, stop.” She says the words but her hands guide mine to her breasts, grinding her ass against me. “This is so wrong.”

I cup her breasts and she whimpers. I unbutton her blouse a little more, my fingers brushing over her soft skin and into the lace of her bra. I find her pebbled nipples, hard against my fingertips.

“This is wrong,” she murmurs again, her hands moving behind her and brushing over the buttons of my jeans.

“Then let it be wrong.” I bite her earlobe, and she mewls softly.

The roar of a motorcycle engine has her scrambling away from me. Headlights shine through the kitchen window and illuminate the two of us, like the fucking finger God himself pointing out the sin and debauchery going on in this perfect little house. Stella’s pupils are blown and her lips are full as she frantically buttons her blouse, panting and shaking her head.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her eyes full of disbelief as she looks at me. “He can’t know. Please. Don’t tell him.”

Stella has no idea just how many secrets I’m keeping. Stella has no idea I’m drowning in deception and lies just as much as she is. Maybe we’re all sick. Maybe we’re all broken, so broken that our pieces somehow match up perfectly. What would cut someone else and leave them bleeding out makes us the missing pieces of each other’s puzzles.

But as Stella wipes away an errant tear and eagerly meets Dylan at the door, as she throws her arms around him and tearfully apologizes, I know it’s not meant to be.

I take my heavy heart upstairs, and pull out my phone to look for my own place.