I wait an hour before I head to Ethan's house. He said he had everything under control, but something tells me he has taken on more than he should. Stopping at the bakery, I pick up a few cupcakes before heading his way.

His car is parked in his usual spot, and I walk right up the stairs and down the hallway to his apartment. My fingers gently tap on the door, and when it's pulled ajar, a joyful, boyish grin greets to me.

“Charlie,” I sing his name. 

“Leslie.” He too sings my name, and opens his arms wide. “Ethan's not home,” he says after our quick embrace. 

“Oh. I saw his car outside. I figured he was home.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “He got a call about some issues with one of the supers in the apartment complex across town. But you can hang out with me if you want.”

“If you don't mind, I'd love to keep you company.” I smile and close the door behind me.  

“I don't mind at all. Besides, no one likes to keep me company.” He shrugs.

I follow Charlie into the kitchen, and he pulls out a stool for me. “Don't say that, Charlie. I'm always willing to keep you company. You know I love you.”

“Thanks, Leslie.” His eyes are glued on the white cardboard box in my hand. “Is that box from the Bavello’s Bakery?” 

“Yes, it is.” I smile at him and flip the box open. “I figured I could bring you guys something sweet to lighten up your day with everything that's going on.”

Charlie pulls out a cupcake and runs his pointer along the frosting before putting it in his mouth. “Ethan doesn't want my dad to have a funeral,” he says, his gaze locked on the buttercream frosting.

“Oh, Charlie.” I reach my hand across and give him a comforting grasp. “How are you feeling? With everything going on with Jerry, and all that has happened with your mom, how are you holding up?”

Charlie peels the wrapper down, then tears off the bottom part of the cake and lays it on the top of the frosting to make a cupcake sandwich. His eyes never pull away from the buttercream filling, and when he speaks his voice is low. “My world isn’t black and white like everyone else’s. And I'm not stupid. I know my dad was a bad man. I know he used to hit my mother and Ethan, and I know he's the reason you left. Ethan doesn't want to have a funeral for him, but I think the only way we can make sure he's dead is if we put him six feet into the ground.”

"Charlie." I grasp his arm. "It's okay to be sad."

“No, I'm not sad. I'm happy because now Ethan doesn't have to worry about taking care of everything. And mom can maybe get better, and we can be a family again."

"I think that'll be very nice,” I whisper and can't help the tears that swell in my eyes. The dangling of keys and the door opening startle me. I spin around, and I'm greeted with Ethan. His eyes are darker than I have ever seen them before, and I know he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“Hi," I whisper nervously.  

Slowly, Ethan closes the door behind him and sighs. Dropping his keys on the console table, he walks straight toward me, the worry lines on his forehead softening with each step. He doesn't utter a word. Instead, his lips land on mine, and he lifts me off the chair. He buries his neck in the crook of my neck and leads us straight to his room. "Goodnight, Charlie,” he mumbles, and I giggle at his caveman-like actions. Ethan kicks his bedroom door shut and gently lays me on the bed. Wasting no time, he climbs on top of me and wraps my small frame around his body. 

"You're not mad I'm here?” I whisper, and he gently kisses my neck. 

"You always know exactly when I need you most." He pulls me even closer. 

"I wasn't sure you wanted me here. When we were on the phone, you seemed busy and distracted."

Ethan lifts his head from my neck. “I'm sorry. I have a lot of shit going on, but never think I don't want you here. You're the only thing that keeps me going when all I want to do is tell everybody to go fuck themselves now that Jerry is dead.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m so tired of being responsible for everything.”

My arms wrap around his neck and I bring him down to my lips. We stay like that for a few minutes, kissing like teenagers unable to pull apart from each other. Ethan finally breaks the kiss and his eyes are filled with hunger. He kneels back and discards his shirt. He yanks my shoes off and lifts me off the bed.

If sex is what helps him clear his mind, I’ll gladly give in to him. His thick arms cradle me as he carries me into the bathroom. Lowering me slowly to the floor, he begins to undress me. I don't protest; as a matter of fact, I help him. My hands move to his belt, and we hungrily discard each other’s clothing. He kisses me on the lips once more before turning on the massive shower head. The steam quickly fogs up the small bathroom and we step into the shower. We take our time washing each other’s body. My hands move over his shoulders, and I gently rub out the tension I feel under his wet skin.

“I love you,” I whisper and kiss his cheek. “Don’t take on the weight of the world by yourself. Let me help you.”

He moves a wet tendril of my hair away and kisses my neck, my cheek, and finally my lips. It’s only a gentle, chaste kiss, but I feel an abundance of love. “I love you, too,” he says as he presses his forehead to mine. “And I love your body.” He grasps my full breasts in his hands and I shiver when his thumbs circle my nipples. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is raw.

He releases my breasts, grabs the nape of my neck, and his lips come down on mine. We’re both panting, desperate for each other. I curl my arms around his neck, and he places his hands under my thighs, lifting me and wrapping my legs around him. My hands tug his hair as his tongue wrestles with mine.

Ravenous . . .

Desperate . . .

Needy . . .

He positions himself at my opening and I slide down his length. Walking backward, he sits on the built-in marble bench and I straddle him and then ride him, up and down, each time bringing him deeper inside of me. I can’t control myself. All I know is that I want to please him.

His lips find my nipples as I arch my back and moan his name. He knows me, he knows my body. He knows exactly how to touch me and make me squirm. Riding him, I slam hard until I find my orgasm. He holds on to my hips and drives into me while my body convulses with pleasure.

Holding me firmly with his head pressed to my chest, he finds his own release.

* * *

“No, leave me alone. You can't hurt us." 

I shift in bed and rub the sleep from my eyes. Slowly, I lift myself and glance over at Ethan. Through the moonlight I see the sweat forming on his forehead. 

“No," he says again. 

“Hey," I whisper and gently place my hands on his cheeks. "It's a dream." 

“No, no, no,” he cries out and his eyes flash open. 

"It's okay,” I say, holding on to him. He seems paralyzed. His eyes scan mine for a few seconds. "It's okay. You're okay. It was only a nightmare." 

He sighs and pulls me to him. My head rests on his chest, and I can hear his erratic heartbeat. With a vice grip, he holds me close.

Ethan has been sleeping in my bedroom since I was ten years old, and never once has he had a nightmare. 

When his breath has regulated, I look up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." His voice is as cold as ice. I don't pry. Instead, I give him his space and hope for sleep to find us both. 

The morning sun peers through the bedroom window and warms my skin. I open my eyes and reach for Ethan, but the bed is cold. Wrapping the sheet around my chest, I sit up. There’s no sweet aroma of coffee. No savory scent of bacon. The house is completely and utterly quiet. 

I get dressed and tiptoe through the house. All is quiet and there isn’t a single thing out of place. As I approach the kitchen island, I notice a note with Ethan's handwriting. 

Sorry, had to go in early. 

I run my fingers across the black ink and feel a tug at my heart. There's so much I want to ask him. So much I know he is going through, and not knowing exactly what he needs from me is driving me mad. Jerry’s death was supposed to be our freedom.

I tuck the note into my back pocket as I locate my shoes and purse. Everyone grieves differently, and all I can do is offer Ethan the space he needs.

* * *

Monsoon season in Arizona is usually between the months of June and September. Throughout most of the year the air is dry, and on the rare occasion during the winter months we will get a few snow showers. The mountains are snowcapped but in the lower elevations of the city, the air is cool with a few flurries.

The mid-March day of Jerry Alexander Prescott’s burial isn’t forecast for rain, but as we make our way to the cemetery, dark gray clouds take shape above us. It’s as if Hell knows the devil is finally returning home.

My black dress hugs my hips as we walk toward the gravesite that was picked as Jerry’s final resting place. My heels dig into the grass as I stand next to Ethan. A few others surround the casket: Stephanie, Charlie, Joyce—who was released from the ward for the funeral—and a few co-workers. The casket is bare. In lieu of flowers Ethan requested donations be made to a local charity that helps battered women.

We are all here not to mourn Jerry’s death, but to support Ethan and his family through this tough time.

Pastor David says a few kind words, and there isn't a single tear shed as the casket is lowered into the ground. My hand entangles with Ethan’s as I observe his every move. He is stoic through it all, never once changing his face. It’s traditional for a loved one to throw a rose or toss a handful of dirt in with the casket, but the second the casket stops moving, Ethan turns on his heel and walks straight toward his car.

I hand Stephanie my car keys since I picked her up earlier. “I’ll go with him and make sure he’s okay.” She nods and gives me a kind smile.

My heels poke into the wet grass as I follow behind Ethan. His shoulders are tense and his strides are quick and calculated.

“Ethan, wait!” I shout, afraid he will leave me behind.

He doesn’t look back. Instead, he opens the passenger door for me before heading around the car to the driver’s side. I climb in just as he slams his door. The force behind his rage makes me tremble with fear, but I don’t say anything. There isn’t a single word that can make him feel better.

We drive for an hour in complete silence. I watch the miles pass us, the landscape changing from patches of green to rocky mountains. It isn't until we are approaching red rock that I finally find the courage to say something.

“Talk to me. Don't push me away.” I look away from the open road and over to him.

His hands grip the steering wheel, and he inhales slowly before exhaling. “I don't feel anything. I don't feel sad. I don't feel happy. I just feel completely numb.”

His voice is hoarse and painful. With my hand on his knee, I offer him a kind touch. “Everyone grieves in their own way. Whatever you feel, that's what you're supposed to be feeling. Jerry wasn’t a great person, but at the end of the day he was your father. Regardless how much you hate him, you still buried a parent.”

He coils one of his hands with mine. “Thank you for standing by me.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“I wouldn't be anywhere else.” I smile, hoping I can make him feel better. 

Ethan takes a sharp right turn off a dirt road. We have been here many times during our senior year. It was where we would escape our lives and watch the sun set and the moon rise over the crimson rocks. For that year it was our spot.

He shifts the car into park and glances over at me. “I haven't been here since . . .” His words fail him.

I kiss the back of his hand. “Me, neither,” I confess and stare deep into his eyes. The last time we were both here was the day before the graduation party. We sat in his car for hours staring up at the twinkling stars. I was pissed that my mother was throwing such an extravagant party, but Ethan reminded me that in three weeks we would get on a plane and never look back. “We can start over, you know. We can pretend what Jerry did after we left here never happened. We can move on now.”

In one sweep, Ethan pulls me off my seat and onto his lap. His hands run through my hair as his mouth crashes over mine. His kisses are hungry, desperate, and violent. He moves his hands away from my hair and hikes my dress above my waist.

“Ethan,” I say from between our pressed lips and reach for his hands. I scan his face and wonder what's going through his mind. What does he feel?

He presses his forehead to my chest and hugs my small frame. “I need this, Leslie. I need you. I need to forget everything that man ever fucking did to me. To us. And you’re the only one who can make me forget. You’re the only one who can shine light into my darkness.” 

His voice is broken, like the man he is inside. I can't deny him what he needs. If being with me can give him one ounce of relief . . .

I frame his cheeks with my hands and kiss him softly.

He kisses me back.

Tenderly . . .

Lovingly . . .

Desperately . . .

Without pulling our lips apart, I lift up on my knees as he unzips his pants. Moving my panties to the side, I sit down on him and let his erection fill me. We stay like that for minutes, simply holding on to each other. Two kids petrified of the same demons that haunt us. With him inside of me, our lips joined, we finally break free.

He is slow and gentle at first. I feel the tears drip from his eyes and warm my skin. I don’t let go; I take his pain and offer him love. He becomes ravenous, desperate with each thrust. We are panting, hungry, and unable to fill our satisfaction of each other.

I am what he needs, and he is my whole life.