Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  Simon wondered if it was because of James that Levi’s voice didn’t have the same fight it would have just months ago. He still didn’t look up now as he placed the crescents on the baking tray. “I was.”

  “When?”

  “Before I had to sell.” Simon let the words fall, as soft as he could manage, which wasn’t soft at all.

  “When?” Levi asked again, his voice more strained.

  Simon turned toward the ovens, opening both doors, and placing two trays inside. He set the timer, then swiped his hands on his apron before facing his brother. “I’ll show you where Bubbe put all of her financial records if you want to see them. I didn’t even know about them until I started getting debt collectors calling. She was behind on the mortgage here—and behind on all of her vendors. I was twenty-one, I had no idea what I was doing.” His voice cracked and he stopped, willing himself not to think about pushing back his crushing grief to deal with the mess his grandmother had left him.

  Levi’s face was still hard, but there was something else in his eyes now. “You didn’t tell me.”

  Simon let out a small scoff and moved back to the table to finish shaping the rest of the dough. “You were twelve. You had just lost the only mother you had ever known. You were furious at me for getting time with Ema that you never had. You were furious that I remembered Tel Aviv and you were barely old enough to open your eyes when we left.”

  “She could have taken us back there,” Levi said, his voice barely a whisper. “Instead of wasting away here where she was miserable.”

  Simon didn’t mean to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. It had taken him years to remember the way his mother really was—too thin, haggard, sleepless, angry. She was sick, and she was dying. It was only a matter of time before she was gone, even if there hadn’t been a crash. Simon rubbed at his sternum.

  “She never got over Abba’s death. Ever. She would wait until Bubbe was asleep and then creep into my room and sit on the floor by my bed and tell me how she wished the three of us had died with him. Or just you and me—so she wouldn’t have to sit and look at us and remember him.”

  The silence was thick and painful.

  “How old were you?” Levi finally asked.

  Simon shrugged. “Eight. She started the moment we got here. First in Hebrew, then in English as we started to learn it more. Then she died, and I would wake up every single night from nightmares that she was somehow going to reach beyond death and take you with her. Bubbe tried to help but she didn’t know what to do—so I just…dealt with it.”

  “You never said,” Levi accused.

  Simon swiped his hand over his brow, then turned way—mostly to wash, but also to have a reprieve from Levi’s relentless gaze. “Of course not! You were a kid, Levi. You were convinced she was…something else. You were convinced I had a relationship with her that was good. I barely remember the mother who was happy, Levi, but I didn’t want to take that from you.”

  “So why tell me now?” Levi asked, and the question wasn’t mean this time—just honest.

  Simon turned and felt so helpless. “Because I should have told you years ago. When you thought I was a mess for the sake of being a mess, I could have told you then. When I couldn’t handle setting foot outside the house…” He closed his eyes. “So, I begged Hashem, protect you and he could have all of me.”

  “I didn’t need that,” Levi told him.

  Simon sighed and shook his head. “I know, but I was too afraid to take the risk. Bubbe left me with this debt—with this shop crumbling beneath our feet, because I was already ruined. She didn’t want to ruin you too.”

  “Jesus, Simon,” Levi said, and though Simon wasn’t watching him, he heard his brother shift on the counter. “You aren’t ruined.”

  “I’m close enough,” Simon offered with a baleful smile. “You got out though.”

  “And what? You’ll just let this place fall apart? Let the bank seize it?” Levi asked, his anger showing now.

  Simon shook his head. “No. I’m…I’m going to sell it. Not the bakery, the building.”

  “The apartment,” Levi said dryly.

  Simon nodded. He stood there, and when Levi jumped down and stormed out of the room, Simon’s eyes closed, and he sagged against the counter. It wasn’t worse than he imagined, but not much better, either. He felt Levi’s anger and frustration, and he deserved all of it.

  Glancing at the clock, he knew Kyle wouldn’t be long. Most of the prep-work was done, and Wednesdays were never a big day for them. Simon would work a few hours later than usual, feed the cat, then head back over to Rocco’s for their last night.

  At least, the last night before Simon had to decide if he really was going to go all the way on camera. Resisting Rocco was getting harder and harder, his restraint at an all-time low. He wanted to be inside Rocco, or let Rocco sink into him. He wanted to be pulled apart in ways that made him weep with pleasure, not with anguish.

  He was just so damn tired.

  Turning back to the cookies, Simon shoved everything in his head into the dark shadows, then got back to work. The almond cookies were the last to bake besides the challah, and then he could focus on everything else. Levi would…well, he would either come around or he wouldn’t and Simon…

  “This.” Levi’s sharp voice interrupted Simon’s thoughts, and he spun to face Levi who stood in the doorway that led to the stairs. He had stacks of papers clutched in his hands, and he walked over, slamming them down onto a clean spot on the baking counter. “This is everything?”

  Simon glanced at the pile, and he couldn’t be sure, but he nodded anyway. “Probably. I think so. It was all in the safe.”

  Levi thumbed the stack, then shoved them all to the ground. “You’re fucking ridiculous, Simon.”

  He swallowed thickly and nodded. “I know.”

  “You should have been a goddamn Christian.”

  Simon blinked at him, startled and so confused. “What…”

  “You suffer enough for a Jew but you’re such a fucking martyr,” Levi spat.

  The accusation was so wild, so absurd—so Levi—that the laugh bubbled out of Simon’s chest before he could stop it. And it wasn’t even funny, really. It mostly hurt. The honesty of it, and the fact that while Levi never felt chosen, Simon never felt seen—and it was all crashing down. His carefully constructed walls were nothing more than rubble as he bent in half.

  He wasn’t quite sure when his laughter turned into sobs, but Levi was at his side, an arm around his waist as he got him to one of the stools. Simon couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d done this with roles reversed—with Levi crying rivers into the front of his shirt when kids were mean, when his boyfriends dumped him, when he was lonely. He had bouts of sadness and rage, and Simon had held him and rubbed his back through all of them.

  But it had never been like this. Simon felt small, and weak, and even a little young. It threw him off kilter and it felt so wrong, but there was something to be said about taking comfort in family. He liked that Levi’s arms—harsh as they could be—held him tight. He liked that this was a reminder that Levi was still here, and he wasn’t totally alone in the world, even if his brother hated him a little.

  “You should have told me,” Levi murmured as he rubbed circles on Simon’s back.

  “I know.” Simon’s voice was thick, and muffled against the front of Levi’s apron. “You were already hurting so much.”

  “So were you. I love Bubbe—I’ll always love her, but it was unkind and unfair of her to dump that all on you.”

  Simon swiped his hands down his face as he pulled back, and Levi took a step away. “You were twelve, Levi. It was more than just not wanting to burden you. You were a child.”

  “And then I wasn’t,” Levi pointed out. “I was a grown adult with a culinary degree and a hand in this business, and you should have told me.”

  “I know,” Simon said again. “You didn’t deserve to be left in the dark.”

  Le
vi fixed him with a hard stare. “You didn’t deserve to hold the weight of this place on your shoulders alone. Not forever.”

  Simon heard what Levi was saying—understood that it was more than just anger. Levi was never great with expressing his love in words—but he was good at this. He was good at showing it, Simon had just gotten so used to not watching.

  Biting his lip, Simon swiped at his face again, finding his cheeks tacky but dry. His eyes ached, and his throat was sore from how much he’d been holding back. He wanted to fall apart—needed to, but not here. And not now.

  “Where are you going to live when you sell?” Levi asked him, shattering the heavy silence between them.

  Simon rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and tried to imagine not having this place. He had no job prospects after this was finished. He knew enough people in town he’d never be homeless, never be unemployed, but his entire life since the age of twenty-one had been decided for him by these walls.

  “I don’t know.”

  Levi cocked his head to the side. “Will you finish school?”

  Simon didn’t mean to laugh. He knew the question was honest, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m an old man. There’s no place for me there.”

  Levi scoffed. “That’s stupid. Anyone can go back to school.”

  “The idea of sitting in a classroom full of toddlers all joining fraternities and sororities?” Simon shuddered, and it made Levi chuckle.

  “Well, there’s online. There’s…there are options. We could get a new place together, you and me. I don’t plan on living at the Lodge forever. I mean, James only has to be there until June or something, and we’ve been talking about getting a place.”

  Simon smiled at him, and he felt a hundred times lighter, even if the weight of his unknown future still pressed down on him. “You need that with him, not with your pathetic brother living like a third-wheel.”

  He knew he saw some relief in Levi’s eyes, but also worry. “What will you do?”

  “Well,” Simon said with a heavy breath. The buzzer for the cookies went off, so he grabbed the last batch out of the oven and placed them down to cool. “Today, I’m going to try and sell all of this shit. Tonight, I’m going to sleep in bed with my boyfriend and let him figure out how to make all of this feel better…”

  “Boyfriend,” Levi echoed.

  Simon blushed a little, but he didn’t duck Levi’s gaze. “Or something. It’s new.”

  Levi chuckled and shook his head. “You are a fucking mess.”

  “I know.” Simon took his apron off, then moved to wash his hands again. Ten minutes until Kyle arrived. “Tomorrow night, I’m going to set up my booth at the Farmer’s Market. I’m going to do that for the rest of the summer. Then I’m going to put this place on the market and see what happens.”

  “You won’t be alone, you know,” Levi told him. “Even if I ever leave Cherry Creek, I’m not…I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know, Levi. And…me too.” Simon smiled at him, even if the thought of Levi packing up his things and moving made him ache in places so deep down, he could no longer reach. But he wanted that for him too, desperately. He just wanted his brother to be happy.

  The only difference now—he wanted to be happy too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rocco did his best to avoid the bake shop, but he keenly felt the absence of Simon in the hours he was gone. Rocco hated waking up alone. He’d been with Eric for longer than he hadn’t by that point in his life, and even though they were barely acquaintances by the end, Rocco always woke to find him in bed.

  Well, almost always. Sometimes he’d stay out late. Sometimes he’d text and say he was crashing with a friend, and Rocco never questioned it. He never thought to ask what friend—and what that meant. He wondered if Eric would have lied directly to his face, but Rocco was so caught up in himself, he didn’t consider Eric might have been looking elsewhere.

  As he stared at himself in the mirror, combing through his freshly washed hair, he wondered when his vanity had turned into narcissism. Eric was to blame for cheating—there was no denying that, but Rocco had let himself grow so self-absorbed, so contented with their life, he hadn’t considered that maybe Eric was unhappy.

  Maybe Rocco was the one who was impossible to live with.

  His gut clenched and he took a breath, resolving not to let that happen again. Not with Simon. Simon was too precious to him.

  He stared down at James who was lying on his feet and he smiled. He felt at home here—even in the tiny little rental with two bedrooms and a kitchen he could barely turn around in. It felt like home because Simon was there with him, and their things had sort of mingled together in the corners of the space, and Rocco would have to work at it to pull them apart.

  He wanted it to stay that way, even though he knew he needed to take it slow. For his sake, and for Simon’s.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to find Anthony’s name on the screen. Skype, two minutes.

  Rocco wanted to tell him no, to tell him this was still his sanctuary and the chaos and coldness of his previous life—or his real one, he still wasn’t sure—wasn’t allowed in this bubble, but he knew he couldn’t do that.

  Rocco padded back to the bedroom and fell onto his stomach, flipping open his laptop. James nipped at his heels until Rocco gathered him up, and sighed as the dog tucked himself under Rocco’s chin. The Skype screen sat blank and waiting, and Rocco buried his nose in James’ fur until the call lit up.

  Anthony looked tired and frustrated, and he turned to the side and said something before a younger man wearing a white t-shirt with brown skin and a mouth turned down into a natural frown stepped behind him. He had the sort of Hollywood Hipster look Rocco hadn’t been missing—attractive and probably hired based on his headshot.

  “I found an interpreter for the afternoon,” Anthony said, the man’s hands working through ASL almost flawlessly. “His name is Lemorris.”

  Rocco’s stomach unclenched. ‘Great. Nice to meet you. Anthony, is this important?’

  The man spoke haltingly after Rocco’s hands stilled, and then he waited patiently. Where was he when Rocco was losing his shit in Xander’s office? But that was unfair—and really—that moment had led directly to Rocco wanting to leave town and now he had Simon. There were no regrets.

  “You just opened up a SinSity account,” Anthony said, and Rocco’s stomach plunged toward his knees.

  ‘Are you having my email accounts followed?’

  Anthony gave him a flat look. “Xander still has access to your social media, Rocco. You opened up a poster account, not viewer. He’s trying to get a court order to collect.”

  Rocco rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t have exclusivity with him for Rocco Moretti. I have exclusivity for Sylent, and Sylent doesn’t exist on SinSity. Besides, I have a signed contract with my co-star. I’m working P R O B O N O.’ He spelled the word out carefully, watching Lemorris’ lips curve over each letter.

  Anthony’s face got redder. “That’s not going to fly.”

  ‘Then he can take me to court,’ Rocco said. ‘I’m not listed on the credits, though. And I fired him, so just because he can take money from me doesn’t mean he can log into my email.’ And really, that was his own fault. He’d been so caught up in all of this, he’d forgotten just how much Xander controlled. Not his finances, but every facet of his public face. It would be easy enough to fix, for now. He just wanted Simon to get paid, and he wasn’t going to let Xander ruin one more good thing.

  “Why do you like making my life difficult?” Anthony asked, and Rocco wouldn’t have been surprised if it was said with a groan.

  ‘Because I pay you a ridiculous amount of money for it,’ Rocco answered, his face cheerful.

  Anthony scowled, but Rocco didn’t care. Yes, this offered a new complication to the already messy situations he and Simon were both in, but it was worth it. At least, he knew Simon was worth it, and he could only hope Simon felt the same wa
y.

  Checking the clock, he saw that Simon would be in the middle of his afternoon rush—whatever sort of rush it was. Rocco had been respecting Simon’s space, but Simon had been free in admitting his business was in sorry shape over the last few years. He didn’t want to bother him, but he was feeling restless after ending the call with Anthony.

  It was the first real conversation he’d had with his lawyer in days, and instead of anything being close to solved, there were just more problems piled on. His head pounded a little at the temples, and he pushed up from the bed, glancing behind him to see if James followed.

  He dressed quickly, slipped his hearing aids in and adjusted them so they’d filter out the more obnoxious sounds from being in public, then clipped James to his leash and set out for the walk. He could see how Simon worried about him getting bored in a small town like this. After a few weeks, it would be easy to exhaust what little there was to do. But two bigger cities were within a few hours’ drive, and frankly he wasn’t sure he’d ever balk at being in the mountains.

  He was a California boy—born and bred. He grew up with his toes in the sand, with his feet on a board, with saltwater in his ears, nose, and eyes. The ocean—in some ways—would always be home. But this felt like something new and comforting in ways he didn’t expect.

  Cherry Creek was by no means temperate. The high noon sun was hot on his bared arms, but there were enough trees to keep him shaded as he moved past the town square. He turned the corner, the way he’d gone when Simon had taken him to the market, and he saw the stall skeletons still set up with rolled tent flaps and pinned signs.

  Tomorrow night, he’d be back. Simon had reluctantly agreed to let him help out both in the kitchen and at the booth, and he felt a sort of thrill to be allowed to step into Simon’s world. He felt the pressure to prove himself too. To prove that he was more than a spoiled rich diva.

  He glanced down at James, then looked around to see if there was anywhere that might sell water for the dog. The fire station was across the street, and he half considered peeking into the building when he saw a familiar white truck with the metal shutters propped open, and a handful of people eating at folding card tables.