Page 146 of Levi

He can’t carry his own weight and won’t let anyone else touch him, so I grab him up close. An arm around his back, my shoulder under his.

We look like two friends caught in the rain, and in a storm full of evacuees that’s the most invisible thing there is. I half-drag him out of the trailer and down the three steps.

“Where are you taking him?” the young woman asks me when we move past her. “The protocol is to get him to the bus. I can’t let you leave.”

“He’s leaving.” I cut her off. “He needs out of the crowd and the noise, away from the lightning. I’m a private vehicle, no press, gone in ninety seconds. You can tell that to whoever’s on that phone.” I don’t wait for her to agree. “Tell them artist services handled it.”

She lets us go. The truth is the storm already decided it. The crew’s attention is on the disaster caused by the thunderstorm. The equipment, crowd control, soaked customers. One man walking the headliner out into the rain is the least of their worries.

The white SUV is where I left it in the VIP parking lot. I pour him into the passenger seat, pull the strap across him, ease his head back. I drop both front windows six inches before I even start the engine. He asked me for air, and air is the one term I can deliver on tonight. The rain comes in. He doesn’t flinch from it. He turns his face toward the gap, into the wet.

I drive him out of there. Along the back service road, past the cops waving the lot empty, onto the highway. The wipers are losing the fight, the lightning going behind us. He’s dead silent beside me.

“Levi, are you still with me?” I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Hang on, baby. I’ll get you out of here.”

He nods once. His breath comes down by degrees from the top of his chest to somewhere nearer normal. His hand stays pressed flat to the door, same as the trailer floor, holding still whatever only he can feel moving.

I keep my voice calm. “We’re almost there. I’ll keep the windows down.”

I don’t ask him a single question. There are so many I want to ask.

What was that? What happened to you? Where did you go?

Not one of them is mine to ask yet. Asking would be for me, not for him.

I’m scared. I finally admit it to myself. I’m terrified for him.

I’ve seen Levi in a bad way more than once. I’ve never seen him absent from his own body.

The apartment is unlit when we get there. I get him up the metal stairs, inside, onto the couch. Once he’s settled, I open the balcony door all the way, then go through the apartment, pressing every door flat against the walls.

The storm is moving off north, the thunder stretching longer between the flashes. The count is getting longer.

He’s slowly coming back to me. I can see it. His breath reaches bottom again, the eyes are mine again, the hands let go of whatever they were bracing.

Then, before anything else, I get the wet clothes off of him. I stand him up in the bathroom and work the soaked pearl snaps loose one at a time, peel the ruined stage clothes off him and hang them over the shower rod to drip.

He stands for it like a worn-out kid, swaying a little, letting me move his arms where I need them. I put him in my own t-shirt and sweats, tie the drawstring myself because his hands are done for the night, and change out of my own soaked things. He doesn’t say one word through any of it. Neither do I.

I put him back on the couch.

He looks up at me and I understand without a word that he’s about to tell me the answer I was afraid to ask for.

I sit down beside him, and pull him over where his head is in my lap.

I thread my fingers through his hair, squeeze my eyes tight, and wait for whatever’s coming.

Chapter 57: Levi

The thunder’s a long way north now. The count between flash and sound has gone generous again. I lie on the couch, watch the gap in the door, and breathe.

Dante’s fingers are in my hair. Gentle and patient. He hasn’t asked me one thing. Not in the trailer, not in the car. He’s just been here, propping doors open. Nobody’s ever done that much for me without knowing why.

It’s time to tell him why I’m so fucked up.

My heart goes off again at the thought of letting it out.

“Don’t talk for a minute.” My voice comes out scraped raw. “If you say something, I’ll stop. I can’t stop, so don’t.”