Love Him Free (On the Market #1) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,51

religion. When he was scolded, he’d shuffle into the bathroom and slam the door, flicking the lights on and off until Bubbe put him in his room.

When Simon returned from school, he tried to enforce it, but Levi would simply stare at Simon, then stride out the door and let it close behind him. Simon didn’t give up immediately, but when he realized what Levi was doing—forcing him to make a choice between keeping and breaking the Shabbat, he gave up. He wasn’t going to force Levi to observe—to believe, to even care—if he didn’t want to. Levi’s identity as a Jewish man didn’t rest on how he practiced. He was no less than Simon.

And it wasn’t until years later he realized his mistake. Levi wasn’t looking to hurt Simon. Not at first. He was goading Simon into making a choice because he wanted to be chosen. The pain of the realization hit him, the pain that Levi would use his religion and faith in that choice gut him like no other.

He had no way of explaining to Levi that choosing that path, turning away from assimilation, from what was easy, from the things that brought him some measure of joy—it was all for Levi. It was all to hold up the end of a flimsy bargain so Simon wouldn’t spend the rest of his life totally alone.

They were both a mess. They had both stripped each other of all comfort and safety that could be had between siblings. Simon resented him for being put in that position, for being asked to give up something important to him just to make Levi happy. And Levi resented him because he felt like Simon never cared enough.

They were better now. Now that Levi had met James Motel and found some sort of peace and happiness with whatever they had, there was room for healing. But Simon knew they could never have what they once might have been able to—if their dad hadn’t died, if their mother hadn’t been so selfish, if Bubbe hadn’t worked herself into an early grave.

But, it was what it was.

Friday evening, Simon found himself with his head in Rocco’s lap, kippah on the coffee table, Rocco’s thick fingers brushing through his curls. He was full from a hot meal—something he hadn’t had on a Friday since before he left school. Simon felt peace during the Shabbat for the first time in years. He felt safe, and cherished. He felt like himself. And Rocco seemed more than content to allow Simon those hours to himself—not demanding anything of him, just existing with him.

By morning, he felt rested from a long night—even though they did nothing besides hold each other. His sexual needs were Pavlovian trained, responding too easily and too perfectly to warm lips and firm hands. But Rocco didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t push Simon where Simon didn’t want to be pushed, and he respected the importance of that night.

Simon woke with the dawn, a prayer of thanks on his lips that he was able to feel Rocco’s hand cupping his thigh without tumbling over the edge. Rocco didn’t sleep much longer than him after that, either. Simon went to the bathroom, and when he came out, he found the bedroom empty. He could hear noise from down the hall, though, and followed the smell of coffee and browned butter to the kitchen.

Rocco greeted him with a kiss—quick, perfunctory, but warm and now familiar which made his head spin. Simon was falling hard, and it terrified him a little because he didn’t exactly know what he meant to Rocco.

He’d been there less than a week, knew him only a few weeks beyond that through stilted chat and text messages. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. Something in Simon’s gut told him to trust the other man. That little voice said if he asked—if he just said his fears aloud, or on his hands in his slowly measured signs—Rocco would tell him.

And he should, but there was another voice speaking softly about the glass shattering. He didn’t want this bubble to pop yet. He wanted to be more than just a handful of videos that might save him from crushing debt, and something to keep Rocco occupied while his lawyer sorted out the rest of his life. He would live if this whole thing was nothing more than that—but Rocco would take pieces of him when he left.

He pushed the thought aside for the quiet afternoon. Rocco