The Alchemist's Son - Ch. 13 - Ezra (Patreon)

Ezra’s head was spinning and his heart felt…shredded. All he’d wanted was a day in the sun—a sun he hadn’t seen more than a hint of for weeks. Instead, Declan had shown his true colors. Ezra shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have been hurt, but he was. He was fucking devastated.

Everyone disappointed him. His father, his mother…but never Declan. He’d come and saved him every single time. Until he hadn’t. Until he’d turned on him and kidnapped him. But even then, he hadn’t been able to hurt him—well, not in a way Ezra hadn’t begged for. Ezra had been stupid enough to think that meant Declan loved him, cared for him. But he’d just deluded himself…again.

There was clearly something fundamentally unlovable about him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror then quickly looking away. He was too raw. If he looked at himself for too long, he was going to give in to the self-pity rapidly rising within him and start crying.

And he was done crying over men he’d been stupid enough to call Daddy—at any point in his life. He splashed water on his face. As soon as he heard Declan leave, he shut the water off and exited the bathroom, throwing on a pair of shorts and a sleeveless white hoodie he found in Declan’s bag.

Ezra no longer cared what happened. Fuck all of them. For real. Fuck Declan. Fuck Abel. He was done worrying about them when nobody gave a fuck about him. He shoved his feet into sandals, looking around the space to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. His gaze fell to the book on the side table. His notebook. He stopped and snagged it, tucking it into the back of his shorts and covering it with his shirt. If Declan wanted anything in that notebook, he could come and fucking get it.

He cracked the door, peering out, exiting only after he ensured Declan hadn’t assigned him a babysitter. Just as Ezra suspected, nobody gave him a second look. He did his best to not look suspicious as he scanned for the others as he walked through the lobby. Some of the tension left him as he exited the back of the resort, following a sand path down to the beach.

The sun was warm on his skin, soothing something deep inside. He took his shoes off, letting the sand burn his feet as he walked to the water’s edge. There were people everywhere. Mostly couples, some families. Nobody noticed him. He walked for a while, his brain full of thoughts of Declan.

How could Ezra have misread the situation so badly? He’d had no real illusions about what they were when it started. He thought he’d kept his expectations low, but, somehow, he’d let his guard down. Or maybe it had never been up. Ezra had wanted Declan for most of his life. How was he supposed to maintain any kind of composure? How was he supposed to guard his heart when he’d given it to Declan the moment he’d laid eyes on him?

Ezra wasn’t sure how long he walked when he spotted a bar. Well, not so much a bar as a hut. The bartender was gorgeous. He had flowing dark hair, full lips, and a profile that would have made Paris fashion houses weep. He wore a button-down open and seemed to be basking in the sun.

He smiled when Ezra approached. Ezra didn’t return the smile. “Do you sell bottles?”

The guy looked surprised but nodded. “What can I get you?”

“Whatever top-shelf tequila you have back there.”

Once more, the man’s deep brown eyes went wide. “It’s three hundred dollars.”

Ezra shrugged, then flashed his room key, signing for the bottle. Let Declan pick up the fucking bill for it. It was the least he could do. Ezra uncorked the bottle and took four healthy swigs.

“Do you want to sit?” the bartender asked. “Or…use a glass?”

Ezra shrugged, his stomach churning from four shots of tequila on an empty stomach. The man seemed to take that as a yes, setting a glass in front of Ezra, who stared at it for a long moment before filling it near to overflowing.

When he went to pick it up, the bartender slapped a hand over the glass. “I’m Pond.”

“Ezra,” he mumbled. “Can you get your hand off my glass?”

Pond frowned, his perfect face showing not a single wrinkle. “I could, but I cannot in good conscience sit here and watch you commit suicide via tequila. I’ll get fired.”

“I’ll sign a waver.”

Pond chuckled, flashing pretty white teeth. Who was this guy? “I appreciate that, but how about you just slow down. Maybe talk to me instead. I’m better than a therapist.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“That’s fair. But maybe you could just stay here at the bar where I can at least have them collect your unconscious body when you inevitably pass out from alcohol poisoning?” Pond asked.

Ezra shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Pond nodded, then moved down the bar to help a few customers approaching. Ezra pulled his notebook free, flipping through the pages. What had even been the point of collecting all this? What had been his end game? Had he really thought to hunt down his father? Turn him into the cops? Have a family reunion?

He picked up his glass, slurping the alcohol that sloshed over the rim off his hand. When a bottle of water appeared beside him, he opened the cap and tipped the bottle in Pond’s direction in a silent salute before downing half of it dutifully.

When he got to the last page of the notebook, he just sat staring at the number. His father’s satellite phone. His brain was buzzing nicely from the tequila now. He wasn’t drunk but he was well on his way.

“Hey, Pond?” he called, loud enough to startle the other man, who was leaning over the bar flirting with a girl in a red frilly bikini.

“Yeah?” he said, grinning.

“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” Ezra asked, staring at the number until it swam across the page.

“Sure.” Pond reached into his pocket and presented him with a cell phone.

“Thanks.”

Pond nodded and went back to red bikini girl.

Ezra’s heart squeezed. Fuck it. He dialed the number and waited, listening to the strange ringing on the other end. Would Abel even answer?

Ezra got his answer on the third ring when a gruff voice said, “Yeah?”

“Hey, Pops,” Ezra said. “Long time, no see.”

There was a long pause. “Ezra?”

“Do you have any other sons I don’t know about?” Ezra quipped, then added, “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

“I—”

Ezra cut him off. “I’d ask if you missed me but I’m not in the mood to hurt my own feelings. Anyway, I’m in the area. I want to meet.”

Once more, hesitation. “What area?”

“The Caymans.”

“How…”

“How…?” Ezra taunted. “How what? How did I find you? How did I escape my captors? Those are the wrong questions. The real question you should be asking yourself is, if I did all that, what else am I capable of?”

“What do you want?” Abel asked, resigned.

“I just want to meet,” Ezra said.

Silence stretched, leaving Ezra to listen to ocean waves on his side and an odd creaking sound on his father’s. Finally, Abel said, “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

That was fair. It wasn’t a trap. Ezra didn’t know what it was. He was hurt and he wanted to hurt someone, too. It was selfish, sure. But it seemed everyone was being selfish but him, so why not? Maybe his father would put a bullet in his head and be done with it. Maybe Ezra would kill him first. None of it mattered. Declan was the only good thing he had and he’d basically just told him he had one foot out the door and, once he had his money, he would disappear forever.

“You don’t. But I have enough information on you to fuck you over for ten lifetimes. And if I found you once, I’ll find you again. Meet me—somewhere public—tomorrow morning.”

“Ezra….how did you? How did you get away from Declan?”

“I just walked right out the door. Seems you really were the brains of the operation. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t tell him where you were. He lost my loyalty when he decided to send his goons to beat me up and tie me to a chair for days.” Ezra forced back the choking sob fighting its way to the surface. Nobody liked a weepy drunk. “Thanks for coming to rescue me, by the way. Appreciate it,” he tacked on.

“Ezra, please…” Abel said, sounding a little helpless.

“It’s fine,” Ezra said, tone clipped. “I’m used to it. Meet me tomorrow morning or my next call is to fucking Interpol. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know exactly where you are, right down to the GPS coordinates. Think you can get away before they show up?”

“Meet me at the port at 9 a.m. Slip 114. Look for my boat. Liquid Assets.”

“Funny,” Ezra said with no humor. “And I’m serious. If you’re not there, my next call is to the cops.”

“I’ll be there,” Abel said. Ezra was about to disconnect when Abel quickly added, “Ezra.”

“What?”

“I’m really glad you called.”

“Gosh, Dad. Me too,” Ezra muttered. “It will be just like old times.”

Ezra hung up the phone and set it on the bar, making sure Pond saw it. He took another sip of his drink, then set his head down on the bar, closing his eyes. Just for a minute.

###

Ezra fought to open his eyes as two strong hands slid up his back. It took him a moment to realize something hard was pressed against his face and he was drooling. He jolted upright, his world falling slightly off-kilter as he tried to gain his equilibrium. His stomach sloshed angrily.

Where was he? His gaze darted to the owner of the hands on his body, relieved when he realized it was Declan. That relief only lasted about ten seconds before the events of the morning came rushing back.

The fight. The beach. The tequila. The sun sat so low in the sky, painting everything in shadow. Declan found him? The question answered itself when Declan nodded at Pond. “Thanks for the phone call. I can take him from here.”

Ezra couldn’t explain the sharp stab of betrayal. He looked at Pond, giving him a sad shake of his head. None of these bitches were loyal.

Pond shrugged, expression sheepish. “Sorry, man. I tried to wake you. I had to find someone to take care of you and all I had was your room number. You’re in no shape to take care of yourself right now.”

“He doesn’t want to take care of me,” Ezra blurted, the words cutting painfully on their way out. The truth hurt.

Pond’s eyes went wide and he leveled an appraising look at Declan, who gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise you, I’ll take care of him. We just had a fight and he’s being a little…dramatic.”

Pond didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? He doesn’t look like he wants to go with you.”

Declan’s smile turned cold. “You called me, remember?”

“That was when I thought you’d take care of him, not potentially hurt him,” Pond said.

“I would never hurt him. Ask him.”

Pond’s gaze turned to him. Ezra huffed out a sigh. “He’s not going to hurt him.”

“Look, he belongs to me. I’ll take it from here. We just had a misunderstanding.”

Ezra snorted. “Now I belong to you? This morning, you said you were going to disappear on me like you were in witness protection.”

Declan’s gaze went wide and he gave Ezra a tight smile, teeth clenched, as he said, “Can we talk about this back in the room, please?”

“No. We can’t,” Ezra quipped, making sure his tone matched Declan’s.

Pond chuckled, clearly now convinced this was just a lover’s spat and not some kind of abusive situation where he was turning Ezra over to his abusive boyfriend.

“Ez—” Declan started.

Ezra shrugged off Declan’s hands that still sat on his shoulders and got to his feet, grabbing his tequila bottle and stumbling down the beach towards the crashing waves. He made it to the shoreline before his knees gave out and he sat—hard—the shock of it shooting along his spine, though it was soon numbed by the residual alcohol still floating in his system.

He felt Declan looming behind him a moment before he sat, too, his legs falling on either side of Ezra’s body. He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to stand. Declan grabbed his hips, tugging him back down between his open thighs. “Stop,” he growled. “Stop fighting me, kid, or I swear I’ll throw you over my fucking shoulder and carry you back to the room. I don’t fucking care who sees us. Is that what you want?”

Yes. “Since when do you care what I want?” he asked, sullen.

Declan sighed, wrapping his arms around Ezra’s waist before resting his chin on his shoulder. Ezra fought his embrace, but he wouldn’t release him. Finally, he just stopped trying, choosing to stiffen in his arms. Declan’s chin returned, his lips against his ear. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Not wanting to be with me? Seems you’re in good company,” Ezra muttered, no longer caring if he seemed bratty or petulant or childish. He was hurt. He was so fucking hurt, he was choking on it and he just wanted Declan to hurt, too.

“Do you really think I don’t want you?” Declan asked, sounding surprised. “Do you know how fucking scared I was when I got back to the room and I couldn’t fucking find you?”

Scared he’d go to prison, maybe. If he was so scared, why had it taken so long for him to find him? He couldn’t be that far from the main part of the resort. Ezra knew he was pouting, but he was entitled.

“I didn’t call the cops or anything. And, as I suspected, nobody even looked at me twice, so I think you’re safe,” Ezra said, reaching for the bottle.

Declan released him just long enough to snag the bottle and chuck it far out of reach.

“That was a three-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila,” Ezra said mournfully.

“I don’t give a fuck. Stop deliberately misunderstanding me,” Declan said.

“Then maybe stop being so fucking cryptic,” Ezra countered. “You’re the one who told me you were going to leave me behind. That you were going to”—he stopped, trying not to dissolve into tears—“to fucking leave me and change your name and I’d never see you again. How am I misunderstanding that?”

Declan gripped him tighter, burying his face in Ezra’s neck. He tried to shrug him off once more but his arms were iron bars crushing him. “I love you,” he said against his skin. “Do you hear me? Is that clear enough?”

Ezra had to remind himself to breathe. “What?” he managed.

Declan made a growl of frustration that vibrated against Ezra’s skin. “I love you. It’s not right and it’s not fair to you. But I do. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole fucking life. I love you more than I love my own life. I didn’t mean it when I said I would leave you behind. I should. You’re so young and you have your whole life ahead of you, but I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t fucking leave you. So, if you want to give up this life and be someone else…someone who spends his life with me…then I’ll take it. It’s so fucking selfish but I’ll take it.”

It took Ezra a minute to realize the wetness on his shoulder was Declan’s tears. The broken sob that escaped Ezra’s lips was impossible to hide. Declan was crying…for him. Over him. Declan who never showed any emotion but anger and a heavy dose of horniness.

They probably looked unhinged to the general population, clutching each other and crying, but Ezra didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but them. But this. It was everything he wanted. Everything he’d ever wanted.

Another memory came crashing into his head, stealing his breath. No. Fuck. He wanted to scream. He’d finally gotten everything he’d ever wanted and he’d destroyed it before it started. Declan was going to fucking kill him. Or hate him forever.

“Declan…” Ezra said. “I-I did something stupid.”

Declan wiped his face on Ezra’s hoodie. “What? Leaving the hotel room? We’ll be okay. Like you said, nobody even cares. I should have just listened to you in the first place. I know I can be…controlling.”

“No,” Ezra whispered, clinging tighter to the arms around him until he could feel his nails digging into Declan’s flesh, half-afraid Declan would walk away the moment he got the words out. “I-I called my dad. I called Abel.”

Declan froze. “You…called him?” he said, his voice suddenly icy calm. “What did you say?”

Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat but could do nothing about the tears flowing down his cheeks. “I told him that I’d escaped and tracked him down, and if he didn’t meet me tomorrow morning, I was calling Interpol and telling them his location.”

Declan didn’t release him. Didn’t yell at him. He didn’t do anything. He was silent, his breaths heavy in Ezra’s ear. “So…you didn’t tell him we were here in the Caymans with you?” he finally asked.

Ezra shook his head. “No. I made it sound like I found him after I got away from you.”

“Got away from me,” Declan echoed quietly.

“He thought you kidnapped me. I had to tell him I escaped,” Ezra said.

“I did kidnap you,” Declan said. “There’s no way he agreed to meet with you.”

“He did.”

“He’s going to run,” Declan said.

“Maybe,” Ezra said. “Yeah, probably. But he gave me the name of his boat and slip number so…maybe not.”

Declan nodded against his shoulder. “What were you going to do when you met him?”

“I don’t even know. Kill him? Hope he killed me? I was drunk and sad. I just wanted someone who would be miserable with me. He fit the bill. Are you going to break up with me now? Again?”

Declan sighed, placing his palm over Ezra’s forehead and pulling it back against his shoulder. Ezra closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of skin on skin. “I’m not breaking up with you,” he assured him. “But the punishment you’re going to get when this is all over will probably make you wish I did.”

Lust shot through him at the casual threat. But something else, too. Relief. This was them. This was normal. He hadn’t broken it too badly to fix it. He relaxed against Declan, finally letting himself enjoy the sight before him. It would all be so horribly romantic if Ezra wasn’t half-drunk with a pounding headache from crying and dehydration.

The sky was a million shades of orange, pink, and blue, clouds scattered in wild formations like a hazy watercolor painting. In some places, it was even purple. The ocean waves crashed against the beach, the water stealing the sand beneath them each time it retreated, but Ezra didn’t want to move. Even with his sore eyes and his aching head, this was the best he’d felt in longer than he could remember.

Declan loved him. Declan wasn’t leaving him behind. Nothing else mattered. Not Abel. Not his money. Not the cops. Nothing.

“I love you, too,” Ezra said, realizing in that moment he’d never said it back.

Declan’s lips landed on the top of Ezra’s head. “You better.”