Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
After dropping Levi off at work the night before, I’d parked my car on the street alongside the grocery store since I’d figured the guy who was hassling Levi would likely try to go after him again using the employee entrance rather than the busier front entrance. The asshole hadn’t shown up and as soon as I’d made sure Levi had made it safely home, I’d gone to my own apartment to get some sleep. Since Ronan had someone watching Seth 24/7, there wasn’t the need to stay on Levi the whole time and since I’d identified through learning his routine that he rarely left his building between the time he got home and the time he left to volunteer at the soup kitchen, I’d felt it safe enough for me to go home to get some sleep rather than try to sleep in the confines of my car.
I’d gotten up around lunch time and then headed to St. Anthony’s to talk to Father O. I figured getting the old man on my side would make things easier when I showed up for my first shift as the newest volunteer for the St. Anthony’s Soup Kitchen. I’d convinced Father O to put me on the same schedule as Levi so that I could give him a ride to work each night. The deciding factor for Father O had been my insistence that I could make sure whoever had put the bruises on Levi’s face wouldn’t get a second chance. I hadn’t told the priest I already knew how Levi had gotten the injuries, but he hadn’t seemed surprised that Levi had even ended up with the bruises in the first place…like he’d already known it wasn’t a random attack. After I’d gotten Father O’s buy-in, I’d gone back to Levi’s apartment to wait so I could follow him. Like the day before, he’d taken the bus again, despite the improvement in the weather. Since he’d walked to the church all the previous times, I had to assume he was being careful because of his run-in with the blond asshole the day before.
There’d been no sign of said asshole this time around so I’d waited a few minutes before knocking on the soup kitchen entrance door.
Levi didn’t say anything as he opened the door wider, so I followed him inside and remained silent as he gave me my instructions - cutting up vegetables for the stew he was preparing.
As I worked, I let my thoughts drift to where they’d been since the previous night after Levi had asked me to leave the soup kitchen after I’d volunteered to help him finish preparing the meal. My intention had been to go back to my car and wait for Levi to appear from the alley and follow him to work like I normally did, but I’d been too on edge that I’d miss his attacker sneaking into the alley through the end I couldn’t cover, so I’d ended up getting out of my car and waiting for Levi by the door. My anger at myself had grown and grown as I’d tried to make sense of what I was doing there…after all, my job wasn’t to keep Levi safe. It didn’t matter if his entire body was covered in bruises when it came time for me to take him out, I had a damn job to do. And even if it wasn’t my job, Seth was my priority because he was family. Levi was nothing to me.
So, what the hell was I doing here? Why was I going through such extraordinary measures to ensure the young man didn’t get hurt again? Why, even now, did I want to go up to him and shake him and ask him why he’d participated in such a horrific crime seven years ago? Why did someone heartless enough to stand by and watch a man and his child be cruelly tortured and listen to a woman being brutally raped then go and volunteer at a soup kitchen when he wasn’t under any obligation to do so?
That was a piece of information I’d managed to wrangle out of Father O when I’d talked to him earlier. There was no court or probation officer ordering Levi to give back to the community…he was doing it because he wanted to. And from the way the priest had talked about him, the young man thoroughly enjoyed the work and was popular among the men, women and children who relied on the soup kitchen’s services. Apparently, the way he’d talked to me when he’d still thought I needed a helping hand was the way he talked to all the people who walked through the soup kitchen’s door. He treated them like people. He showed them respect and kindness. He inquired about their lives. Father O had even told me a story about how he’d given up his gloves, hat and coat this past winter to a man who’d had nothing.