The goddamn church was working against me. Maybe it was time to give up and let the Remnant Fellowship take it back.
The door creaked open and I froze, breath hitching—too hopeful, too desperate. But as soon as I heard the footsteps and smelled the motor oil, I knew it wasn’t her.
No…this was my brother.
And the snarkiest little shit of them all, to top it off.
I turned to find him strolling up the aisle with a paper bag from Mabel’s Table in his hand, a lazy grin on his face, a black tank top hanging loose on his lean frame. His beard was messy, hair unkempt, sunglasses perched on his head and tattoos weaving dark lines around both arms. He stopped and cocked his head at me, just…looking.
“Jesus,” he said. “You know it’s bad when even your guilt cleaning sounds aggressive.”
I groaned and sat back, glaring at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, big brother,” he deadpanned. “I brought you lunch. Or dinner. Or…honestly, I don’t know what time it is, I just ran into Delilah at Mabel’s and got distracted. Point is, you look like hammered shit and I figured I’d play Good Samaritan.”
“How noble of you,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow. “You want the damn burger or not?”
I sighed. “…yes. I want the damn burger.”
Whit smirked, tossed the bag toward me, and dropped down into one of the pews with his arms spread wide along the back. I pulled the burger from the bag to find it cold—he reallywasdistracted, as was so often the case when he ran into Delilah—but I opened it up and flashed him a grateful look anyway.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re so very welcome, Silas,” he said. As if he wasn’t sitting in a church, he pulled a flask out of his back pocket and took a casual sip. “You know—most people go through heartbreak with a bottle of whiskey and sad playlists, maybe a questionable hookup. But you? You’re scrubbin’ the floor in a spooky old church like…I don’t know, some kind of medieval penitent.”
“I’m not heartbroken,” I muttered.
Whit scoffed. “No? Then what’s this little display, huh? I mean…you’re a broody son-of-a-bitch, but I haven’t seen you like this since…”
He trailed off, as if he’d suddenly realized where he was going with this and thought better of it.
Which was good, because I was about ready to clock him right in the fucking jaw.
Whit stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world despite poking every exposed nerve I had.
“I mean, hell,” he went on, deftly swerving around the elephant in the room, “you’re sandin’ pews, Silas.Pews.Have you tried talking to her?”
I huffed. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” he said, annoying casual. “I just saw her with Delilah. Said she’s still recoverin’ from the snakebite, but that she’s on the mend. Also said she hasn’t heard from you.”
“So why did you ask if I’d tried talking to her?”
“Because I’m givin’ you shit for givin’ up on somethin’ that’s clearly good for you.”
I stared at him, chewing slowly before swallowing hard.
“I didn’t give up,” I said. “She asked me to pump the brakes.”
“That’s not what Delilah said.”
“Oh good,” I growled. “You two been gossipin’ behind my back?”
“We’re always gossipin’,” Whit said. “That’s what Delilah Jessup does best, and you well know that. But no…whatDelilahsaid is that June told you she needed to slow shit down because you were being a moody piece of shit and that she wanted to pause to be friends for a bit. Which—yeah, tough, but you’re a big enough man to deal with that.”
I didn’t answer.
