When Aubrey darts inside for ketchup, I speak low. “You ever get tired of waiting for something bad to happen?”
His fork stills. “Every minute.”
“Then stop waiting.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. We both can. We survived him, Si. He doesn’t get the next chapter.”
He studies me for a long time. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Give me your hands.”
I do as he says, curious as to where this is going, but nearly quit breathing when he slips the ring—his ring—off my right index finger and slides it onto my left ring finger.
“Let’s stop waiting,” he says, his blue eyes boring into mine. He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “This is me renewing my promise to you, Katibug.”
“You’re gonna make me cry,” I say as, sure enough, tears well in the corners of my eyes. “Yes. Whenever you decide to ask for real. The answer is yes.”
Silas lets out a breath as he leans forward and captures my lips with his. The sound of a polaroid camera clicks at the same moment, and I gasp, jumping away. Aubrey is standing a few feet away with her instant film camera, waving the picture between us. “Yay! Now you’re stuck with us!”
I look between the two of them, shocked that he roped her into this. “You sneaky little fox.” Her giggle is precious as I pull her into the space between me and Silas and hug her close.
“Now all we need is an Australian Shepherd puppy like Noah has. Family complete.”
Silas huffs out a laugh, quiet but real. “You’re impossible.”
“You love that about me.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Later, after Aubrey’s in bed, I find him outside again. He’s sitting on the steps, phone dark beside him, staring at the empty street. The air’s colder now, the kind that bites through sweatshirts. I pull my blanket tighter and sit beside him.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I keep waiting for the sensors to blink.”
“They’re supposed to blink.”
“Not the red ones.”
I follow his gaze to the porch light, the spot where his father stood. My chest tightens—but this time, not from fear. From anger. From reclaiming something he tried to take.
I reach down and rest my hand over his. “You know, every time I walk out this door now, I hear your voice in my head.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“It’s not.” I glance sideways at him. “It’s the only thing that keeps me from looking over my shoulder.”
He looks back, eyes softer than I’ve seen in days. “What’s it saying?”
“‘You’re safe. I’ve got you.’”
He squeezes my hand. “You are. I do.”
“I know.”
