“They moved to Europe years ago,” he continued, his voice detached, like he was recounting a fact rather than something personal. “Some ‘new chapter in life’ bullshit. They left everything behind—including me.”
I didn’t know what to say, my earlier guilt morphing into something else entirely. This wasn’t the story I’d expected to hear—maybe some valiant tragedy he’d persevered through because of his friends lending helping hands, or one like mine where I’d walked away and never looked back.
Never anything like this.
“It was fine for a while. I was a grown adult at the time and inherited this place with no mortgage attached to it. Why start over somewhere new while this place sat vacant.” His voice was tinged with bitterness—something I’d never heard up until now. “I didn’t have the heart to change anything. Not because I have a particular attachment to any of it, but because... I guess part of me hoped they’d come back one day. Stupid, really.”
“It’s not stupid,” I said quietly. “It’s human.”
“Human, huh?” An ironic smile crossed his features. “That... is the first time anyone’s ever said that, you know.”
“You are.” I shifted just enough to slide my leg further over until I could straddle him. His gaze darted to me when I leaned forward to cup his face. “You cared about them. You still do. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
His eyes searched mine for a long moment. “Maybe... but caring doesn’t change anything.”
Not being able to help myself, I leaned down and kissed him. It wasn’t heated or rushed—it was gentle, tentative, like a bridge that connected us as two human beings still stumbling their way through life, trying to find solid ground and finding each other instead.
His lips softened against mine, and for a moment, the tension in him that I hadn’t realized he’d been holding, melted away. He moved his hands up to grab at my hips, not to pull me closer or push me away, but to simply hold me there, as if anchoring himself in the moment.
I wanted to drown and let it envelop us both like a cocoon, keeping us suspended in this bubble of safety before the world inevitably ripped us back into reality. Even now, together in this bed with him, the thought sent a pang of dread coursing through me.
Because this wasn’t just some kiss anymore. It was a confession.
Mine.
One I hadn’t been ready to make but couldn’t hold back from any longer.
My feelings were no longer an entity I could ignore and shove back into the recesses of my mind until I was at home alone in my own bed, able to dissect them away into fragments of nothing. They were here, raw and undeniable, and demanding to be let out no matter how terrifying that prospect was.
Playing this pretend game was no longer an option anymore. I couldn’t when it felt like I was dying every time we were apart for more than a few days.
He pulled back, slowly blinking his eyes open. His gaze was soft, searching. His brows knitted together while he studied me, trying to decipher what I wasn’t saying, what I was clearly holding back from him.
Always too damn perceptive.
I wanted to tell him, to carve out my heart like my mind was desperately begging me to do. Present it to him on a blood stained platter and hope like hell he wasn’t too disgusted or afraid to take it and treat it gently like I needed him to.
But the words caught in my throat the second I opened my mouth, too big and too vulnerable to get my tongue to work.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “For... whatever that was.”
I swallowed and smiled faintly, tracing one of my thumbs along his cheekbone. “You can thank me by making me breakfast, how’s that sound?”
He took a moment to watch me, something in his gaze shifting before finally saying, “Okay.”
In that moment, I wished I wasn’t such a damn coward.
CHAPTER 22
Silas
The edgeof the business card flattened slightly from being tapped incessantly against the porcelain plate in front of me, in time with my leg bouncing underneath the table. A habit of mine that tended to get out of hand the longer I stewed. The more I allowed myself to obsess over things that were better left alone.
The problem with silence was that it left too much room to be filled. Gave way to things like moments and memories shared, taking root, growing like weeds until the predictability of solitude became chaotic and uncontrollable.
Laughter. Softly spoken conversations. Lingering touches. The ghost of someone sleeping beside me. All unforgiving in their nature of haunting me.
Every corner of that house had been filled with my past, my childhood. Nights spent alone while my parents were out living their lives and teaching me how easy it was to continue living an active lifestyle no matter how many children ghosted those hallways. I’d grown comfortable living silently, of being quiet when dinner parties were held and nannies were off tidying.
