20
NOVEMBER - PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA / THE ROAD
Now playing: Scumbag - Goody Grace, blink-182
ThesilenceintheRange Rover was louder than the Philadelphia rain hammering against the roof.
I sat in the passenger seat, knees pressed together, afraid to breathe too loud. Every time I shifted, the leather creaked, and Cal’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His knuckles were white, the veins in his forearms prominent under the streetlights that flashed by.
He didn’t look at me. He looked at the road with a focus that bordered on violent.
I looked at him, though. I couldn’t help it. I studied the sharp cut of his jaw, the shadow of stubble, the way he’d filled out. He wasn’t the boy I left. He was a man. A man who had built a kingdom without me.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the curb of the hotel. He didn’t put the car in park. He just kept his foot on the brake, staring straight ahead.
“Flight is at six in the morning,” Cal said. His voice was gravel. “I’ll be here at four thirty. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I said.
I hesitated. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say I missed you. I wanted to say I’m sorry.
“Cal—”
“Get out, Silas,” he whispered.
He didn’t shout it. He didn’t say it with anger. He said it like he was suffocating and I was the hands around his throat.
I opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Before I could even close it all the way, he was peeling off, taillights blurring into the wet night.
Four thirty came too fast.
I hadn’t slept. I stood on the curb, bag over my shoulder, shivering in the pre-dawn chill. I was just thankful Presley hadn’t mandated we share hotel rooms. That would have been the breaking point.
The Range Rover pulled up exactly on time. I climbed into the passenger seat, shaking off the rain.
“Morning,” I muttered.
Cal grunted something that might have been a greeting.
But we weren’t alone.
“Can you turn the heat up? I’m freezing back here.”
I turned around. In the backseat sat a girl. She couldn’t have been older than her early twenties. She had bright purple streaks in her hair, a septum piercing, and was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. She was curled up with a pillow, looking exhausted but wide awake.
“You good, Lena?” Cal asked, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. His voice was soft for her. Protected.
“I’m cold,” she complained. “And I need caffeine.”
“We’re stopping in five,” Cal said.
He didn’t look at me. He hadn’t looked at me since I got in the car.
We pulled into a drive thru ten minutes later. Cal rolled down the window.
“Medium iced oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla and extra cold foam,” Cal ordered without looking back.
“You’re an angel,” Lena groaned from the backseat.
