34. Silas
Chapter thirty-four
Silas
He blames me.
Caleb sits slumped at his desk, shoulders drawn up to his ears, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. He’s bent over his textbook, refusing to look at me as I stand by the door, feeling like some hapless school principal who knows his student is about to fail. Not in school, maybe, but in life. And it’s all on me.
He hasn’t been the same since Leah left. Hell, I haven’t been the same since Leah left. But I think I’m the last person he cares about right now.
“Caleb, look. I know it’s been hard. You miss her. I do, too.” I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, taking a slow, deep breath. “But there’s nothing I can do. The whole thing just got a little too complicated, and we had to go our separate ways.”
Nothing. Not a flicker. He’s stone-faced, his pen scratching over his notebook like I’m not even here.
“Right.” My tone is clipped, bordering on harsh, as I shake off the sharp sting of rejection. I tap the doorframe lightly to get his attention. “I’ll be at the office. Do you need anything? Because I won’t be back till evening.”
“No,” he mutters, barely a glance in my direction. “I can’t wait to leave for Livingston. At least, then, I won’t have to see you or be in this house with you.”
The kid sure knows how to hurt me. I stare at him, a knot tightening in my chest, but there’s nothing left to say. With a tight nod, I turn on my heel and head to my room.
In there, the bourbon is smooth, with just enough of a burn to feel like a well-earned punishment. It’s been a week since Leah and I went our separate ways, and bourbon’s been my biggest comfort.
“Hmmm,” I grunt as I take another sip.
It’s 8:00 a.m., and I’m already on my second glass. No wonder my son won’t talk to me. I wouldn’t talk to me either.
I look at my reflection in the mirror as I pull at my tie, tying and retying it as if it might fix everything falling apart. But all it does is bring my tired face into sharper relief—bloodshot eyes, lines deeper than they should be, lips set in a grim line.
I look like a man on the verge of redemption or ruin. And I know which is likelier.
I drain the glass, the bourbon settling like fire in my chest. And in a few minutes, I’m out in my car, giving my driver a curt nod. My phone buzzes just as I settle into the backseat—Jean, my director, wants to know if we’re taking the same flight to Rome for the film festival in a few days.
Suddenly, Rome looms over me like a bad omen, a city haunted by memories I can’t shake. Ezra’s laughter and Leah’s smile were both lost to the streets of that place. And now Caleb’s empty stares and sharp words echo in the back of my mind.
How much more will I lose?
I bite back the urge to snap at him. Same flight, different hell, I think, shoving the phone back into my pocket. Rome is a place I’ll face alone, regardless of who’s on that plane.
When I arrive at the company, my HR manager, Laura, corners me by the elevator, a clipboard hugged tightly to her chest like she needs to have something between us. “Mr. Waverly, I was just wondering if you would come around today—”
“What do you want, Laura?”
“W-we, uh, have some candidates for the PA position since Leah quit, and I’d like you to take a look—”
“I don’t care, Laura.” The words spill out more forcefully than I intended, but I don’t bother correcting them. “Hire a statue for all I care. Just get it done.”
“But, sir, they’ll be working directly with you, and it’d be best if you—”
“Did I stutter? I don’t care who replaces Leah.”
She blinks, thrown off, but nods and steps back. I leave her standing in the hallway, watching after me like I’m some loose cannon ready to explode as I step into the elevator.
I may as well be.
The news is everywhere that Leah and I broke up. Harvey’s made sure of that. This is what he wanted, and he’s gotten it at the end of the day. Now? He’s just taking his victory leap.
In the conference room, I’m greeted by my board members, four men in pressed suits who wear ambition like it’s cologne. This is the last thing I want to do, but I can’t put my life on hold because my heart is broken. I’m not some doe-eyed kid in high school.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say, followed by a chorused greeting.
There’s Marcus—a fifty-year-old manchild who likes to remind everyone he’s third-generation wealth and couldn’t navigate a bus route if his life depended on it. Beside him is George, who tries to pull off “relatable” by wearing cheap tweed despite being a millionaire and dropping golf anecdotes, which makes him anything but relatable.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Silas,” George says. “Especially at the golf club. Man, we had the game of our lives a few days ago, and I—”
“I really don’t care, George,” I cut in, making my way to my seat.
At the other side of the table, there’s Richard, who’s sitting in for his ill father and too busy checking out his new nose in his phone camera to notice much of anything. And finally, Ed, who somehow manages to drone on about his wife and how she’s cheating on him in every meeting.
“And so, I looked through her phone while she was sleeping, and I saw the text she sent to him,” Ed is telling Richard, who looks like he doesn’t even know Ed’s beside him. “I shook her awake, and when she saw the phone with me, she burst into—"
“Alright,” I cut him off, looking around the table. “The movie’s back on track, which means it’s time to focus on acquiring Caldwell Media. We need their theatrical network and streaming platform for distribution.”
Richard finally lifts his gaze from his phone. “Yeah, we were beginning to worry that this whole thing would backfire. I mean, a studio?” he tuts. “This is a tech company.”
“ This company is whatever I say it is, Richard. The last thing I want to do right now is entertain bullshit, so please, spare me.”
“What’s the movie about again?” Ed asks.
“It’s a war drama.”
“Those don’t make a lot of money, do they?” Richard quips.
“What would you know about movies?” Marcus rolls his eyes.
George turns to me. “How’s the deal coming, now that Henry Caldwell’s . . . indisposed?”
“Indisposed?” Marcus laughs. “The old bastard’s in a coma.”
“He’s probably going to die soon.” Richard shrugs.
“Jesus Christ!” George stares at him like he wants to hit him.
“What? He’s like, eighty.”
“I’m negotiating with his son, Kane,” I reply, cutting off their bicker.
“You guys are friends, right?” George throws Richard a dirty look. “If Henry had handed the keys to the kingdom to his son, this deal would’ve been sealed by now.”
Marcus raises an eyebrow, his expression almost smug. “By the way, Silas. Is it true you and your fiancée split?”
“Marcus!” Ed warns.
My temper flares, a slow burn from the bourbon fueling it. “This isn’t the time, or the place, for gossip. We’re here to talk business—not to discuss my personal life.” My voice comes out like a whip, snapping the tension in the room.
Richard glances from his phone and picks up the conversation thread, “Did she break things off, or was it you who did?”
“One more word about my love life, Richard, and I swear to God, you’ll have to get yourself a new nose.”
There’s a stunned silence, and then they all nod, eager to move on. I grind through the rest of the meeting, my patience wearing thinner by the minute.
***
By the time I’m back in my office, the lingering heat from the bourbon has dulled to a slow, simmering anger. I pour myself another drink, barely tasting it as I stare at the stack of contracts on my desk.
There’s a knock. “Whoever it is, get the hell—"
The door opens behind me, and I look up to see Cassian.
He’s wearing his usual mix of casual and functional—khaki pants, a black shirt that clings to his frame, his dog tags faintly visible beneath the collar. His expression is cautious but warm. And for a moment, it feels like the tension in the room eases.
“Cassian.” I offer a small smile, gesturing to the bottle on my desk. “Drink?”
“It’s barely ten.”
“So, no?”
He shakes his head, smiling. “Trying out this sobriety thing.”
“Since when?”
“Since today.” He grins, settling into the chair across from me. “Figured I’d give it a shot.”
“I’d rather you take this shot.” I sip my drink, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. “But yeah, I admire the optimism.”
We lapse into silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken memories filling the space between us. Finally, Cassian shifts, breaking the quiet. “I finished the war scenes for the movie. Thought I’d swing by to say goodbye before I head to D.C.”
“You’re leaving New York? Isn’t it home?”
Cassian smiles. “Home for me is on the move, man. It’s always been. There’s this contract I have to oversee in D.C. personally.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be good for me.”
I nod, a pang of disappointment settling in my chest. “Appreciate you coming around, man.”
He studies me, and I wonder if he can see my barely concealed anger and pain. “I heard you’re heading to Rome soon.”
The glass in my hand feels heavier. I set it down, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. “Yeah. The film festival’s coming up.”
“You know I’ve never been to Rome?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look. “I was gonna go, you know? When we were posted away, Ezra and I, he always said he was gonna shoot his first movie in Rome. I always joked about joining him over there on a much-earned vacation.”
I grit my teeth, memories of my brother’s laughter haunting my mind. “Let’s stop talking about Rome.”
“Got it,” he says quietly, leaning back in his chair. He hesitates, glancing down, before he speaks again. “I also heard about Leah. I’m sorry, Silas. Shit happens.”
I laugh, but it’s a cold, empty sound. “Sorry? I’m getting used to it. I’m starting to think misfortune’s just part of the deal. I loved her, but yeah, shit happens .”
Cassian shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “Look, Silas, you can’t control everything. Sometimes, it’s about letting go of what you can’t fix. You know who told me that?”
“Ezra?”
Cassian smiles sadly as he looks past me. “It’s funny how my biggest comfort after he died was his own words.” He refocuses on me. “Just let it go, man. That’s all you can do if you’ve tried your best, and it didn’t work out.”
I hold his gaze, one eyebrow raised. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
Cassian shrugs, giving a faint smile. “Depends on whether you actually want comfort.”
I let out a long breath, the bourbon fogging up the edges of my mind. “The only thing I can control right now is this deal with the Caldwells. And that’s what I’m going to do. That’s what I’m going to focus on.”
Cassian nods, understanding etched into his handsome features. “Alright, so pretend I’m a blank board and bounce ideas of the deal off me.”
I brighten up. “Yeah?”
“Anything to take your mind off this Leah thing.”
We discuss strategy, reviewing the acquisition details and analyzing ways to appeal to the Caldwell family’s interests. The conversation shifts into familiar, comfortable territory, the kind of pragmatic discussions that have always grounded me.
And then my phone rings.
I glance at the screen. It’s Richard. Prick.
“What do you need?” I ask when I pick.
He snorts. “Why do you assume I need something?”
“Am I wrong?”
The last time he called me, he needed me to bail him out of jail after driving drunk and fearing his father’s reaction. That was before Richard Sr. took ill. The time before that, when Richard called me, he needed something else, although it’s been so long that I can’t remember.
“Actually, you are,” he says, sounding proud of himself.
“Don’t waste my time, Richard.” I glance at Cassian, who’s shaking his head at his phone. He looks up at me, and I can see that he is dying to tell me something as well.
“Ugh. You’re gonna thank me when you hear this, but Henry Caldwell is dead. Just came in. Figured you’d want to know.”
I end the call, setting the phone down with a sense of finality. Cassian’s eyes meet mine, a quiet understanding passing between us. “Did he tell you—"
“Henry Caldwell is dead, yeah.” I nod, thinking of Kane. He must be devastated.
“This is an opportunity, you know,” Cassian says, his tone careful. “Shit, I don’t want to sound callous. I mean, I met Kane, and he was a great guy, but this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“An opportunity,” I echo, the words feeling hollow even as I recognize their truth.
My fingers hover over the screen as I call Kane Caldwell, my voice steady as I offer my condolences. Kane’s response is brief, but there’s a hardness in his tone that wasn’t there before. “Silas, I’ll honor the agreement, but there’s one condition.”
I brace myself, not entirely sure what he’s about to demand. But then, I remember what I told him before I helped with his family’s debt. I made him fix things with his fiancée, Tamara.
“Are you gonna tell me to—"
“Fix things with Leah?” he asks. “Yeah. Fix things with Leah, man. Do that, and yeah, we’ll work out the deal.”
“Kane, look, this is different from—”
“I have to go make arrangements for my father’s body, Silas. It was good talking to you. We’ll circle back when it’s done.”
The call clicks off.
His words land like a punch, the final blow to an already bruised spirit. For a moment, I’m at a loss, caught between disbelief and the faintest spark of hope.
“What did he say?” Cassian leans forward. “You have to go to London?”
“He gave me a condition.”
“What?”
“Fix things with Leah,” I repeat the words with a bitter echo. “He wants me to fix things with Leah before we can talk business.”