Silent Is The Heart

CHAPTER 39

Aaron

I knew something was wrong when I woke up alone. He’s never gone off and left without saying goodbye.

The radio in the Suburban repeats what I heard earlier on my lunch break. S&H Tattoo robbed. I still can’t believe it. This is the last thing he needs after everything I’ve put him through lately.

When I stopped by the shop, Wolf said he took off as soon as the police were done getting a statement from him early this morning. I checked my house, thinking he might be waiting for me there like he used to. Except he wasn’t. He hasn’t answered any of my messages or calls either. There’s only one other place he could be…

Turning off the road onto the gravel drive that leads to the water’s edge, I spot his bike parked next to the ivy-covered pump house. He’s here. At his spot .

I can’t believe he drove his bike in this rain. Give it another ten-degree drop, and it’d be sleet. This is ridiculous. He’s taking his SUV back, whether he likes it or not.

Scanning the shoreline, I can’t find him anywhere. There’s no shelter out here unless he snuck into the old pump house, but it looks like it’s been boarded up for decades.

Rounding the corner of it, my shoes splash against the wood decking that overlooks the shore. I’m ready to give up hope, finding nothing but the drab backdrop of the dormant ivy that blends in with the worn dock under the dreary light of the overcast sky. Squinting through the rain, I blink when something moves, assuming it’s a trick from the droplets in my eyes. I blink again when I see skin, tatted skin that nearly blends in with his scenery.

He’s soaked to the bone, literally. Elbows resting on his bare knees, his fingers are steepled under his chin. My God, why is he in nothing but his boxers? It’s freezing out.

Eyes closed, it almost looks like he’s sleeping, sitting upright with his back to the ivy. His hands move, sliding up over his lips like someone lost in prayer, and he opens his eyes to the sky. I don’t know how big of a hit this robbery was to him, but this can’t be how he goes about ‘ thinking ’ in his spot. This isn’t healthy. Peeling off my coat, I rush toward him.

“Easton? What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze to death.”

“Did you play me?” he calls in a strange tone I’ve never heard him use. “Was it all a game?”

“What?”

“The money.”

I don’t understand. Is he panicking about finances now that he’s been robbed? “I told you…I didn’t want to accept the things you brought over. I could have done without all that furniture.”

Snickering an ugly sound, he shakes his head.

“You’ve seen my office. You know where my safe is.”

What? Oh, God. He can’t possibly think it was me.

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and burying his face in his arm like he’s exhausted. “You needed money. Jason shows up— not dead. You fuck with my head about opening up. You get me to fall in love with you. Was that your plan all along?”

It’s the first time he’s said the actual words, declaring his feelings for me. What I would have done to have prevented it from being like this.

“You can’t possibly think that,” I choke out around a painful lump in my throat. “Please tell me you don’t think that.”

Scrubbing his face, he shakes his head like he’s battling demons. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just money.”

“What did the police say?”

“They interviewed the most likely suspect.”

“Your father?”

His bitter laugh has me regretting how quickly I came up with that assumption. “Yeah. I guess his parole officer saw the news and remembered where he was staying— my father. The ‘ murderer.’ That one, remember?”

I’m shocked he almost sounds defensive about him after all the hatred he had inside years ago. I didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive the man.

“I’m sorry I said that the other day. I was just worried about you. I know what a hard time you had with it when you were at Hampton.”

“Don’t,” he snaps.

First, I accuse his father, then I say one of his trigger words, ‘ Hampton .’ This is going fantastic.

“Is he still at the station?”

“They let him go. He checked into a halfway house just like he said he would after I kicked him out the other day.”

“That’s good,” I offer supportively, but he levels me with an appalled look. “How is it good?”

“It’s good that he didn’t do it after you already had trust issues with him. I couldn’t imagine dealing with that if he had.”

Grimacing, he seems to sit in that for a moment. I hope it means he believes I have no ill will toward his father and that my only concern is for him. Clearly, he’s conflicted about the man. I’m honestly so proud of him for being brave and strong enough to take him in. Not many people could do that.

“I went to see him,” he says absently. “He had a theory about who might have done it.”

I wait, hoping there’s some lead that can help him restore what he’s lost. I keep waiting when he glances over at me until I feel the suspicion in his gaze. I think it cracks my heart in half, imagining how he must feel right now if he believes what he’s accusing me of.

“Easton…I told you. I would never.”

“Maybe not you,” he adds gravely. “Maybe someone who knows your boyfriend does all right financially. Where is old Jason, by the way?”

Jason? Why would he think Jason had anything to do with the robbery?

“I haven’t seen him since…like Thursday.” I try to wrap my head around the possibility, but I never even told him what Easton does for a living. “He wouldn’t,” I assure him. “He’s not a thief. And besides, how would he have even known that was your shop? I never told him where you worked.”

He rises rigidly like he can’t deny the effects of the cold. “How did he know where to find you?” he asks, sounding tired, almost like he’s figured something out that I haven’t. “And don’t you think it’s odd that he took two years to contact you?”

I want to argue and tell him he’s just spun up over everything and drawing wild conclusions. I don’t know how Jason found me, though. He said he found out I was working back at Hampton Hills from the internet, but that doesn’t explain how he knew where I was staying. George didn’t own the cottage I’m staying in when Jason and I first started dating.

“I’ll ask him,” I mumble, my stomach churning, wondering what the new Jason was capable of. He picked my lock, after all.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It definitely matters. If he stole from you, he needs to admit it and return whatever he took.”

“No. It doesn’t matter,” he grumbles again, picking up his leather jacket to reveal his clothes protected underneath it. I try to make sense of why he was so clearly upset about the robbery, only to sound like he doesn’t care now.

“ What doesn’t matter?”

“Any of it,” he huffs, stuffing his wet legs into his jeans. “I’m the son of a criminal. You’re married. It’s never going to work.”

“Easton, I know things seem so screwed up right now—more screwed up than I could ever think possible—but I love you. None of this changes how I feel about you.”

“What the fuck is love?” he rasps, his voice sounding more worn than I’ve ever heard it. Bending down, he grabs his jacket. “You were depressed, and I had a crush. And then our realities came back to us. If you don’t see the wake-up call, your head’s in the clouds. It’d never work. We were fooling ourselves.”

I think I like it better when he holds things in. His logic cuts me to the bone.

“Easton, you don’t mean that. I know you don’t.”

Shoving his bare feet into his boots, he levels a look at me. “I told you. I’m not the marrying type.”

I could cry and tell him how much it hurts me to see him put that bullshit armor of his back on, but I’m part of the shitshow that caused it. Maybe not by choice—I didn’t ask for Jason to show back up in my life, but I could have done a better job of letting Easton know he wouldn’t be a part of my future. When he stomps past me, I grab a hold of his arm.

“Easton, stop. Please. You’re just hurting. You don’t mean this.”

I find myself backed up against the soaked ivy as he pivots and steps toward me. He hasn’t laid a hand on me, but the wild look in his eyes is a side of him I’ve never seen.

“Do you know the thoughts that went through my head?” he whispers, only inches away from my face. I can see how red his eyes are now and the sad lines on his face. He’s shivering, his lips tinted purple. “How I thought about you and him sitting there laughing and plotting the whole thing?” he continues. “How I thought about him fucking you? You moaning and smiling under him? How I thought about what it would feel like to have my hands around his neck?”

It’s a disturbing picture, but even more so because of the self-hatred I can see all over his face as he grimaces and chokes up. “Because I did. You know why?” he steps back, panting, and spreads his arms out wide. “Because I’m the son of a criminal. It’s in my blood. I’m no good. Is that love?”

He lets out a broken sound that mirrors the sob that falls from my lips and then swipes the rain from his face, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the fuck love is, but if it’s that , I don’t want it—and you shouldn’t either.”