Chapter 13 The Wager
Bailey
It’s been three weeks since I cried in my apartment over photos that were supposed to make me feel beautiful. Three weeks since he dropped to his knees and promised to give me pebbles. Three weeks since I said “I’ll try.”
I haven’t found a therapist yet. My calendar has been a nightmare—the Martha’s Vineyard trip ran long, then there was an emergency in the Western Mass project. I told myself I’d start looking after things calmed down.
Things haven’t calmed down.
But Silas hasn’t pushed. He texts me every morning—sometimes it’s just a coffee emoji, sometimes it’s a photo of Echo doing something ridiculous, sometimes it’s You’re beautiful and I hope you have a great day. Little pebbles, just like he promised.
That familiar cowbell clangs as I walk into On the Rocks. Friday night, and the place is packed. I’ve come to Here for the weekend, staying with Hunter this time.
My mom protested, but since I stayed with them last time I was in town—or at least, the last time I was in town that they knew about—I could beg off. Plus Hunter’s place is closer to Silas’s and it means I won’t have to deal with my mother and her food issues first thing in the morning.
Silas and I don’t have a plan for how to get some time alone together, but we’ll figure it out.
Hunter and Morgan are behind the bar and busy, but they both shout my name when I come in. I lean over the bar for a quick kiss on the cheek from my brother. “Silas and Kit are in the game room if you wanna hang with them,” he shouts at me.
I go around the corner and into the back room where the dartboard and pool table live.
Since it’s ski season, the black rubber mats are on the floor and everything’s slightly wet.
It’s late enough that most people are out of their ski gear, but there’s still piles of jackets and the occasional clunk-clunk-clunk of someone walking around with their ski boots on.
I spot Silas immediately at a high-top with Kit and a couple other people I know. Our eyes meet across the room and something electric passes between us. I’ve been back in Here for all of two hours and already feel the full-body anticipation.
Kit gives me the giant hug Morgan and Hunter were too busy to give me, lifting me slightly off the ground with his enthusiasm. “Bailey! Finally!”
Then Silas. He steps in for a hug—quick, friendly, the kind you’d give your best friend’s sister. But his hand lingers for half a second at my lower back, his thumb brushing against my spine through my shirt, and it takes everything in me not to lean into him.
“Hey,” he says, his voice lower than necessary. “Good to see you.”
“You too.” I step back before I do something stupid like kiss him in front of everyone.
Three weeks is too fucking long.
Also at the table are Quinn and Jared, whose family owns the brewery down on Main Street.
“We’ve got next on darts,” Quinn says.
“Bailey should play next. The campers have been hogging the board and with Bailey on the team we have a chance of taking it back for the Herevians tonight.” Jared tips his beer at me.
His voice is gruff, perpetually cranky at something, whether it’s invading tourists (which the town could definitely use, by the way) or cursing me out from that time I accidentally knocked his backpack over in the cafeteria and spilled his Red Bull.
You’d think having a child would have mellowed him out, but nope.
“Campers?” I say, eyebrow raised. I look at the other group.
“They are camping at the base to get the first run in tomorrow,” Silas explains.
I look around the room—Quinn in her flannel and work boots, Jared complaining, Kit with his easy charm that makes everyone feel welcome. These are the people who stayed. Who built lives here.
And me? I’m the one who left. The one who comes back for weekends and holidays, who doesn’t know about Sunday Fun Day or which trail to take to the fire tower anymore.
Three weeks ago, Silas asked if I’d ever move back to Here. The idea was absurd then.
It’s still absurd. Right?
“Who’s going to help me?” I ask.
“I’ve got to relieve Grandma at seven so she can go to bingo at Schmidt’s, so I’m out,” Jared says. He sounds excited about his Friday night, single-dad plans.
Quinn tugs her ponytail. “I’m happy to play, but I’m not as good as Silas or Kit. Maybe I can catch the next round?”
Kit and Silas look at each other. “Rock paper scissors?” Kit offers.
“Two out of three,” Silas agrees.
They bust out a quick 3-2-1-shoot, 3-2-1-shoot, 3-2-1-shoot, and Kit wins. I’m bummed not to be playing with Silas, but when a young, scruffy guy in a threadbare shirt with a beard pokes his head out of the doorway to let us know it’s our turn, all five of us head in.
Kit and I school the tourists with Jared, Quinn, and Silas cheering us on. The campers—there are six of them—move over to the pool table while Quinn and Silas challenge us on the dartboard. Jared gets on his soapbox about the best off-piste skiing with the visitors paying rapt attention.
I’m lining up my shot—just need double bulls to close out—when Hunter appears at my elbow.
“There’s my favorite sister.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, and I have to lower my dart to avoid stabbing him.
“I’m your only sister.”
“Technicality.” He grins, then nods at Silas. “You keeping her entertained?”
Silas doesn’t miss a beat. “Trying to. She’s beating me pretty badly.”
“That’s my girl.” Hunter squeezes my shoulder with pride. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the bar, but you two have fun. Silas, make sure she doesn’t leave without saying goodbye, yeah?”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Silas promises, and there’s something in his tone—something private—that makes my stomach flip.
Hunter doesn’t notice. He’s already turning back toward the bar, calling out to Morgan about something.
The moment he’s gone, Silas reaches for his beer with one hand, and sneakily finds my lower back again with his other hand, that same spot from earlier, and this time his thumb makes small circles that have nothing to do with friendly and everything to do with I want you.
I glance over my shoulder. Kit’s been sucked into the hiking conversation and Quinn’s MIA. “You’re playing with fire,” I murmur, not moving away.
“Worth it.” He steps back before anyone notices, but the heat in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Your shot, temptress.”
Kit and I win, and then we switch up the teams, women versus men. Quinn and I still win. Then she gets called away to chat with some friends about a book club, Kit goes to get another drink and never returns, and Jared looks at his watch and says, “Fuck me. I’ve gotta go.”
That leaves just Silas and me and the campers.
The game room is slightly off from the main bar, around the corner and more secluded. Silas twirls a dart between his fingers and leans on the table next to me.
“My brother’s pretty occupied,” I point out. It’s only seven-ish, and the crowd has only thickened. “We could go back to your place.”
Silas smiles down at me. I’m sitting on a barstool and he nudges my knee with his hip. “We’ve got time. Your brother will probably be behind the bar till ten or eleven, especially if you’re busy doing other things.”
“Other things like . . .” I tilt my head back. “You?”
Silas leans closer, his gaze darting to the doorway over his shoulder, checking to make sure my brother can’t see us. “Why don’t I order us some dinner, get you another beer, and then we can make a wager?”
“A wager?” My thighs tighten in anticipation. Silas is so close now, his breath warm on my cheek.
He taps my thigh with a dart, and even that small touch sends electricity through me. “You win, you get to come on my dick. I win, I get you coming on my dick.”
I laugh so loudly it draws the attention of the guy closest to us at the pool table. “So it’s a win-win, is what you’re saying?”
“Exactly.” His eyes twinkle, but there’s heat behind them too. “I’ve been thinking about you for three weeks, Bailey. I’m not picky about the details.”
My breath catches. Three weeks of morning texts and late-night phone calls where we talked about everything except how much I wanted him. Three weeks of him dropping pebbles while I tried to convince myself this was still just getting it out of our systems.
“Just a game of darts?” I manage.
“Just a game of darts.” But the way he’s looking at me says it’s anything but.
Five minutes later we’ve got fresh beers, our dinner ordered, and we’ve started the next round. Silas is good—not as good as me—but enough to keep it interesting.
“You’re letting me win, aren’t you?” he asks as he pulls his dart from the triple eleven. All I’ve got left is bullseyes and seventeens, while he’s closed out the seventeens and has been racking up points.
Not enough to win, mind you.
I act offended. My second beer went down nicely and I’m feeling loose and happy. “I would never besmirch the integrity of the game like that.”
He takes his shot, hitting a single bull closing it out. Damn, guess I gotta wrap this up now. “I think we’ll have to raise the stakes next round.”
“SILAS!” My brother’s voice carries over the conversation and the clack of the pool balls. “DINNER!”
Silas gets our food—smash burger with Paul’s candied jalapenos for me and tots and wings for him. We pause the game to eat our messy food and I catch Silas watching me with a heavy gaze while I lick the aioli off my finger.
I’m facing the dartboard, so I slip my middle finger completely into my mouth and suck.
His eyes roll back. “Fuck. Let’s finish this game and go home.”
“No, no, no,” I tease. “You had some other stakes in mind. You owe me another game.”
I’m about to say something else when one of the campers—a woman with a nose ring and a Patagonia vest—leans over from the pool table. “You two are cute together. How long have you been dating?”
My brain short-circuits. Silas goes very still beside me.
“Oh, we’re not—” I start.
“Just friends,” Silas finishes smoothly. “Known each other forever.”
“Really?” She looks between us, skeptical. “The way you’re looking at each other, I just assumed . . .”
“Nope.” I force a laugh. “He’s actually my brother’s best friend. Has been since we were kids.”
“Huh.” She shrugs and goes back to her game. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The moment she’s gone, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Silas’s hand finds mine under the table, just for a second, squeezing.
“We need to be more careful,” I whisper.
“I know.” But he doesn’t look careful. He looks like he wants to kiss me right here in front of everyone.
“All right.” Silas wipes his hands with a napkin, having finished the last wing. Then he puts his elbows on the table, leaning into me. It’s intimate, and I catch myself looking at Silas’s lips.
“Here’s what I want. I want to play another game of darts with you. And if I win, I’ll do another photo session with you for free.”
My stomach drops. Another session. After what happened last time—the crying, the breakdown, the shame of not being able to see what he sees.
“Silas—”
“Wait, let me finish.” He holds my gaze, serious now. Too serious. Too intense.
“You just want to pick out the outfits I wear, don’t you?”
“No.” He doesn’t take the bait and tease me back. Instead, he leans in closer, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. He pushes a strand of hair back behind my ear and his cheek grazes mine. “You’ll be naked.”
I pull back to look at him. “Why?”
“Because last time you were worried about how your body looked in lingerie. In a pose. With styling.” His thumb traces my jawline. “I want you to see yourself without all that. Just you. Nothing to hide behind.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“That’s why it’s a wager.” His smile is soft, patient. “You can say no.”
I should say no. I should tell him I’m not ready for that kind of vulnerability again.
But he’s been texting me pebbles for three weeks. And maybe it’s time I give him something back.
“Okay,” I say. “Deal. But what do I get if I win?”
His eyes light up—part surprise that I agreed, part anticipation for what comes next. “What do you want?”