Chapter 20 How Long?
Bailey
It’s been a month since he showed me those photos in his office. A month since I saw Here through his eyes and started wondering if maybe, just maybe, I’d been wrong about that place all along.
A month of us dancing around the question: what happens next?
In that month, I went up to Here once more, spending less time at On the Rocks and more time in Silas’s bed.
I also started therapy sessions, which makes me cry a lot, but Silas has always been just a phone call away so I could sob to him over the phone or he could distract me by video calling me and giving Echo a new toy.
Now, the bass of Ginuwine’s “Pony” throbs through my apartment speakers as Silas runs a microfiber cloth along my bookshelf in slow, deliberate circles.
He’s wearing the banana bathrobe—the one Hunter gave him as a gag gift eight Christmases ago—and absolutely nothing else underneath. I know because I checked. Thoroughly.
“This is not how you’re supposed to clean,” I say from the couch, watching him work.
“This is exactly how I clean at Buffed & Polished.” He does a hip swivel that makes the robe flare. “You’re getting the full experience.”
I’m wearing my own robe—a simple gray one that is a nearly comical contrast to Silas’s pink bananas. I changed into it as soon as I got off my last work call of the day.
The Thai food should be here in twenty minutes. We ordered too much, but that’s fine. Silas will be here for a few days, and we’ve got plans that don’t involve leaving the apartment.
This is shaping up to be the best Monday ever.
Silas moves to the kitchen, still doing that stupid sexy cleaning routine, and I’m contemplating dragging him to the bedroom when my phone rings.
I frown and reach behind me to grab my phone from my desk.
It’s Hunter.
I gesture wildly at Silas and somehow he gets the memo to kill the music.
I answer the phone. “Hunter. Hey.”
“Where are you? I’m like minutes away and you haven’t answered any of my texts.”
My stomach drops and my eyes widen. “You’re on your way? Why?”
The color drains from Silas’s face. We both look around the apartment at the same time.
His glasses on the coffee table. His running shoes by the door next to mine. The two wineglasses I’d just set out for later. His overnight bag visible in the bedroom doorway.
Us both in our bathrobes.
“Since the bar is closed today I was browsing Facebook Marketplace for skis, as one does in April, since people are either upgrading or spring cleaning. Anyway, this guy was selling a sweet pair of Nordicas that have barely been used . . .”
My brother keeps rattling on while I grab the wineglasses and run to the kitchen with them. Silas is throwing his clothes into his bag, bathrobe flapping all over the place.
I cover my microphone. “You need something to wear!”
“And there’s an accident on 87, and since I’m off tonight anyway, I thought, well, I’ll just stay the night at my favorite grump’s instead of sit in traffic for two hours. Okay, I just parked. I’ll be up in a sec. See you.”
My brother hangs up.
“We don’t have time. Silas, you have to hide.”
He’s hopping on one leg, pulling on his jeans. “What, all night?”
“The bedroom!” I hiss. “We’ll sneak you out.”
“I can’t hide in your bedroom like some—”
Footsteps come up the stairs quickly—Hunter taking them two at a time—and then stop outside my door.
We freeze, staring at each other.
Silas is standing there in just his jeans, holding his banana bathrobe, looking at me with absolute panic in his eyes.
I mouth “bedroom” at Silas again, and he hesitates, but he shakes his head. His expression shifts. Resolute, and maybe resigned.
He’s not going to hide.
He’s shirtless. He’s holding a bathrobe. There’s no explanation for this that doesn’t end in disaster.
“Coming!” I call out, my voice way too high. Fuck. I guess we’re doing this.
I open the door.
Hunter’s standing there with a pair of skis slung over his shoulder, looking exhausted. “Hey! Traffic is insane. Eighty-seven is a parking lot. Some truck jackknifed near—”
He stops. His eyes move past me into the apartment.
To Silas. Standing there. Shirtless. Holding the banana bathrobe Hunter gave him.
The grin slides off Hunter’s face like ice melting in the sun.
“What the fuck.”
It’s not a question. It’s flat. Emotionless. Which is somehow worse than if he were yelling.
The skis clatter to the floor.
“Hunter—” I start.
But my brother isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s staring at Silas with an expression I’ve never seen on his face before. Something cold and furious and utterly betrayed.
“Hunter, let me explain—” Silas begins.
“Explain what?” Hunter’s voice is still too calm, too controlled. He steps into the apartment, and I instinctively move aside. “Explain why my best friend is standing half naked in my sister’s apartment? Wearing the robe I gave him?”
“It’s not—” I try.
“How long?” Hunter asks.
Silence.
His jaw clenches. “How. Long.”
“A few months,” I whisper.
“A few months.” He repeats it like he’s testing how the words taste. Then something inside him breaks. “A FEW MONTHS?”
The yell makes me jump. Hunter’s face has gone red, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“You’ve been fucking my sister for MONTHS?” He advances on Silas, who stands his ground but drops the bathrobe. “I asked you—at Thanksgiving, at Christmas—I asked if you were seeing anyone. And you looked me in the eye and LIED.”
“Hunter, I can explain—”
“EXPLAIN?” Hunter’s voice cracks. “Explain what? That my best friend has been sneaking around with my sister? That every time Bailey came to visit, she wasn’t there to see me—she was there to fuck YOU?”
“That’s not fair—” I start, but Hunter whirls on me.
“ISN’T IT?” His eyes are bright, whether with rage or tears I can’t tell. “Tell me I’m wrong, Bailey. Tell me that all those extra visits, all those times you said you wanted to spend more time with family—tell me that wasn’t about him.”
I can’t. Because he’s right.
Hunter laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s an awful, broken sound. “Jesus Christ. My two favorite people in the world and you both—”
He stops. Takes a breath. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? Finding out that the two people I trust most have been lying to my face for months?”
“We didn’t want to hurt you,” Silas says quietly.
“WELL YOU FAILED.” Hunter’s fist slams into the wall next to him, and I flinch. “You failed, Silas. Because this? This hurts like hell.”
He kicks one of the skis in frustration, sending it skittering across my floor.
“I thought we were brothers,” Hunter says, and now there are definitely tears in his eyes. “I thought—you were supposed to be my brother. And she’s my sister. And you—” His voice breaks. “You were supposed to tell me things. Both of you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Hunter, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. “You’re sorry? For what? For lying? For sneaking around? Or are you sorry you got caught?”
“That’s not fair!” My own anger flares now. “You think this was easy? You think we wanted to hide this?”
“THEN WHY DID YOU?” Hunter roars.
“BECAUSE OF THIS!” I yell back, gesturing at him. “Because I knew you’d react like this! Because I knew you’d make it about you instead of—”
“Instead of what? Instead of the fact that my best friend is breaking every unspoken rule we’ve ever had? That he’s been—” Hunter can’t even finish the sentence. He makes a disgusted sound and turns away.
Silas steps forward. “Hunter, please. Just listen—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Hunter’s back is still to us, his shoulders rigid. “I don’t want to hear how it ‘just happened’ or how you ‘didn’t mean for it to go this far.’ I don’t want your excuses.”
“It’s not an excuse,” Silas says, his voice steady now. “I love her.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Hunter turns slowly. “What?”
“I love her,” Silas repeats, and his eyes find mine. “I’m in love with Bailey. Have been for years. And yeah, maybe we should have told you sooner. Maybe we should have been honest from the start. But we’re not apologizing for being together.”
“Years?” Hunter’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You’ve been in love with my sister for YEARS and didn’t think to mention it?”
“What was I supposed to say?” Silas’s frustration is finally showing. “‘Hey, Hunter, I know she’s your sister, but I can’t stop thinking about her’? That would have gone over well.”
“Better than THIS!” Hunter gestures wildly at the apartment, at us. “Better than finding out by walking in on—whatever this is!”
“This is us trying to figure things out!” I jump in. “This is us trying to—”
“To what?” Hunter’s eyes are hard again. “What’s the plan here, Bailey? He lives in Here. You live here. What, you’re just going to keep sneaking around? Keep lying to everyone?”
Neither of us has an answer.
“That’s what I thought.” Hunter’s laugh is bitter.
“You don’t even have a plan. You’ve been together for MONTHS and you haven’t figured out the most basic thing.
” He points at Silas. “You’re never going to leave Here.
And you”—he points at me—“you’d rather die than move back. So what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’ll move here,” Silas says suddenly.
“What?” Hunter and I say at the same time.
“I’ll move to New York,” Silas continues, his eyes on me. “I’ll sell the business, leave Here, move—”
“NO.” The word explodes out of me. “You are not giving up your entire life for me.”
“Then what?” Silas’s hands spread wide. “You move back? We keep doing this?”
“I don’t know!” My voice cracks. “I don’t know, okay?”
Hunter is staring at both of us like we’ve lost our minds. “This is a disaster. You are both so infuriating.”
“Hunter—” Silas starts.
“No.” Hunter’s voice has gone cold again. Distant. “You know what? Figure your shit out. I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t mean that,” I say.
“Don’t I?” He looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes makes my chest ache. “Because right now, I’m looking at my sister who I thought I knew, and my best friend who I definitely thought I knew, and I don’t recognize either of you.”
“Where are you going?” I ask as he heads for the door.
“I don’t know. Somewhere that isn’t here. Maybe I’ll grab some mochi donuts. Or maybe I’ll just walk until I stop feeling like the world’s biggest idiot for not seeing this coming.”
He grabs the skis from where they fell. “I’ll leave these in the hallway. I’m not carrying them around the city.”
He stops at the door, his hand on the knob.
“Silas?” His voice is quieter now, tired.
“Yeah?”
“You remember when we were fifteen? When you said you wanted to marry my sister and I punched you in the face?”
“I remember,” Silas says warily.
Hunter turns around, takes three steps forward, and punches Silas in the face.
Silas staggers back, his hand flying to his nose as blood starts streaming between his fingers. “FUCK!”
“HUNTER!” I scream, but my brother is already grabbing paper towels from the kitchen, shoving them at Silas.
“Tilt your head forward, not back—you’ll choke on the blood,” Hunter says, his training kicking in.
Silas takes the paper towels, pressing them to his nose. His voice comes out muffled: “Did you just punch me and then immediately start giving first aid?”
“Shut up. Hold still.” Hunter’s checking his nose with surprising gentleness for someone who just threw a punch. “It’s not broken. You’ll be fine.”
“I can’t believe you punched me,” Silas says.
“Look, you maybe didn’t deserve it seventeen years ago, but you definitely deserved it this time.” Hunter steps back, shaking out his hand. “There. Now we’re even.”
“Even?” I find my voice. “You just punched him!”
“Yeah, and I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw him standing in your apartment half naked.” Hunter looks at Silas. “Feel better?”
“Actually,” Silas says, still holding paper towels to his nose, “yeah. Kind of.”
“Good.” Hunter nods. “Because I meant what I said. I’m still pissed. I’m still hurt. And you two still need to figure your shit out. But”—he pauses—“you hurt her, best friend or not, I will end you.”
“I know,” Silas says.
Hunter looks at me. “And you—visit more. Actually tell me you’re visiting. No more sneaking around.”
“I will,” I manage.
“Love you, grump.”
My throat goes tight. “Love you too.”
My brother shakes out his hand. “I do feel better, but I still want those mochi donuts. I’ll be back in twenty and for god’s sake, please be dressed when I get back. Then you can feed me dinner since you ruined my evening.”
Then he’s gone, and the door clicks shut behind him.
Silas and I stare at each other in the sudden silence. He’s still holding paper towels to his face, standing shirtless in my living room, blood on his chest.
“He punched you,” I say.
“He did,” Silas agrees.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so?” He pulls the paper towels away cautiously. The bleeding has mostly stopped. “That actually hurt less than I expected.”
“I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Which part? The punch or the complete emotional devastation?”
I sink onto the couch. “All of it.”
Silas joins me, carefully, testing his nose.
I lean against him and kiss his cheek, careful to avoid his injury. “You can’t move here.”
“Bailey—” He turns his head and we’re nose-to-nose.
“I mean it. I won’t let you give up Here for me.”
“Then what do we do?”
My eyes roam over him, looking at his face. At the way blood is drying on his upper lip. At his glasses, which somehow stayed on through all of that.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But we’ll figure it out. Right?”
“Right.” He pulls me under his arm, pressing a kiss to my hair with his free hand still holding paper towels. “We’ll figure it out.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and we sit there in the quiet, holding each other.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, I let myself think the impossible thought that’s been growing in my mind since I saw those photos.
What if I’m the one who moves?