2. Silas
SILAS
TWENTY YEARS LATER
“Silas!” Rami shouts, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “You’re here!”
Here is the first of many tiny-house builds that Rami has planned for this summer, and all the Wildlings are here to support him. I check my phone.
I’m the last to arrive, and it’s five fifty-eight.
In the morning.
I have killed men for less.
At the very least, I regret leaving Cupcake at home.
Cupcake is my hundred-pound emotional support Cane Corso, and she was not having it this morning. Looking around at all the happy, fully awake people organizing supplies and greeting volunteers, she had a point.
I try to discreetly step away from Rami, but he drags me into an even more effusive hug. “This is going to be so. Much. Fun!” he exclaims, swaying me back and forth. “I’m so glad you could make it!”
A large hand lands on Rami’s shoulder and gently pulls him away from me. I bite back a smile.
Oakley.
I’m probably not supposed to have a favorite Wildling, but I do. Maybe it’s because he was the first to insist that I’m one of them. Maybe it’s because he looks like the love child of an Olympic powerlifter and a Greek god.
Both. Definitely both.
When I try to pick a favorite feature, I get stuck. Thick eyebrows. Strong cheekbones. Square jaw. Perfect belly. Oh—and his thighs. His calves. His square hands. That thick, dark hair you just want to get lost in.
I haven’t even mentioned the fur on his chest. It’s a daily struggle not to bury my face in it.
Hm.
“Rahm.” Oakley’s voice stirs me from my reverie as he presses a paper cup full of life-saving coffee into my hand. “I’m gonna need you to bring down the enthusiasm, just a hair. Give the caffeine a chance to do its magic.”
I sip my coffee, hiding my flush. Oak sends me a wink.
He doesn’t mean anything by it.
That’s okay.
I still like the way it makes my skin feel alive.
“So, Oak, buddy. You and Mav coming into Wimberley for orientation on Monday?” Rami asks, pivoting with a weird little grin on his face. “It’ll be one helluva first day.”
Oakley narrows his eyes. “Why is everyone acting like Mav and I are walking into a trap?”
Rami snorts. “No reason.”
Honoré, who is quiet—unlike some people—grabs Oakley’s muscular shoulder. “The first day is overwhelming on purpose,” he says in his soft Afro-French accent. “You need to know how it feels so that when we break down how to deal with overwhelming things, you have a baseline.”
“Thanks, Honoré,” Oakley says, glaring at Rami.
I know what’s coming and, like all the team members, have been sworn to secrecy.
Honoré is right, the first day is overwhelming. But I have faith in Oak. He’ll do just fine. Mav, on the other hand? Let’s just say that there are bets on his level of freakout.
Rami pops his brows. “It’s a good thing you got in one more wild sexcapade with that couple last night. You won’t have time for shenanigans after Monday.”
Ouch.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Just like I do every time I find out that Oakley went and had fun with someone not me.
It’s ridiculous to feel this way, obviously.
Unless evil and deeply fucked in the head is his type.
Keep dreaming, asshole.
Oak takes a sip of coffee, sending him the finger.
“I didn’t even see you come in,” Rahm says, still egging him on. “What’d you get, like, three hours of sleep?”
Oakley’s grin is of the shit-eating variety, and my stomach takes another dive.
“I haven’t gone to bed yet.”
I step to the back of the group, my mood darkening. Truett, who’s become a good buddy as well as my barber over the last year, catches my eye. He sends me a smile and pulls his shit-stirring boyfriend into his arms.
“I’m so proud of you for organizing this, Rahm. But Oak’s right. You’re fizzing around like you’ve been given three shots of espresso and a bump of coke.”
Rami grumbles but agrees to tone it down at least until the sun comes up.
Hopper sidles up next to me. “You okay?” he asks, his thick New York accent gravelly with sleep.
I toss my coffee in the trash. “Yeah, sure.”
His eyes follow the movement, but he keeps his mouth shut. He knows me pretty well. Better than the Wildlings.
Hopper’s one of the uncles, and now that he and his husband and their newly adopted daughter, Bailey, live in Austin full-time, he’s my best friend. Honestly, if I can’t have Cupcake here with me, my emotional support serial killer is a pretty good substitute.
Mav stops by with a tray of foil-wrapped breakfast tacos from our favorite Tex-Mex place. He hands me a couple of chorizo-and-egg tacos, each with three fire stickers.
“My dad almost took yours, but I saved him from burning his lips off.”
I dip my chin. “Thanks, Mav. The charred serrano is my favorite.”
He kisses my cheek and moves on.
I take a bite. It’s so good that I almost forget that Oakley got laid last night.
Almost. Definitely good enough that I might have to find some asshole to choke to death after this.
As I hum a happy tune, a thought occurs to me. I turn to Hop.
“Wait. I thought this was just a Wildling thing. The dads are here too?”
Hopper bites into his bean and cheese, nodding. “Mm-hmm. We got on the group chat last night and were talking about how we were jealous that our kids get to do all the fun charity work. I said there was a simple solution, and voilà. We’re all here at the asscrack of dawn to build some shit.”
That’s…great.
“All of you?” I ask, looking around.
“Of course. We can’t expect you to take the giving clause seriously if we don’t.”
The giving clause is attached to our trust funds—no charity, no trust fund. Seems like a fair exchange. Especially since the Wildlings insisted on cutting me in on the fund.
While Hop’s talking, I’m still looking around, hoping that… Oh.
Oakley’s dads are here. Ronan’s glaring at me, his mouth a hard line. Thane, his enormously muscled husband, puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ronan shakes it off.
“Well…shit,” Hopper mutters, standing closer than before. “I forgot they’re on the chat as well. They didn’t say anything, so it didn’t occur to me that they’d show up. I’m sorry. I’d have warned you.”
I lift a shoulder, trying to look like it doesn’t kill me how much Ronan hates me. “It’s okay, Hop. His dads have as much right to be here as anyone else.”
“Hm.”
In the meantime, Oakley sees his fathers and jogs over to them. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying, but Oak seems to be happy they’re here.
Did he know they were coming?
No. He also would have warned me ahead of time.
Oakley laughs at something Thane says. While they’re hugging and catching up, Ronan is still staring daggers at me. Kinda like how you’d look at a dog who just shit on the expensive rug.
The spicy taco turns sour in my stomach. It’s hard to blame the guy when I pretty much agree with his assessment.
Who would want their son to be friends with someone like me?
At least my fathers aren’t—
Double fuck.
I spot Erik weaving through the crowd, followed by Ant, who’s holding Erik’s hand. They scan the crowd, stopping when they land on me, big grins on both their faces.
“Sy, buddy!” Ant says, bounding up to me. “This is great. I’m so happy you came!”
I’m not the tallest guy, but Ant comes up to my chin, maybe. Something about his small stature felt safe to that feral kid rescued from the lab. Still does, really.
Ant was the first person who told me I would be loved, period. Even if I did bad things, even if I eventually had to be institutionalized for my own good. I would be loved, and I was responsible for working out how to be as good and principled a person as I could be.
Erik loves me just as much. He’s quieter in his approach, but the pride in his eyes is… Ah, man.
Keep it together, Sy.
It’s just… I can hardly believe I’m worth all this trouble.
I mean, they’ve never made me call them Dad or Pops or any of the terms of endearment the Wildlings use for their fathers.
And even though choosing to adopt me cost them friendships, they cry really hard whenever I tell them I’m not worth it.
I’ve learned to keep that truth to myself.
As the Wildlings’ dads have begun to accept me, my fathers have been attending more family get-togethers. But they try to avoid Thane and Ronan out of respect for Ronan’s reaction to me.
Based on the glare he’s sending my way, it’s still pretty bad.
“It’s wonderful to see how the Wildlings include you in everything,” Erik says in his gentle Nordic accent.
He and Ant always understood—beyond reason—how to love an unlovable thing. I was a difficult child, but every time I pushed my fathers away, they loved me that much more fiercely. Even though I didn’t have the vocabulary to tell them that I loved them, I did love them.
I do love them.
But a train wreck is about to happen, and I don’t have any hope of stopping it.
Erik stiffens as he catches Ronan looking over here.
“He better stop looking at my son like that,” Ant says under his breath. “Or I will fuck him up.”
“No, babe.” Erik pulls him back. “This is for charity. We’re all going to be adults about things. We’ll stay with our assigned houses, and they’ll stay with theirs.”
Thane and Erik share a pained glance.
This is all my doing.
The Wildlings insist I’m one of them. I believe them, weirdly enough. I just hate that I’m the reason for the palpable tension.
“I can go,” I say with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“Absolutely not,” Hopper says. He turns to me, grabbing me by my shoulders. “You belong here as much as I belong here.”
Ant rubs his chest and sends Hopper a grateful smile. “Exactly.”
We watch as Oakley throws his arms around his fathers and walks them over to their assigned building pads at the far end of the site.
Oak glances over his shoulder as he puts on a hard hat, giving me a quick, encouraging smile.
Oh man.
What his smile does to me… I can’t explain it, and I have no control over it, and now I’m fireworks on the beach.
He has zero clue how I feel about him, and it’s killing me not to run up to him and kiss him and…
huh. As instructional as porn has been, I still don’t feel totally confident about what comes next.
Hopper sidles up next to me again. “If you need a palette cleanser after this, I’ve got a high school coach on the agenda who could use the ol’ Hopper-Sy treatment.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slow. Yes. Murder always comes next.
“Sounds like a plan.”