31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Jackie
S ilas is distant over the next few days, and moodier. More like the surly, unpredictable guy from the first couple weeks of our road-trip arrangement. He’s started slipping out again in the evenings too, which is something he used to do a lot back when he still had his walls fully erected and was intent on spending time alone. Or at least, somewhere other than with Trudy and me.
I find myself watching him more closely, studying his moods and dissecting his behavior for hints that he might be drinking again, the way he was before the incident that briefly lost him his job.
I don’t really know the various levels of inebriation he’s been in over the time he’s been with me, so my baseline is kind of skewed. So even when I think he’s sober, I still question it sometimes. Especially when he goes out after his phonecalls with Richard, and then falls asleep within minutes of getting back again, usually in the wee hours of the morning.
I hate that I’m thinking these things, and I feel guilty for being suspicious of his sobriety. I shouldn’t feel suspicious of anything that he does, because if this… thing—whatever it is between us, is going to work, then I need to trust him.
At least, those are my thoughts up until the night he goes and blows that trust right up in my face.
I’m working on covers for a three-book regency werewolf romance series (Bitten by a Duke, Howling at the Duchess, and Scavenging with a Marquis, to be exact), and Silas is playing games on his phone when he gets a text. A few minutes later, he announces he’s going to meet up with the bassist and drum player from one of the bands he’s been hanging out with occasionally over the past couple of weeks.
I spend the rest of the evening working on my covers and manage to get all three done. At nine-fifty, I notice Silas is still not back, so I text him. He’s set a recurring reminder on his phone, so he’s never missed a check-in-call. But he’s cutting it really close tonight. He doesn’t answer, and at ten o’clock, he’s still not back. I try calling, and again—no answer.
At ten-fifteen, my phone rings. It’s Richard—not Silas, like I was hoping. I consider not picking up, because talking to him means I’ll have to lie. But I’m assuming he’s tried Silas’ phone, and if neither of us picks up, then he’ll really be worried.
I take the call. I tell Richard that I was supposed to let him know Silas ended up having to go out last minute to help fix something on the stage canopy, but that it slipped my mind. I think the excuse is so random that he buys it. He certainly has no reason to mistrust me—I’ve never lied to him or Meryl before. And I’m gutted that I just did.
We talk for a while and it’s so nice to fall into the familiarity of his voice. It makes me miss him. And Meryl, too. This is the longest I’ve been away from them since they adopted me. Richard catches me up on the local Sandy Haven happenings. The town hall is being re-shingled (again) and there’s a new board game cafe opening up on Main Street. And also, Scarlett’s neighbors were on the news last week. The husband just found out that his ex-wife, who he assumed had taken off with his son to Switzerland twelve years ago, was actually killed by some guy in California. One of those crazy psycho serial killers. The kid is still alive, though. He’s sixteen now, and has been living with the killer since he was three, believing he was his dad. And now he might be coming back to live with his real dad in Sandy Haven, next door to Scarlett .
Honestly, it sounds like something from one of the soap operas Silas has yet to admit he watches with his friend, Maggie. The girl who sent him those texts.
After a while, Richard tells me he and Meryl are heading to bed shortly and that he’ll just catch up with Silas in the morning. He wants Silas to call him at nine, which means he’s still at least a little suspicious of Silas’ absence this evening, otherwise he’d just tell him to hold off calling until his usual scheduled ten pm time-slot tomorrow night.
We say our goodbyes and after I hang up, I suddenly feel really alone. And really let down. I know Silas is off somewhere getting tanked, and I feel like a sucker for giving him the benefit of the doubt and accepting his excuses these past few days for why he’s been going out. Because I know he’s been going out to drink. I just don’t get why . He has a job, and he loves how we’re spending our days. He’s even become invested in the business-side of things, trying out new items to sell and stuff. He admitted the truth—to me and to Richard—about what really happened that day when he was ten. And Richard’s really been helping him get over the guilt. So why the need to go back to sneaking off for these stupid nightly binges, or whatever they are? Why does he need the liquor at all?
Sure enough, Silas shows up shortly after two in the morning, completely hammered. He doesn’t even make it onto the couch this time: he passes out on the narrow section of floor between the couch and the counter. And he’s too heavy for me to move, so I tuck a pillow under his head and that’s where he stays for the night.
When I wake up sometime shortly after eight-thirty, he’s already awake, sitting at the table with his fingers curled around a mug of coffee. His hands are so large that there’s barely any of the actual mug visible.
He watches me with heavy eyes. His face is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. When he sees my expression, he looks totally dejected.
“Shit, Jax… I’m sorry. I am so sorry. ”
I roll my eyes.
“Well, if you’re sorry, then stop doing it. ”
“I will.” He winces. “I let it get out of hand and I’m done. I swear, Jax. It’s the last time.”
I hate that I don’t believe him.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a sip, leaning against the counter across from him. He strokes his thumb back and forth along the curve of the mug.
“What did you tell Richard?”
He doesn’t look up when he asks. And for once, I’m glad to see him feeling ashamed.
“I lied to him, Silas! I told him you had to go out last minute to help the guys fix the tent over the stage.”
He swallows… His eyes meet mine.
“I’m sorry.”
I offer him a nod, acknowledging his apology, but not actually accepting it.
“It was a dick move,” he adds, “putting you in that position.”
“Yeah, it was. I’ve never lied to him before. Ever. And I hated it.”
He doesn’t say anything. He looks gutted.
Good.
“Richard has gone out of his way to be kind to you. And to help you… and he trusts you.”
“I know.”
“So then, why did you do it?” I practically yell. “Why have you started drinking again? And don’t tell me it’s because it’s fun—because I’ve never seen you look like you’re having fun when you’re drunk.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.”
“Wow. Great habit.”
His eyes turn stormy. “Well, I’m sorry, my aunt didn’t sign me up for debate club or fucking scrapbooking.”
I feel a pang of guilt, but then I push it aside.
“Well, you’re not living with your aunt right now! You’re living with me. And you’ve got a job and you’ve been having a blast on our road-trips, and you’ve made friends. You've been talking to Richard to sort through stuff. And I know it isn’t perfect, but you can’t tell me these past few weeks have been so horrible or so boring or so… whatever— that you’re desperate for some kind of escape. And that getting trashed is your only outlet to do that. ‘Cause I’m not going to buy it.”
He flinches, looking away.
“And just for the record,” I add, “I never did debate club or scrapbooking.”
His eyes snap up to meet mine, and he looks genuinely surprised.
“You’re not on the debate team?”
“No! Why would you think I’m on the debate team?”
He shrugs. “‘Caus you’re smart.”
And there he is: the sweet, and oh-so-smoothe Silas that I love.
“Nice try. And also, what the heck is scrapbooking, anyway?”
He grins. “I have no idea… Writing down your feelings in a journal, I think?”
Now I smile. “That’s journaling, you idiot.”
“Oh… So do you do journaling, then?”
I duck my head. “Yes,” I admit into my cup of coffee.
And we smile together this time.
It gives me hope that we will work through this. He feels bad, and he does care. And I think he really does want to change. Still, the hard part for me is the fact that, at the end of the day, it is his issue to fix. I don’t really have any control over it. And I hate not having control.
And I think Silas is scared of taking control. I’m not sure he even knows how.