Chapter 20
I stared at that word “Husband” and a sudden tightness gripped my throat. My eyes closed for a beat before I tossed the note into my nightstand drawer, promising myself I’d keep it forever.
The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds. Coffee was already made, the carafe still warm.
I’d never actually been in this house alone, and despite everything, the feeling of being a guest still lingered.
It was insane, considering Silas had spent months and thousands of dollars renovating this place just for us, for our life together.
He’d made it clear that every floorboard and light fixture was just as much mine as his.
But the fucked-up kid in me still stood there, waiting for someone to ask for my ID.
I took my mug and an old oversized flannel blanket off the couch and headed for the front porch.
The morning was perfect, a crisp chill lingering in the shade, while the air smelled of damp dew and pine needles.
Dressed only in a pair of Silas’s plaid pajama pants that were a little too long for me, I sat on the top step of the porch, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders and cupping the warm mug.
Our home sat on a slight hill, overlooking a massive stretch of the yard that eventually bled into a thick wall of woods.
The morning haze still clung to the air, a fog that made the whole world feel soft and blurred.
My mind drifted along the haze as I recounted how impossible my life felt right now.
As much as it hurt to be on a technical house arrest, I could get very used to this.
Waking up in his bed, drinking coffee on this porch, watching the fog lift…
It was a better life than I thought I deserved.
My truck was gone, Silas must have taken it.
On one hand, it made me glow with pride that he finally felt comfortable enough to just grab the keys and go without asking.
On the other hand, Silas Reed with a truck and a plan was a dangerous thing.
The last time we had a work break, and he’d taken the truck, he returned with a set of artisan porch furniture.
Insisting we needed it because the old stuff wasn’t soulful enough.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, the black truck came rolling up the main road, kicking up a small tail of dust. I smiled, my heart doing that annoying little flip it only did for him.
As soon as the truck tires ground to a stop in the driveway, the passenger door swung open. Vega, the youngest Reed brother, and a certified ball of energy, jumped out with a grin that threatened to split his face. He was clutching an egg carton like it contained crown jewels.
“Cal! Look!” he yelled, sprinting toward the porch.
I stood up, letting the blanket fall off my shoulders as I walked down the steps to meet him halfway. He flipped the lid open with a flourish, showing off a dozen eggs of varying colors.
“Uh, Silas took you all the way into town to buy a dozen eggs?” I asked, trying my best to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “We have a grocery store three miles away, kid.”
“They aren’t for eating, Cal! I’m going to hatch them!” Vega beamed, his eyes wide with excitement.
I looked up when Silas stepped out of the driver’s side, and for a second, my brain just…
stopped. He wore one of my old gym shirts, one I’d hacked the sleeves off until it was basically a deep-cut tank top.
It had a faded band logo on the front, and it fit him like a second skin, showing off the golden tan of his shoulders and the coiled muscles of his arms. He was in a pair of dark jeans, but the finishing touch was a black baseball cap worn backward.
Hoe-lee-shit.
Until this moment, I didn’t know I had a backward-hat-thing.
He looked rugged, domestic, and so effortlessly sexy it made my throat go dry.
I had zero recollection of him ever wearing a hat like that in front of me, but Jesus Christ. The things I wanted to do to him the second we convinced his brother to leave, were currently flying through my brain at a rapid-fire pace.
He walked up to me, smelling like fresh air, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Morning,” I rasped, my eyes tracking the way the brim of the hat framed the back of his neck. “Why did you buy chickens, Silas? Or…future chickens?”
Silas laughed, a bright, melodic sound as Vega happily marched toward the side of the house with his eggs.
“Mav built a coop for my grandfather a few years ago, but he never actually got around to putting anything in the damn thing. Last night, Vega sent me about fifty videos of baby chicks, and I just figured, why not? We have the space, and Vega could use a hobby that isn’t video games. ”
I sighed and shook my head, though a smile tugged at my lips.
Silas’s random fixations were legendary.
Usually, it was small things. A specific brand of espresso beans, an obsession with antique glass, or needing a smartwatch that could track his heart rate during training.
But apparently we’ve moved on to livestock.
“Where’s this coop?”
“Don’t worry, the coop’s in Maverick’s yard.” Silas caught the look on my face and gave me a sharp smirk. He reached out and nudged my shoulder. “But there’s a couple more things in the back of the truck and some bird feed. Help me get them out, Deadlock.”
I reached for the back door of the truck and pulled it open, but I was instantly derailed.
“How much stuff is in— Ah! What the fuck are those?” I screamed, jumping back so fast I collided with Silas.
He burst out laughing as I stared into the backseat of my once-pristine truck, now occupied by a small animal crate.
Inside were two of the strangest, most terrifying birds I’d ever seen.
They had freakishly long, spindly legs which didn’t match their bodies, and they were staring at me with cold, dead, prehistoric eyes.
“They’re modern game hens,” Silas said, still giggling as he leaned over my shoulder. “Aren’t they cool? They look like little supermodels.”
I jumped back from him, pointing a finger at the crate. “They look like velociraptors! Why the fuck are there dinosaur-chickens in my truck, Silas Scott? There is literal hay on my leather seats!”
“Well, they couldn’t ride in the truck bed, Cal. They’d fly away!” Vega added, appearing near the tailgate to grab a bag of feed.
“Silas, if you do not get the prehistoric poultry out of my truck in the next sixty seconds, I will lock you out of the house until the UWF calls us back,” I threatened.
Silas and Vega laughed while Silas brushed past me. He pulled the crate out with ease, which made me more annoyed than it should have.
“Dinosaur chickens,” Silas mused, looking at the birds with an affectionate grin. “I like it. We’ll name the mean one after you.”