20. PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA #2
With a jagged, broken sound escaping his lips, he threw himself back into his seat and pushed the door open.
He walked around the front of the SUV and hauled me out of the car with his massive arms around my waist. He lifted me off my feet as he buried his face in my neck while holding me against the side of the vehicle.
“I’ve got you,” Silas sobbed into my skin. Each word hit me like a fierce promise. “I swear, you’re safe with me, Cal. Always and forever.” Framing my face with both of his large, warm hands, his thumbs wiped the tears from my cheeks.
Silas was the type of man who sometimes struggled with fully understanding the complex and messy emotions of the people around him, often searching for the right words to navigate human trauma.
But right now, standing on the side of a noisy highway, he pushed past every single one of his own cognitive barriers to be exactly what I needed.
“Listen to me,” he eventually said after we’d been standing there for a while. “That man was a monster. He failed you in every conceivable way a parent can fail a child.”
He stepped closer, pressing our foreheads together, his eyes locked onto mine with a burning intensity.
“But he didn’t break you, Callum. He may have tried his absolute best, but he failed. You are the strongest and bravest man I have ever met. Not only did you survive a hell I can’t even begin to fathom, you became the man who saves me every single day. You survived so you could find me.”
Silas kissed me, a desperate, consuming, wet collision of lips that tasted of grief and salvation.
“I love you,” he whispered against my mouth.
“I love every single scar, every single fear, and every single memory. Your trauma and anger are valid, but you are not that little boy anymore. You are Callum Reed-Kincaid. A fucking king and my husband. And I promise you, I will burn the world down before I ever let you feel cold or hungry or scared ever again. Do you understand me?”
Nodding frantically against his hands, I sobbed. “Yes.”
By the time we pulled into the long, winding driveway of the Donovans’ sprawling suburban home, the emotional storm in the car had settled into a quiet, unified exhaustion.
There were several cars parked in the driveway and lined up along the side road, signaling that my sisters had completely abandoned their own busy lives to be here.
The second Silas pushed the oak front door open, we were enveloped in a smothering, chaotic tidal wave of pure love and warmth. The house smelled like roasting garlic, fresh bread, and the expensive vanilla candles Cindy loved to burn.
“My boy!” Cindy practically flew down the hallway. She threw her arms around my neck, pulling me into a fierce, suffocating hug that instantly anchored my feet to the ground.
“Mom,” I breathed, hugging her back, burying my face in her shoulder as I let the scent of her perfume chase away the ghost of Ewan.
David was right behind her. He bypassed me for a moment to wrap Silas in a massive bear hug, patting my husband heavily on the back. “Good to see you, son. Thank you for getting him here safely.”
“Always.” Silas smiled, looking instantly at ease in the chaos.
Then came the sisters. Heather, still dressed in a razor-sharp, tailored, charcoal work suit, having clearly bolted directly from the law firm, wrapped her arms around my waist. April, the bossy, fiercely maternal eldest sister, squeezed my arm, while Sarah was currently curled up on the massive sectional sofa under three fuzzy blankets, waving happily at us.
April’s husband Michael emerged from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon, wearing an apron over his button-down shirt, a wide, welcoming grin on his face.
The evening bled into a beautiful, desperately needed blur of love and laughter.
We sat around the massive dining room table eating Michael’s incredible food and catching up.
They didn’t push me to talk about Ewan. They didn’t mention work, or Si and I running off and getting married.
They just loved me, loudly and unconditionally, offering the exact brand of chaotic healing I craved.
Later, after the kitchen was clean and the household had settled into a comfortable hum, I stepped out onto the back porch.
The crisp Philly night air felt amazing against my skin.
I heard the sliding glass door open and shut, and my dad joined me, holding two mugs of hot tea.
He handed one to me, taking a spot leaning against the wooden railing beside me.
For a few minutes, we looked out over the massive, manicured backyard in silence.
“I spoke to Fiona today,” David finally said, his voice a low, steady rumble. I took a slow sip of my tea. “How did that go?”
“About as well as you’d expect,” David said dryly.
“She won’t be calling your number again, I can promise you that.
But I was able to verify the estate details with the county clerk.
Everything, the house, the contents inside, the bank accounts, was left solely in your name.
Legally, the property is yours to dispose of. ”
I stared down into my mug, my stomach twisting.
“Just sell it. Sell it as is. Have Mom reach out to her old real estate colleagues who handle distressed properties in that area and see if they can just flip it to a developer. I don’t care what they do with it.
Bulldoze the damn thing for all I care. I just want it gone. ”
David nodded slowly. “I agree, and Mom is already drawing up the paperwork for you to grant her power of attorney over the sale. But, Cal…I have to encourage you to think for a minute. Are you absolutely certain there is nothing in that home you want or need for yourself? A keepsake? A photo? I will happily drive down there with you tomorrow. We can walk through it together. But once the deed is transferred, everything inside is gone forever.”
I fought the immediate, visceral urge to shout no.
“There’s nothing in that house but rot, Dad. I don’t want anything from him.”
“Alright. Then it’s done. We’ll handle the rest.”
By midnight, the house was finally asleep. I was completely, utterly drained, running on pure emotional fumes. I grabbed Silas by the hand, dragging my massive husband up the carpeted stairs and down the hallway to my childhood bedroom.
Flicking on the light. It had been left exactly, perfectly, as it was when I’d packed my bags to head on the road for the first time at twenty years old.
The walls were plastered with old wrestling posters, pictures from my high school amateur days, and polaroids of me, my sisters, and David and Cindy.
Sitting in the center of the room was a small, creaky full-size bed that was going to struggle to hold two oversized, heavily muscled grown men.
I sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning in protest.
Silas looked around the room with a wide, infinitely amused grin. He picked up a framed photo from my dresser, a picture of me at sixteen sporting a questionable, side-shaved haircut, holding a trophy.
“Oh my God,” Silas laughed, holding the frame up. “You look like a terrifying, punk-ass delinquent who would steal my lunch money.”
“I probably would have,” I smirked, exhaustion making my limbs heavy.
He sat the frame down, turning back to me with a soft, teasing smile. “And this bed? My shoulders alone are going to take up half the mattress. If I roll over, I’m going to throw you through the window.”
“Come here,” I murmured, grabbing him firmly by the waist of his pants. I forced him to stumble between my spread knees, and then wrapped my arms around his hips. I pulled us both backward until we crashed onto the small mattress.
The bed protested loudly, but I didn’t care. The intense, emotionally gutting weight of the day had left me hollowed out, and the only thing that could fill the void was the grounding weight of my husband.
Silas scrambled over me, his hands pinning my wrists to the mattress as he attacked my mouth with a hungry, desperate heat.
The kisses were sloppy, open-mouthed, and wet, chaotic collision of tongues and teeth that made my head spin.
I bucked my hips up against his, the friction of denim jeans rubbing together sending a sharp, electric shock of need straight to my groin.