Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Of course, we never actually finished that conversation, either. I just…” He trails off, but I don’t say anything while he finds the words.
The last thing I need is to start talking over him on top of everything else.
“I don’t know where your head is at. I feel like all these weird things keep popping up, and then you brush it under the table and act like everything’s normal. ”
When he brings his hand up to push back my hair, I let my eyes fall closed for a minute. My hair really is getting too long, but I’m such a fucking slut for when he touches me like this.
“I promise I’m not dodging you and I’m gonna do better. But can we please not talk about it yet. I miss you.”
I push my face further into his hand. Every word I said is true. I’m not trying to avoid it. But Silas has been the one rock-steady thing about my life for the last year, and having this distance between us is making me feel unmoored.
Silas’s eyebrows draw together. He looks almost mournful. But he heard me, clearly, because he gently tugs me closer to him until we’re finally kissing.
It’s a slow, lazy kiss, combined with both of us touching each other everywhere we can.
I sink into him a little more every second until I’m basically in his lap, and he takes advantage of the position to wrap his arms around me and hold me in place.
It all feels luxurious, and like the world is correct, for the first time in so long.
I get lost in it, and I know Silas does, too. Neither of us tries to push it any further, content in the moment. My body turns syrupy and relaxed, and I finally start to feel like I can have a conversation about my feelings or whatever without all the meat boiling off my bones.
Of course, that’s when my phone rings. Well, vibrates. It buzzes on the coffee table, making a hard, sharp noise that interrupts the peaceful mood. We both ignore it, but I can feel the peace slipping away from us.
The buzzing stops and then immediately starts again.
All my worries about what could possibly be wrong creep in, until I can’t concentrate and pull myself away from Silas.
It takes some contortion to reach the phone without extricating myself from Silas’s lap, but I manage it.
Like an idiot—a hungover idiot—I swipe to take the call without actually looking at who it is.
“Hey man, I have great news about the race. We’re so on. And since I got you involved, people are throwing down way more than they should; the betting just got interesting. My uncle wants me to confirm that you’re in before it gets out of hand.”
“Chris?” I ask, like an idiot.
I can practically hear him roll his eyes.
“Yes, it’s Chris. Are you still hungover? Jesus. Eat a burrito or something and get your shit together, because we’re racing tonight.”
“What?”
I’m so confused. I don’t think Silas can hear the other end of the conversation, because he’s frowning at me with a question in his eyes, and if he knew what I was talking about he’d probably look more pissed.
I gesture to him to give me a second and then climb off his lap, only barely managing to not fall to the floor in the process. Once I’m standing, it’s easier to go to the kitchen and get a little distance so I can pull my thoughts together.
“Wait, what are you talking about tonight? I thought this plan was for like, days from now?”
I’m mumbling, but I don’t know if it’s enough for Silas to not hear. I’ll explain everything to him when I’m off the phone, but I’d like for that conversation to not start as an uphill battle.
Chris answers me, talking super fast and animatedly about his plan and his uncle’s buddies and bunch of other shit I half listen to.
Apparently tonight is the only night that works with all of our schedules.
Which, of course, reminds me that I have fucking work tomorrow night.
And then there’s something about the quality of the riders and the whole fly-by-night secrecy of it is getting everybody excited, and word has spread that they all need to get their bets in fast.
When he asks me to try and get Silas involved, I don’t even bother to pretend, I just say no. There’s no way Silas would ride in a competitive context, and I wouldn’t want him to. Not when I know how much he hates it.
I’m still not convinced I’m going to do it. It seemed like a great idea last night, but that was when I was farther from the specter of Silas’s disappointment and concern.
Then Chris interrupts his monologuing to tell me what the pot is already at, and sweet Jesus fuck. That’s a lot of money. More than I expected in such a short amount of time.
That’s the kind of money that could make a dent in this custody situation, I realize. And with that thought, I remember all the reasons I was so excited about the idea in the first place, and all the research I’ve been doing.
It’s been a fuzzy couple of days and I’ve definitely been drinking more than I should, so the details got lost for a while there.
But now I remember. And I remember the sheer urgency of the situation.
Because it only takes one day or one random event to have Dad change his mind, or Mom to relapse hard, and suddenly my sisters are being taken across state lines into danger by someone I’m not legally able to stop.
I don’t have a choice. It’s just one shitty race. The race is fine, even if I’m still exhausted and not exactly at my peak. It’s managing Silas’s anxiety around me riding that I’m worried about.
“Yeah,” I say, realizing I’ve left him in silence for too long. “Yeah, man. I’ll be there. I’ll see you tonight. Thanks.”
I hang up, trying to dig around in my head for the right words to ease Silas’s fears. Of course, when I turn around he’s standing right there in the entry to the kitchen with a storm cloud of emotion on his face.
It’s not exactly what I was expecting. Anxiety, yes. Anger? Not quite.
“So…” I trail off.
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” Silas repeats himself, arms crossed over his chest. “I really don’t like being made to play the role of a nagging housewife, but absolutely fucking not. You are not going to kill yourself over a drunken fucking bet.”
“Dude, it wasn’t a drunk bet.” I step toward him with my hands reaching, but he tenses up so I don’t come any closer. “Yes, we were drinking and it was stupid of me to stay out so late. I really am sorry. But I’m serious about the race. This is too much money to pass up, Silas.”
Silas pauses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose for a second.
“I know you have a lot of trauma around money. I get it, I really do. But baby, when are you going to get it in your head that we’re not fucking broke anymore?
We can afford to throw away food that’s gone bad, we don’t struggle to pay the bills, we have this whole fucking house to live in for just property taxes.
We give your sisters enough to make sure they’re comfortable.
Things are good. I mean, neither of us is going to a four-year college, but I don’t think we missed out there.
Take a fucking breath. You don’t need to keep going like you’re fighting for your life every day. ”
It’s possibly the most words I’ve heard him say in a single string, but it definitely doesn’t hit me the way he was hoping.
“First of all, you don’t have to therapy-speak me.
She talks to you that way because you two are in a professional relationship and it makes it all impersonal.
When you start talking to me that way, it makes me feel like I’m talking to a chatbot.
I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick, but please just talk regular. ”
I take a breath, vaguely aware that this is not the road I want to start down but it’s too late to stop my momentum.
“And second of all, yes, I do have trauma around money. Which is why I know how quickly it can be taken away. Just because we can buy groceries doesn’t mean we’re safe.
Either of my parents could go fucking crazy and make a mess in an instant.
Your dad could show up here anytime he wants and fight you for the house.
We—” I gesture between the two of us— “are not the kind of people who get taken seriously when the cops get called. Or something goes to court. In fact, people take one look at me and assume I’m guilty of something.
It’s just who I am. Literally the only thing we can have on our side is more money than the degenerate fucks that raised us.
That’s it. That’s our whole safety net.”
Silas’s eyes are wide, and he’s leaning away from me a little, making me wonder just how unhinged I look right now.
I can’t stop, though. I have to make him understand. I need him to understand.
“I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to.
I’m not even asking you to race. I love you, I don’t want to see you hurt.
But I can’t pass up on something so simple that has the chance to get us as much cash—under the table, I should add—as either of us makes in a month!
You can’t ask me to do that. Not when I need money if I want to get my sisters safe. ”
Silas’s hesitation drops, and he leans towards me again.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about the genius plan you had to steal your sisters from your mom and adopt two fucking children without even asking me. How stupid of me.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love them.”
I can hear myself getting bitchier by the second, but I’m powerless to stop it, apparently. Silas is the only person I ever let boss me around, apart from the girls, and apparently there’s a limit to that, too.
“Of course I love them,” Silas says, throwing his arms to the side.
“You know I love them. And I’ll fight with you to protect them.
But I don’t think it’s protecting them to start what will be a stressful, prolonged legal battle over a what-if.
I also don’t think your mom deserves this when she’s been working so hard this year to stay clean.
Even if it’s just mostly clean. And I really don’t think it’s okay to make unilateral decisions about adopting fucking children when we’re supposed to be partners.
I’ve never had a boyfriend before but I thought the lack of surprise children was supposed to be one of the perks. ”
“How are you only funny when you’re being a dick to me?” I’m not changing the subject. I’m not. “Explain to me how that works.”
“Explain how I’m being a dick to you. Please.
” Silas is looking more desperate by the second, and it’s making my anger back down incrementally.
“I love you. I’m scared that you’re hurting yourself right now because you won’t fucking talk about what’s really bothering you.
And I don’t want you to race—illegally, hungover, and on a whim—just to potentially make some money that we can get safely. Please stop.”
I throw my head back, covering my eyes with my hands.
I know he’s making sense, and I know he’s only doing this because he cares.
But it’s like the part of me that understands that and the part of me that’s in charge right now refuse to fucking talk to each other, and I’m just a passenger, trapped behind a glass wall.
“I’m so sick of hearing ‘please stop’. You, Tristan, Mom, everyone.
Nothing is wrong. My dad being in town is making me a little antsy but it’s not the end of the world.
I caught a sad case at work and went out to drink about it.
I like rough sex, but until a few days ago, so did you.
I’m not doing drugs, I’m not driving drunk or shotgunning beers to get out of bed or going to work with anything in my system.
I got in one fucking ill-advised fight with Dad, and that was a long time coming, in the grand scheme of things.
Why is everyone so bent out of fucking shape right now? I’m—”
“So help me god, Cade, if you tell me that you’re fine right now, I will go sleep at Ford’s. I’m telling you to stop because you’re so caught up in this weird, self-destructive momentum that you can’t even see it anymore. And you’re not listening to me.”
I force in a deep breath, then blow it out.
Then another, then another. I continue to tilt my head back with my eyes closed until I can wrangle all the anger and other emotions coursing through me into some kind of submission, because as pissed as I am, I still never want to fight with Silas.
Especially because I know how much he hates conflict.
If I want to argue with someone I can go yell at Mom.
When I finally ease up a little, I look at him again and see him taking stock of my face and posture, and I do my best to bring down the tone.
I speak softly, and take a small step toward him.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t think any of this was going to upset you like it did, or I would have been more careful.
I will be more careful. But I don’t want to pass on this money just because we’re fighting.
Especially when we’re really fighting about a bunch of other stuff.
Please just come with me? You can watch, I’ll win some cash, we’ll go home.
We’ll sleep all this anger off, I’ll stop doing stupid selfish shit, and in a week it’ll all feel like a bad dream.
And I promise we’ll talk about the custody thing more before I do anything, because you’re right, I did spring that on you.
But please, right now, can you come with me?
I don’t want to ride thinking about how angry you are at me. ”
I wince, because I didn’t mean for that to come out all manipulative and shit. I was shooting for honesty.
“You don’t have to,” I say as a quick correction. “If you don’t want. I’ll be fine. But I would like it if we could go together. And we’ll talk more when I get home, no matter what.”
“Yeah, because talking in the middle of the night is going to be so helpful.”
“Please, Silas? Will you please do this for me?”
There’s a long, scary silence before he finally answers.