40. Silas #2
I thought about the last time I saw my grandparents.
Nonna crying at the train station, peppering kisses all over my face, stuffing biscotti in my pockets like that would somehow keep me close.
Nonno, standing a little behind, trying to look like he wasn’t about to cry, shaking my hand like I was a man and not an eight-year-old kid.
“Non ti dimenticare, eh?”
Don’t forget us, okay?
Like I ever could.
“Do you miss it?”
I paused for a second. Did I miss it? No one had ever asked me that before.
The narrow village house, the smell of garlic in the walls, the Sunday markets, the constant noise from the neighbours. The way Nonna would hum while making fresh pasta, the way Nonno would sit outside with a cigarette, shaking his head at the world like everything in it had disappointed him.
I lifted my coffee again. “Every day.”
Lilith was quiet for a moment as she watched me. “Graves doesn’t sound very Italian,” she said, then winced a little. “Sorry, that probably sounds ignorant.”
I huffed a laugh, smirking slightly over the rim of my mug. “That’s okay, you’re not wrong. It’s because it’s not.”
She arched a brow. “So what’s the deal? Where’d it come from?”
“It was suppo sed to make things easier.”
“Easier how?” she asked.
“Mama changed our last name when we moved. Said it would help us blend in, keep people from treating us differently. Our real name is Gravina.”
“Silas Emilio Gravina.” She tested the name like she was already trying to fit it into the version of me she knew.
“Not a huge change. But Mamma wanted us to sound… American. Figured it would help with jobs, school, everything.”
Lilith studied me. “And did it?”
“Not at first.”
Because no matter what our last name was, we were still different. And I learned real fast that people didn’t care what you called yourself when you still looked, sounded, and acted like you didn’t ‘belong.’
So, I adapted. Learned to speak their language, walk their walk, play the game exactly the way they wanted it played. I let them see only what I wanted them to see. What I could do. What I was good at.
I figured out real quick that being the smartest guy in the room wasn’t just an advantage. It was the only fucking way they’d let me stay in it. So I made damn sure I was. Out-thought, outmanoeuvred, outworked everyone. Until eventually, they weren’t the ones letting me in anymore.
Because I was the one who owned the room.
I hadn’t realised I’d stopped talking until I heard Lilith’s soft inhale.
“That sounds exhausting,” she said quietly.
“In a way,” I muttered with a shrug. “But it was necessary. It was what it was.”
I glanced over at her. Her eyes were soft, searching.
Like she was trying to piece me together, figure out how all the parts of me worked.
It made something tight curl in my chest. Silence stretched between us for a minute as she tapped a finger against the island.
“So you’re a manufactured mountain man.”
I huffed out a laugh, thankful for her change in topic. “Something like that.”
Her lips twitched. “I can just imagine it. You, out in the woods, chopping firewood with those arms. All sweaty and rugged.”
“You’re picturing a Brawny paper towel commercial, not reality.”
“I’m picturing you in a flannel with an axe over your shoulder. Maybe a little dirt smudged across your jaw. You’d make one hell of a hot lumberjack.”
A laugh caught in my throat as I shook my head. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”
I grabbed a piece of toast, using it as an excuse not to look at the glittering little grin she had plastered on her face.
“I’m from Maine,” she said, tearing off a piece from a croissant.
My muscles seiz ed.
Her eyes flicked up and she sighed. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”
I pressed my lips together, shame flickering at the edges. Then I nodded.
“What don’t you know about me?”
“A lot, I’d imagine.” I leaned back slightly, watching her carefully.
“Hm,” she drummed her nails against the counter. “Ask me something, then. What do you want to know?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “You fell off the grid for over ten years. Where did you go? What happened?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I didn’t go anywhere. I just wasn’t… out there. Kept to myself.”
I stayed quiet, giving her the space to continue.
“Some… stuff happened.” She shrugged. “I stayed in hostels. Some shelters. Spent a while figuring shit out. Got a few shitty jobs. Lived in apartments where you had to sleep with one eye open and keep a kitchen knife under your pillow.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You know. The usual.”
The usual.
There was nothing usual about any of that. Heat slithered up my spine, slow and smouldering. How the fuck hadn’t I known this? I felt like an idiot.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a—” I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Lilith, you just casually told me you were homeless. That you had to sleep with a weapon just to feel safe. And you’re acting like you had a bad roommate experience .”
She shrugged. “I mean, it was a bad roommate experience. Except the roommate was life, and life is a big old bitch.”
My lips parted. What was I supposed to say to that?
I ran a hand over my jaw, a sharp laugh pushing its way through my teeth. Not because it was funny, but because I didn’t know how else to react.
“I’m serious,” she said, nudging my thigh with her knee. “It’s fine. It’s just what happened. I got through it.”
I turned to face her fully, leaning an elbow on the counter, scanning every inch of her face. “How?”
“How what?”
“How did you get through it?”
Silence.
“Trial and error, mostly,” she sighed, stretching her arms over her head, hissing a little at the movement.
My gaze flicked to the bruises along the visible parts of her body. They were healing, but not at the speed I wanted.
“I could real ly do with some fresh air,” she said, cutting the conversation short.
I huffed a laugh, trying to keep my voice light. “What, the air conditioning not good enough for you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I mean actual air. Outside air. I could do with my own clothes, too. Check in on Katniss. See Molly.”
No.
She wasn’t ready. She could barely move without wincing, and Clark was still out there. Every second she was out in the open was another chance for him to find her. Another risk I wasn’t willing to take.
“You need to heal,” I said, taking a bite of toast. “Why don’t you text Molly? Ask her to come over? She can pick up some clothes for you, bring them here. Bring whatever you need.”
Safer.
Controlled.
No risk of her stepping outside these walls.
She hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.”
Relief spread through my chest, even as I forced myself to stay composed. I grinned, nudging her slightly. “Good. I’ll give you the address.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, resting her head on my shoulder.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to thank me. That this was just how it was. That there was no way she was going back into a world where he was still breathing, still searching.
Instead, I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and let her settle her weight against me as I took a sip of coffee.
She was safe.
She was here.
And that was the only thing that mattered.