12. Storm #2
He laughs and turns to me with what he hopes is a charming grin. “Well, she forgot we were friends when we were kids,” he points out. Then shields his mouth with his fingers and whispers toward Max. “And that she had a crush on me.”
My jaw drops with a gasp. What does he think he’s doing? Max is a kid, he doesn’t need to hear that.
Our food is placed in front of us, crowding the table and giving me no room for a quick rebuttal. But what would I say? That he’s lying? That would make me the liar.
Silas shrugs once the staff clears out. Then leans in to grab a wing. “I mean, I assume she did. Why else would she chase me around when we were kids?” This time, he winks at me.
A familiar buzz fizzes in my stomach.
Because this is the way Silas and I always worked. We were best friends who tossed each other into the mud—challenged each other. We didn’t make time capsules and lifelong friendship pacts.
Max seems overexcited with this information as his eyes dance between us—swirly straw in mouth and a slice of pizza in one hand.
Okay—I’ll play.
“Well, it was a long time ago, but if I did chase you around, it was to get close to your brothers.” I pick up a wing and dip it in dressing.
“Bullshit. Which one?”
“Both,” I say with a mouthful—which I never do anymore.
Silas doesn’t seem sideswiped by it in the least. “Joke’s on you, they’re practically married now—’fraid you’re stuck with the black sheep,” he says as he points a carrot stick at me.
I swipe it from him and take a bite.
“What’s a black sheep?” Max asks.
Silas flicks his gaze to him, but I’m still hanging on to what he meant by the “stuck with” part. “A member of a family who’s . . . different,” he answers.
Max ponders on that. “And . . . you’re the black sheep?”
Silas shrugs guiltily.
“Why does that sound like a bad thing? You’re the coolest guy in town. Maybe in all the towns.”
Silas smiles at him, soft and genuine and something in my chest gives. “Funny, ’cause I think you’re the coolest kid in town.”
Max glances at me awkwardly. “You haven’t met many kids in town, have you?”
He laughs. “Full disclosure—no. But I doubt any of them would ever think to ask me what I’d wish for.” He hands him a celery stick.
I see Max’s eyes light up, but to his credit, he doesn’t give away too much about being self-conscious about their conversation.
He takes the celery stick, crunching on it the same time Silas does.
“And I never got a chance to tell you,” he adds. “If I were to be the one to catch one of those little creatures, I’d share my wishes with you.”
“With me? Really? Wait. Did you figure out what you’d want?”
I’m mid-bite, my fingers and lips covered in barbecue sauce when Silas looks my way. “I did.”
“Is it for a chance at the Stanley Cup?”
His eyes flick back to me and this time I let mine meet his. “It’s for a chance at something, all right.”
Breaking eye contact because I don’t know what he’s saying or how to take it, I turn to Max. “Have some of the chicken too, honey, and drink water.”
“One. Then can I go back to play?”
Please.
“Sure,” I say, hoping it sounds casual and not like I’m trying to get rid of him so I can set some things straight with the last person I need in our lives right now.
Max inhales his chicken tender and soda and races back toward the arcade.
“Not bad,” I tell him, tearing the wet cloth pouch and wiping my fingers clean of the sticky sauce. “You fixed it. And all by yourself.”
Silas swipes the wet napkin from my fingers and replaces it with another heavily sauced wing. “One more. You can do it.”
I groan at my freshly ruined fingers. “Oh nooo. I only get the one wet nap. You’re going to have to give me yours!”
He points at me like he’s setting ground rules. “You are licking those fingers clean like we both know you want to. I had no problem getting myself dirty for you today, the least you could do is return the favor.”
I chuckle and lick one sauce-covered finger, his eyes dancing with delight as I do. “Oh, was that a favor you did for me earlier? Or was it a way to get what you wanted out of me?” I take a bite and lick my lips between chews, which draws his attention, his eyes lost in them.
“Lot of good that does me now,” he throws down his napkin and leans back like he’s got a real dilemma. “How am I going to prove that Storm Dalton admitted to having a crush on me? There’s no way people will buy it.”
I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure folks here will believe anything you tell them.”
He picks up a carrot stick and swings it in front of me.
“No more food.”
“It’s a goddamn carrot, Bee. Take a bite.”
My stomach dips every time he uses that nickname again, and I hate how much I like it.
I look at the dry carrot. “We’re out of dressing.”
His eyes drop to my lips and before I realize what’s happening, he reaches over and swipes the carrot along my bottom lip and holds the stick in front of me with a smirk. “Found some.”
I laugh and take the damn carrot, glancing around us. “That’s gonna earn you front page on tomorrow’s paper, hotshot.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Worth it.”
My grin fades as I snap back to reality. Him having a whole other life outside of here. The arm that’s clearly starting to heal enough for him to boycott the sling. And the kid who just found out that Silas Thorne and his mother were friends.
This is wrong.
Wrong and stupid.
“I’ve got to go.”
He leans back, his expression sobering. “I’m sorry. That was . . . forward and inappropriate, I guess?”
Inexplicable panic starts to set in and an urgency to go. “It’s just getting late. I need to get Max a bath before the—” I stop, catching myself because Silas doesn’t need to hear my building’s plumbing problems. “Before his bedtime.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. “All right. I’ll get this settled and get you guys home.”
I nod and glance around us. Truthfully—I don’t care who sees us together in town. I’m not hiding anything. But I don’t need rumors spreading that will give Max the wrong idea—or bring him into the chaos that comes with the world Silas lives in.
He’s been around one week and found a means of entertainment. That’s all this is. A time-filler until he can get back to the bigger and better he’s always chased.
I turn onto my street, thankful—and also surprised—when he doesn’t say anything about the building. For once, I’m relieved it’s not well-lit. The six-story complex has seen better days—I’m almost sure. But its exterior is far more acceptable than the interior. And the way it’s operating.
I glance around the street and bite back a groan. Not only did I likely miss the hot water window, but there’s also no way I’ll find a parking spot at this hour.
I glance at Max in the back seat, deeply invested in the new Polaroid camera he won with all his tickets.
I’m in the driver’s seat to spare Silas trying to keep proving something and driving with one good hand. He insisted on seeing us home and then taking an Uber back to the ranch.
“Used to have friends who lived around here, I think,” he says, then adds quietly, “always a bitch to get to.”
“Yeah, it’s a little off the grid, I suppose. But still in town . . . somehow.” I trail off as I scan for an empty spot.
“Hey, you mind if I drive your truck back to the ranch tonight? I’ll fill her up for you and pick you both up in the morning.”
My eyes drop to his arm.
He stretches it as if to show it’s mobile. “I’m fine. Promise.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I . . . don’t know. Max needs to be at school early and it’s a good twenty-five minutes from here.”
“I know,” he assures softly. “I’ll be here.”
“All right.” I agree, because if he doesn’t take my car tonight, I’d need to park this thing on the other side of the highway and risk being ticketed in the morning.
He nods and we both hop out of my truck. “Which one are you?” he asks, opening Max’s door.
I faintly hear an exchange on the other side of the car when Max points up to our window and our apartment number.
My breath catches when he starts toward the building with us and I grab his arm. “Silas.”
He turns, his eyes dropping to my hand as he steps closer. “Storm, I’m walking you to your door,” he says flatly.
“There’s no need. We’re good. I promise.”
He glances back, licking his lips. “Then I’ll wait down here until I see a light turn on.”
I release a breath. “Thank you. And thank you for dinner. Max . . . needed that.”
He keeps his eyes on me. “I did too.”
A slow familiar ease settles in my stomach as I let him hold my gaze. If this was closure, then maybe I needed it too.
“Fine.” I exhale and hold out my hand in a truce. “I’m officially no longer bitter for you ghosting me in high school.”
He laughs. “I’m glad.” Then he takes my hand, pulling me in close. “But I call bullshit.”
“What?” I breathe, conscious of Max a few feet away.
“Think you and I both know it’s going to take a little more than wings and a cheap Polaroid camera Max got with his tickets before we get there.”
“Well, then I’m letting you off easy.” I glance at his arm. “Besides, not much more you can do in four weeks.” I can hear the challenge in my voice and I wonder how intentional it was.
His easy grin disappears but I don’t feel bad.
Because we both know when that clock strikes, we’ll all be seeing the smoke in his wake.