17. Storm
The stove clicks continuously under my hand, but the damn burner refuses to catch. No matter how many times I turn the knob. I’m conscious of Max behind me doing homework by the kitchen counter and swallow the incessant cursing under my breath.
“Stupid thing worked yesterday,” I mutter. Finally, the fire ignites and I exhale, moving the pot of water over it. “Okay, pasta in fifteen minutes.” I twist toward the counter, shoving aside this month’s bills to think about after dinner.
“Mom, when are we seeing Silas again?”
“Shouldn’t we be thinking about math homework?”
“I need to get a picture. I told Danny and a few other kids and they think I’m lying.”
“Then they’re not your friends,” I tell him, wondering if I have fresh tomatoes for a salad.
“But you and Silas are friends, right? The kids at school said your mom wishes she was friends with Silas Thorne. And Cooper said his dad works at the ranch too so that doesn’t mean anything.”
Annoyance starts to build and I twist to face him. “I’m sorry, honey. I think you should make other friends. Or maybe stop talking about Silas altogether?”
“Mom,” he whines.
Shoot, forgot the protein.
I open the freezer. Stare at bags of frozen corn, ice packs, and steak that looks so frost-bitten it’ll take three days to thaw. I close it again.
A knock sounds at the door and my nostrils flare like I’m ready for a fight. The old man downstairs has been bitching about stomping feet and loud TVs since we moved in. Last time he was here—must be over a month ago—I cursed him out and threatened to press harassment charges.
I wipe my hands down my jeans. Hmm. This time, I think I’ll tell him I’m filing a complaint about unsafe living environments because my child and I are being threatened—I’m sure the landlord will be happy to get rid of the threat to avoid a lawsuit.
I open the door. And it’s not the crazy man from apartment 3C.
It’s Silas.
Standing in the dim hallway like he doesn’t quite fit in the space. Like it shrinks a little when he’s in it.
He’s in a baseball cap that barely covers his identity. Brown jacket over a black T-shirt and a takeout bag tucked under his good arm.
“Hey,” he says. “You going to let me in or just stare at me?”
My shoulders fall. “What are you doing here?”
Before he can answer, a body half my size barrels beside me. “Silas!”
He grins down at my kid like this is the most natural thing in the world. “Hey, buddy. Am I just in time for dinner?”
My chest is tight but it’s the bubbling in my stomach that bothers me. “Come in,” I offer, stepping back, if only so none of the neighbors catch him in the hall.
He steps in and I’m suddenly too aware of the peeling paint throughout the apartment.
He glances at me as he passes—like we share some secret since our kiss the other day.
He sets the bag on the counter and finally answers my question. “My brothers are driving me crazy. So I thought I’d come hang out with my new favorite people.” He flips over to the simmering pot of water with nothing in it and turns off the stove.
“No,” I cry. “I just got that working.”
He flips back to the bag like he’s not surprised and unloads Chinese food cartons. “Got a little bit of everything, figured you can’t go wrong with the specials.” I catch him winking at Max as he passes him a carton. “This was always my favorite when I was a kid.”
Max opens up the carton and the smell of orange chicken fills the room, his eyes lighting. But then my darling kid looks at me with guilt. “Mom, can I have this with your pasta?”
I glance at the useless stove. “I’m not goin’ to war with that thing again. Just eat the chicken.”
I turn to our guest, keeping my tone low and even. “Silas, you can’t keep dropping by unannounced.”
“Then give me your phone number.” He grins and I’m instantly annoyed. My heartrate kicking up because I’m losing count of how many times Silas has shown up, giving Max expectations he shouldn’t have.
I step close, lifting my chin. “Why don’t I give you my boot up your ass.”
He holds up a finger, unphased. “Although that does sound fun, but not in front of the kid.”
He’s got a point. This will have to wait until after dinner.
After a long—and albeit, delicious dinner—I settle Max into my bedroom. It was already an hour past his regular bedtime by the time we finished and he was wiped.
When I step out, the apartment feels quieter than it has all night. The kind of quiet I enjoy after Max is asleep. But now it just means it’s time to tell the man I’ve waited for half my life—to stop coming around.
Silas is on my couch. The sling is off and he’s flexing his arm like it might be some PT regime.
He looks large for the space, his long legs stretched out, knees reaching the wooden coffee table.
He appears relaxed otherwise, like there hasn’t been tension between us since he walked through that door.
The overhead light is off, leaving only the lamp by the window on, casting him in soft shadow.
He’s so solid, broad, athletically built. Unhelpfully reminding me of his hands in my hair yesterday, gripping my wrists together as he kissed me possessively. The way he cradled the back of my head like it was the most natural thing in the world—to hold me like that.
He looks over when he hears me, and something warm flickers across his face. Familiar. Easy. He leans forward, inviting me closer. When I don’t, and stay by the hallway instead, he stands, moving toward me.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say first, because it wasn’t only amazing, it was helpful in a way he couldn’t possibly know. “And for staying.” I bite my bottom lip, drawing his attention to it. “We need to talk.”
“You’re welcome,” he rubs his hands together. “But if I’m honest, I didn’t just come to have dinner with you tonight.”
My eyes flash and heat creeps to my cheeks.
He smirks, like he understands what I’m thinking. “I need to talk to you about something too.”
I frown. “Oh. Okay. But I need to go first.”
He nods.
I suck in a breath and turn toward the kitchen.
“You . . . can’t keep coming around like this.
I appreciate what you’re doing, and I like that we’re .
. . friends again.” I turn, finding his blue eyes once more.
They’re not judging or even confused. Just hearing me out.
“But . . . Max is at an age where he’s not going to understand when you go back to Denver and get back to your life. ”
His jaw tightens as he considers what I’m saying.
“Obviously he knows what you do, but these daily run-ins, or visits, or dinners . . . could leave him disappointed in a way he’s not prepared for.”
He nods, lifting his gaze to mine. “Because once I go, I’m not coming back, right?”
My lips part.
“It’s okay. I get it,” he says softly and it’s a relief because I don’t want to upset him.
“To be honest, Storm, I didn’t think that far ahead.
” He runs his hand down his face. “And perhaps I should have.” His mind works for a beat, glancing back at the bedroom like he wants to plead his case, but then shakes it.
“But what I need to ask you has to do with you and Max—not me.”
I frown. “Um . . . All right.”
He steps closer, stopping two feet away from me. “I want to move you and Max into a guest cottage at the ranch.”
I blink. “What?”
“Storm, this apartment—this building, it’s—”
“It’s none of your business. I realize you’re used to five-star hotels and luxury high-rises, but you need a little bit of a reality check, Silas. Not everyone lives like that. Max and I are comfortable here. I take good care of him.”
“You’re amazing with him,” he reassures, stepping closer. “Storm, he’s the best kid I’ve ever met. He’s respectful, insightful, and that was all before I knew he was yours.” He licks his lips. “No one will ever question what kind of mother you are.”
I blink back the threat of tears because I don’t hear this often.
“But it’s too far from the schools, it’s far from the ranch.” He glances back at the windows. “And I don’t know how safe it is.”
I blink as I feel a migraine coming on. Pinching the bridge of my nose to calm myself, I tell him, “I appreciate your concern. But I’m not moving. First off, those cottages close for the season in a few weeks, second, a week’s booking is worth a month’s rent for me here.”
“You won’t be paying for it.”
“Oh, now you want to pay rent for me?” I straighten, leveling my voice. “Get out.”
“Storm. Stop being so defensive and stubborn and hear me out.”
A chill runs through me.
Am I coming down with a fever?
“Do you have any idea how insulting this is?” I shriek, damn near waking the child asleep in the other room.
“You’re one of the few people in this town I respect. I’d never insult you,” he growls. It’s so out of character, I nearly flinch.
“I literally just asked you to keep your distance from me and Max and you follow it with asking me to move into your family’s ranch?”
He’s shameless the way he watches me like there’s nothing wrong with what he’s asking.
I take a deep breath.
“Dallas and Wilder are on board.”
I laugh, twisting to grip the edge of the kitchen counter. “Oh my God.” Feeling like I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, I take a few breaths. But they don’t help. What is happening?
Everything feels heavy and my knees give out before strong arms catch me.
“Storm,” he breathes as he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. A groan vibrates off his throat as he moves me to the couch and it takes me a moment to realize what it was.
“Your arm,” I whisper, my eyelids falling.
“I’m fine,” he says softly, kneeling beside me, hand on my forehead. “What happened? Can you open your eyes?”
I manage to.
“Is the room spinning?” he asks.
“No,” I answer.
My eyelids shut again and I feel him shift with a breath. Then a warm hand sweeping my hair back, the warmth of his lips close to my skin as he whispers. “Don’t get up. You’re exhausted.”
I hear him shuffling around my living room for a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds, before yielding to sleep.
Sirens outside wake me sometime later. It’s dark with nothing but the streetlights shining through the windows. Silas is still here. On the chair across from the couch. He’s awake, and I wonder what he’s thinking about.
It shouldn’t be my first thought. I should be more concerned with why I fainted like some damsel in distress.
I don’t faint. The hell was that about?
He’s focused on something outside, so I don’t say anything. Either too tired to or too afraid that the words I’m glad you’re here might slip out.
But I notice the blanket over me. A pillow too. I’m warm, despite it usually being cold when I wake up in the middle of the night. I wonder if he’d somehow worked magic on the thermostat. Or if his presence is to blame.
I decide not to disturb the state I’m in.
Exhaustion sounds right. I’ve been so worn out these past few days.
With the season growing colder, lessons doubling, the horses are feeling the mood shift, and Silas and my secret suddenly taking center stage again after years of taking a back seat, the emotional toll is certainly a factor too.
Move into one of the cottages. He’s lost his mind.
And once he’s healed and out of Blue River Springs, I’ll be lost from his mind.
He didn’t even try to deny it.
When I try to get up in the morning, Max is already dressed and eating cereal with a glass of OJ on the kitchen counter. His backpack is by the door and Silas is typing away on his phone when he catches me sitting up.
I feel like I could sleep for another three days.
“Morning. We’re headed out, but you have the day off. Tomorrow too, so go back to sleep.”
“What? No. The wedding is in three days. I’ve got four lessons today and I need to get Max to school.”
“I’ll take care of it. You need to sleep.”
“What do you mean you’ll take care of it?”
“The lessons. Do I need to remind you who my mother was? I may be rusty myself, but that woman drilled those postures and pacing into me in a way I won’t forget.”
I groan. “Okay, but could you make sure your brothers’ insurance policy is up to date before you do that?”
He tilts his head with a smirk. “Cute.” Then grabs the backpack. “And think about what I said. Let’s go, Max.”
My kid hops off the stool. “Later, Mom. Feel better.”
Silas winks at me and I see that my request last night meant nothing to him. Then again, when the door closes, a rush of something I haven’t felt in a while comes over me. I’m off on a school day. Think of all the things I could do.
I could clean. Visit Dad. Pay some bills. Sleep more.
I lie down and my mind betrays me as the thought of spending more time with Silas—and him spending the night to take care of me, washes over me.
He’s like a piece of pie I know I’m going to regret eating in the morning when my jeans don’t fit. You know how it ends. But the momentary satisfaction is too good to give up.
I’m prepared for him to leave. I guess I always was. And I can brush myself off.
But there’s still Max. The truth about his father and the lie I can’t take back.