Chapter 27
Reid
Past
The open house listing sits on my phone, blaring at me from the cupholder. If only the GPS knew what it was directing me toward.
All my life, I never thought I would try to find him. Figured if he didn’t give a shit about me, I shouldn’t give one about him.
But I suddenly have a lot of time on my hands while the band is on hiatus for Nikolai and Hayden to recover mentally from the horrors they witnessed at the beginning of summer.
To go from touring nonstop, always with my brothers, to sitting in an empty house with my calls always going to voicemail…maybe it’s made me go slightly insane.
Because why else would I be here, pulling into the driveway of a small, ranch-style home in Pennsylvania.
There’s only one other car parked here. Hopefully it’s his.
As soon as I turn the car off, I force myself to get out. If I sit, I’ll think. If I think, I might turn around and fly back to LA.
I’m here. Rip the bandage off.
The front door is a bright red. Is that a warning? A blaring sign from the universe that this is a bad idea? Maybe I’ll wish I had headed it, but I grip the handle and push.
It smells like fresh paint and plastic from the protective film on the floors. The lights are unusually bright, forcing me to squint for a moment.
I shut the door and stand in the entry way. From here, it’s a clear shot to the kitchen where a man stands, his back to me.
He hasn’t noticed me yet.
My heart rattles in my chest, feeling like it could jump into my throat and be vomited out at any moment.
That’s him.
Standing fifteen feet away.
He doesn’t need to turn around for me to know it.
I feel it in my bones. Taste it in the anger that surges. I push down.
He must feel my eyes on him because he finally glances over his shoulder, looking startled for a moment. When he turns, I wait to see if he’ll recognize me right away. Either from my career, or because he’s watched me from afar.
But there’s nothing on his face besides slight annoyance as he checks the watch on his wrist. He’s quick to paste on a watery smile as my feet walk me toward him.
“Welcome in,” he says, voice unlike anything I ever imagined in my head. “I was just about to lock up, but I can let you have a peek if you’re interested.”
I extend my hand to meet his.
Mine’s shaking.
He doesn’t notice, his attention fixed on my face. Does he see himself? Features that seem like he’s looking in the mirror?
“Silas Shepard. Pleasure to meet you. Are you new to the area?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Uh—” I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Well, feel free to walk around a bit, get a feel for the space, and I’ll be here with any questions.” With that, he turns back to the kitchen island and shuffles some papers around.
I blink. My feet are frozen to the floor.
I don’t know what I expected. It’s not like he should recognize me I guess, right? But still. Shouldn’t there be some sort of innate feeling in him that kicks in when he shakes hands with his own son?
It takes him a while to realize I haven’t moved. He gives me a strange look before saying, “Did you need me to show you around?”
“I actually do have a question,” I say, breaking out of my stupor.
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks. They’re worn and shapeless.
No turning back now. “Do you remember Debbie Keely?”
My mother’s name echoes around the empty house, bouncing off the walls and tarnishing this nice home.
Silas keeps a neutral face, but his body goes rigid.
“I’m Reid,” I continue. “Reid Keely. Her son.” Your son. That gets caught in my throat, but he seems to fill in the blanks. I can tell by the way he eyes me up differently now. Not a potential home buyer, but his flesh and blood.
He notes my height, only an inch or two taller than him. One day, he might’ve been my height, but age has shrunken him.
My complexion is paler compared to his, but there’s still a hint of the dark brown shade of my hair buried in the gray of his own. I always assumed I got my eye color from my mother, but his are also a navy blue.
He doesn’t say anything as he looks his fill, coming to conclusions. I let him have the silence to process.
Finally, he speaks. “I haven’t seen her in…twenty years?”
“Twenty-five.”
He scans me head to toe. “Twenty-five, I guess.” He doesn’t try to deny it. Deny me.
In fact, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. Either I completely shocked him, and took him off guard, or he simply doesn’t care.
I’m holding out that it’s the first, but by the way he avoids my eye, I’d say it’s the latter.
Normally, I’m fine with silence. Enjoy it.
But now, the need to fill it spills over.
“I live out in Los Angeles now. I moved out there after graduation with my friends. We’re in a band.
I’m—I’m a musician. You probably heard something of mine on the radio.
” I don’t mean for it to sound arrogant, and for once, it doesn’t. At least to my ears.
But it’s almost worse, because it sounds reaching. Like I’m yearning for approval.
And I don’t think I’m going to get it as he doesn’t say anything except, “I don’t really listen to the radio.” No follow-up questions, no congratulations.
Nothing.
Alright then.
Clearly he doesn’t care for small talk. Maybe I got that from him. So I cut to the chase. “Did you know about me?”
He rubs his deeply lined forehead. “No. I mean, yes but…Debbie and I were never together. I just…saw her sometimes when I went into the city.”
“So you did or didn’t know about me?”
“She told me when she got pregnant, but, uh, I told her I couldn’t have any part of it.” He looks down at his shoes. “I was married to my first wife at the time. So I told Debbie I’d either help her take care of it, or she was on her own to raise it. You,” he corrects.
My stomach churns. I don’t have any love for my mother, but for her to be put in that situation is shitty. Even I can see that and feel compassion for her.
It pisses me off that this man is making me feel that toward her.
“First wife?” I ask. “Do I have any—do you have any other children?”
Before I can even get my hopes up about potential siblings, he shakes his head. Probably for the best.
“No, I had a couple of step-kids with my second marriage, but once we divorced, I lost contact with them as well.”
“Christ, how many times have you been married?”
His face shows no embarrassment, just exhaustion, as he answers flatly, “Four.”
I glance toward his left hand, which is still tucked in his pockets. He notes my attention and pulls it out. No ring.
Four times. Four marriages, four divorces. Did the others end because of affairs, too? Were there other Debbie’s in his life?
Disgust roils through me, burning the back of my throat. I cross my arms. “So you never cared enough to follow up to see if she took care of it or not?”
Silas shifts, his shoes crinkling on the plastic wrap. “Honestly, no. I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you want—”
“I just want the truth.”
“Then that’s it,” he says. “I was so preoccupied with work and my marriage that I didn’t want the complication.”
Complication.
That about sums up my entire existence, doesn’t it?
This is it. This is what’s left of my blood family. This sad, hollow excuse of a man whose slumped shoulders are being swallowed by his cheap jacket.
I didn’t expect to walk out of here with a best friend, the father I never had, a happily ever after. But I don’t think I realized just how much foolish hope had built up in my chest until I feel it crumbling right now, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
Who do I have in this life?
This is the only family I have left. The thought almost makes me panic right here in this open house. Makes me want to punch a hole in the perfect white walls that will one day be occupied by a perfect little family.
That I’ll never have.
Never did.
“Did you know she’s dead?” Maybe I should’ve delivered it with a little more tack, but I have no empathy left for this man.
He flinches, but I don’t think it’s because he’s sad about it. “No, like I said, I didn’t have any contact with her. But I’m sorry for your loss.”
My loss.
I almost laugh. I lost her long before she died.
I debate telling him. About how she abandoned me. Chose getting drunk and high over me.
But why would he care?
He chose his other life, his other marriage, over me.
I thought maybe when he found out I’m as successful as I am, he’d ask me for money. I’d hate him for it, but at least it’d be something. But this…this indifference? I didn’t expect that.
“Don’t you want anything from me?” The question is meek, pathetic sounding. The small boy I was never allowed to be, coming through now.
He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Unless you want to buy this house, then no.” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t want anything from you. And hopefully you don’t expect anything from me.”
I guess not.
Well, this is it. This is what I flew all the way across the country for.
What a fucking waste. Him, and all of this.
There’s nothing left to say. All the potential questions, things I wanted to know about him, his life, dry up and wither away like old paper in the wind.
“Don’t worry, I don’t need anything from you.” I spin on my heel and start back toward the door.
“Reid?” he calls out to my retreating back. Despite everything that just happened, I pause anyway. Maybe he wants something, regrets the way things went, wants to get my number—
“I’m sorry you found me.” His words are sincere, full of self-loathing, and it almost makes me pity him. Almost.
I look over my shoulder, taking one last look at the last of my blood family. “I’m sorry I did, too.” I mean it just as much as he does.
With that, I stalk out of the house to my car. The door slams with a violent thud, making the vehicle shake. I grip the wheel, knuckles turning white. There’s a deafening roar in my ears. My phone sits untouched in the cupholder. I didn’t even realize I didn’t bring it in with me.
I stare at it. Who should I call? I need to talk to someone. Need to scream. Need to hit something and feel the skin on my fingers split.
But who would even answer? Who would even care? Everyone’s dealing with their own shit right now. Hayden and Nik have shut everyone out, Walker’s been MIA…Arun’s my manager. Although he’s been there for us, if we’re not working, does he really care?
The reality crashes over me that no, no one does.
It’s just me.
Like it always has been.
Like it always will be.
Blood or not, any concept of family is quickly fading.
I’m on my own.