Chapter 10
Silas
I had fucked everything up.
That was the thought echoing through the rafters and streaming through the stained glass window as I scrubbed the floor in the sanctuary, grumbling to myself about what an asshole I’d been. I was halfway convinced that, if I just scrubbed hard enough, she might walk through that door again.
But she hadn’t.
Not since the clinic.
Because I’d sat at her bedside, waited for her to wake up, planned on apologizing…and instead, I’d made her feel guilty. Somehow, because apparently I was a goddamn fool, I’d managed to shame her for what we’d done that night when all I wanted to do was hold her again.
This was my fault. Not hers.
And yet.
I didn’t even know why I was still here—why I was cleaning up the wreckage, scrubbing away the years of mold and memory, peeling back layers of rot.
This church was an evil fucking place; the snake in my bed was proof of that.
I hadn’t been able to sleep a wink here ever since that night, crashing on Beau’s couch instead.
My hand slipped on the cloth.
A splinter bit into the pad of my thumb.
“Motherfucker,” I cursed.
I rocked back on my heels, thumb between my teeth, trying not to lose my temper. Blood welled from the pinprick splinter, bright and accusing.
The goddamn church was working against me. Maybe it was time to give up and let the Remnant Fellowship take it back.
The door creaked open and I froze, breath hitching—too hopeful, too desperate. But as soon as I heard the footsteps and smelled the motor oil, I knew it wasn’t her.
No…this was my brother.
And the snarkiest little shit of them all, to top it off.
I turned to find him strolling up the aisle with a paper bag from Mabel’s Table in his hand, a lazy grin on his face, a black tank top hanging loose on his lean frame.
His beard was messy, hair unkempt, sunglasses perched on his head and tattoos weaving dark lines around both arms. He stopped and cocked his head at me, just… looking.
“Jesus,” he said. “You know it’s bad when even your guilt cleaning sounds aggressive.”
I groaned and sat back, glaring at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, big brother,” he deadpanned. “I brought you lunch. Or dinner. Or…honestly, I don’t know what time it is, I just ran into Delilah at Mabel’s and got distracted. Point is, you look like hammered shit and I figured I’d play Good Samaritan.”
“How noble of you,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow. “You want the damn burger or not?”
I sighed. “…yes. I want the damn burger.”
Whit smirked, tossed the bag toward me, and dropped down into one of the pews with his arms spread wide along the back.
I pulled the burger from the bag to find it cold—he really was distracted, as was so often the case when he ran into Delilah—but I opened it up and flashed him a grateful look anyway.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re so very welcome, Silas,” he said.
As if he wasn’t sitting in a church, he pulled a flask out of his back pocket and took a casual sip.
“You know—most people go through heartbreak with a bottle of whiskey and sad playlists, maybe a questionable hookup. But you? You’re scrubbin’ the floor in a spooky old church like…
I don’t know, some kind of medieval penitent. ”
“I’m not heartbroken,” I muttered.
Whit scoffed. “No? Then what’s this little display, huh? I mean…you’re a broody son-of-a-bitch, but I haven’t seen you like this since…”
He trailed off, as if he’d suddenly realized where he was going with this and thought better of it.
Which was good, because I was about ready to clock him right in the fucking jaw.
Whit stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world despite poking every exposed nerve I had.
“I mean, hell,” he went on, deftly swerving around the elephant in the room, “you’re sandin’ pews, Silas. Pews. Have you tried talking to her?”
I huffed. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” he said, annoying casual. “I just saw her with Delilah. Said she’s still recoverin’ from the snakebite, but that she’s on the mend. Also said she hasn’t heard from you.”
“So why did you ask if I’d tried talking to her?”
“Because I’m givin’ you shit for givin’ up on somethin’ that’s clearly good for you.”
I stared at him, chewing slowly before swallowing hard.
“I didn’t give up,” I said. “She asked me to pump the brakes.”
“That’s not what Delilah said.”
“Oh good,” I growled. “You two been gossipin’ behind my back?”
“We’re always gossipin’,” Whit said. “That’s what Delilah Jessup does best, and you well know that.
But no…what Delilah said is that June told you she needed to slow shit down because you were being a moody piece of shit and that she wanted to pause to be friends for a bit.
Which—yeah, tough, but you’re a big enough man to deal with that. ”
I didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t wrong…but he wasn’t right either.
“Look,” I said. “You weren’t there, Whit. I said some fucked up shit, put my foot in my damn mouth like I always do…and there was a goddamn snake in my bed. How the hell do you come back from that? Please come back and help me clean up the church, sorry you almost died here?”
Whit gave me the same look he’d given me when I fell out of the pecan tree and broke my arm when I was thirteen—a little annoyed and a little smug all at once.
“I mean, you didn’t put the snake there, did you?”
“I don’t know how a snake ended up in my bed.”
“Then why are you beatin’ yourself up about it?”
“Because the curse—”
Whit groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Silas…I swear on all that is holy—”
“That’s kind of the point,” I snapped. “I’m not crazy, Whit. This is about patterns, about history. First our folks, then Amelia, and all the ones who lived and died before us…”
“Didn’t Willow and Rhett get it on in the woods and take care of all that?” Whit asked. “I could’ve sworn we were past the curse shit.”
“You don’t just move past somethin’ like that when it killed your fiancée.”
“Or maybe it’s just hard to move past the dead fiancée, full stop.”
Whit’s words stopped me in my tracks—the burger forgotten, my jaw clamped shut. I sat there, stomach churning, heart beating too hard.
Whit held out his flask.
“Trade ya,” he muttered.
I handed him the burger and he handed me the flask; I took a sip, he took a bite.
“Silas, you fuckin’ bastard,” he said. “I’m not here to give you shit—well, maybe a little bit—but you can’t blame the curse forever. Sometimes…weird shit happens, especially in Willow Grove.”
“Weird shit like seein’ your dead girlfriend’s ghost?” I asked.
Whit had to do a double take at that; now it was his turn to forget the burger while I took another, longer sip of whiskey.
“You wanna run that by me again?” he said.
I just stared up toward the steeple, into the light of the stained glass window.
“The night June got bit,” I said. “I saw Amelia’s ghost walkin’ her into the back at the clinic…didn’t quite look right at me, but I knew it was her. Clear as day.”
He finally found his voice. “What the fuck?”
“I know how it sounds,” I said. “I thought it was shock at first…or sleep deprivation. But it wasn’t like that. She looked…she looked real.”
Whit rubbed both hands over his face. “You really think it was her ghost?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”
“What was I supposed to say, Whit?” I grumbled. “That I saw Amelia’s ghost escortin’ June to the other side? Hell, folks already think I’m crazy for the snake—may as well add ghosts to the list.”
“Folks think you’re crazy for way more than that,” Whit muttered.
“Not helping.”
Much to my surprise—and annoyance—Whit laughed. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re screwin’ an exorcist. Maybe she can banish the ghost and the guilt in one go.”
“I didn’t fuck her,” I snapped. “We didn’t get that far.”
Whit froze mid-chew, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into the tangle of his hair.
“You didn’t?”
“No,” I ground out, already regretting bringing it up.
He blinked once, then leaned back like he’d just been personally offended.
“Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me, you and June—who’ve been making eyes at each other ever since Rhett and Willow’s wedding—you finally end up alone, after all the tension, all the slow-burn eye-fuckin’, and you didn’t cross the finish line? ”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to finish a race, Whit.” I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “And turns out a rattlesnake bite is a bit of a mood killer.”
Whit choked mid-laugh, cough-snorted, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth like the realization had hit him square in the teeth.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “A snake bite. While you were gettin’ hot and holy with a preacher. In your bed. In a cursed church.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Whit—”
“No, hang on.” He held up a finger like he was delivering divine revelation, standing up. “Let’s just break this down. A literal serpent slithered into your bed while you were about to—what, anoint her with oil and lay hands?”
I groaned. “Stop.”
“And bit her, Silas. Bit her mid-makeout like the Lord Himself had a direct line and sent a symbolic cock on a mission of vengeance.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m just sayin’,” he continued, pacing now like a preacher himself, “you’ve got all the classics here.
Phallic symbol? Check. Punishment for desire?
Check. Religious trauma? Oh, buddy—check, check, check.
It’s like the Book of Genesis had a one-night stand with a Pentecostal fever dream and gave birth to your love life.
I mean…it’s almost too perfect to have been an accident. ”
The laughter died.
We looked at each other.
“It really is too perfect to have been an accident,” I breathed.
Whit kept staring. “You’re serious,” he said.
“Deadly,” I nodded. “Think about it—I got that letter from Abel Trent, tellin’ me to vacate the premises…and now this? Some kind of stunt that seems intentionally designed to rattle me?”
“Was that a rattlesnake pun?”
“No, Whit.”
Whit held up both hands. “Alright, alright…no puns. But you’ve got to admit, it’s a little on the nose.”
“Yeah, this whole thing is,” I said. “It wasn’t…this wasn’t a fuckin’ accident. It was a message. Abel wanted to show me he could reach me, and maybe…maybe he wanted to take out June along the way.”
“Why?”
“Because she can keep the church away from the goddamn Remnant,” I said, then swiped my hand down my face. “Fuck…fuck, Whit, I’ve been such a fuckin’ idiot.”
Whit stared at me for another moment, then he finally put the burger down.
“You’re not an idiot,” he said. “You’re just…actually wakin’ the fuck up for the first time in ten years.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” he said. “But it makes me very hopeful that you’re about to stop broodin’ like a man who died in 1874 and start actin’ like someone who actually wants to get his dick wet.”
“Jesus, Whit.”
He raised a hand. “You said you didn’t fuck her, which was tragic enough. But if you almost ruined it because of Abel fuckin’ Trent, I think you have every reason to fix this right fuckin’ now.”
I stared at him.
Whit just grinned like the smug bastard he was. “What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being a menace.”
“I can be both.”
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaled hard through my nose. “This isn’t just about sex.”
“Obviously,” he said, shrugging. “But it’s also about sex. And the fact that you’ve been treatin’ that girl like she’s communion wine—holy and untouchable—when she clearly wants to drink you.”
“Whit, I swear to God—”
“No, listen,” he cut in, suddenly serious again.
“What I’m sayin’ is…you like her. You care.
I haven’t seen you light up like that since—” He stopped himself.
Shifted gears. “And yeah, it scared you. But you’re not scared of her.
You’re scared of what it means if you let yourself have somethin’ again. ”
I didn’t say anything.
“Look,” Whit went on, “you inherited this church like a stray dog nobody wanted. The Trents ran off. The town shrugged. And you? You stayed. You built a shrine to the past because at least it didn’t leave. But June?”
He leaned forward.
“June walked into all that wreckage with her eyes wide open. She saw you. And she stayed too.”
I swallowed hard.
“You owe her more than silence,” Whit said. “You owe her the truth. About Abel. About Amelia. About the way you can’t stop thinkin’ about her even when you’re elbow-deep in your own damn guilt.”
“I know,” I muttered.
“So?”
“So…when are you gonna come clean about Delilah?”
Whit blinked.
Then his mouth twitched.
“Wow,” he said slowly, like he was genuinely impressed. “That was some real sneaky shit, turnin’ it back on me like that. Who taught you that?”
I just raised an eyebrow.
He pointed a finger at me. “You don’t get to act like a smug bastard just once and then think you’re suddenly the emotionally literate one in the family.”
“I’m just sayin’,” I said, shrugging. “You’ve been hoverin’ around Delilah like a stray dog with a crush since the day she stole your lighter and never gave it back.”
Whit scowled. “That was twenty years ago.”
“My point stands.”
He held up a hand. “Okay, this is deflection, and I respect it, but I’m not the one who let a ghost, a cult, and a snake bite cockblock him in a single week, so maybe cool it on the projection.”
I snorted.
Whit snatched the flask out of my hand, then shoved it back in his pocket. “You go see your girl, tell her the truth, and for the love of God, get out of your own way. I’ll be around. Maybe.”
He started down the aisle, the soles of his boots thudding against the old wood. At the door, he paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and flashed me the bird with all the fondness of a brother who’d been through hell with me and still couldn’t resist the last word.
“Later, Reverend Emo.”
The door creaked shut behind him.
And I was alone again.
But this time…I wasn’t retreating.
I was getting ready.