Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scout
I stare at the ceiling, chest tight. Does Silas even know what day it is? Does he care about things like that? Is that what girlfriends and boyfriends do?
Actually, I never got a clear yes or no from him about the am-I-your-girlfriend matter. I don’t want to press the issue because I’m busy being light, breezy, and not making things complicated. After Enzo, there are a lot of patterns I’m not looking to replicate.
Rolling over to ask him, his side of the bed is already cold and empty.
Faintly, I can hear him in the kitchen through the closed door.
His protein shake bottle clinks and there's a rustle of meal prep containers as he opens and closes them.
Dragging myself out of bed, I find him standing at the counter with his back to me.
A tower of tense muscle barely contained in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.
His dirty blond hair's messy from sleep, sticking up in ways that make him look softer than usual. But his shoulders are coiled tight like wire. When he glances over, those blue-gray eyes are unreadable, jaw set in that way that says he's locked down tight. Beautiful even when he's brooding.
"Morning," I say, voice still rough with sleep.
He grunts. "Morning."
He doesn't quite look at me, just goes back to measuring out his supplements with mechanical precision. Silas isn't the warmest, most friendly guy at the best of times. But right now he's like stepping into a blizzard.
Then he surprises me with a soft, "Sorry. I haven't had coffee yet."
Giving him a soft smile, I walk over to the coffee pot and flick it on.
He has one of those fancy machines that grinds the beans fresh, so it emits a loud, grating whine as it starts.
A few minutes later, the smell of fresh coffee makes my mouth water.
Si sits at the kitchen island and sips his protein shake.
I pour two mugs, fixing his cup up how I've seen him do before, and slide one in front of him.
His eyes widen with childlike surprise, even though he just heard me brewing the coffee. "Thanks, Scout."
"No problem. It seems like you could use a little."
He ducks his head. "Yeah."
I take the stool next to his and sip my coffee.
Si glances at me, smile tugging at his lips, and drinks his coffee in silence.
There are a million things that we could talk about.
The holiday, our plans for the day, how we're planning to handle things post-hookup.
But we both keep quiet, enjoying the moment.
He wolfs down a prepared meal, finishes half of his protein shake, and then pushes up from the counter. As he's doing his dishes, he casts an eye over the broad expanse of windows in the living room. Overhead, the sky is a dark gray, a solid wall of brooding clouds.
"The weather is supposed to be shitty today."
I glance behind me, sighing. "I should stay home and hang out on the couch, but I need to drive to the coast."
He looks up. "What? Why?"
"I need to go to Port Townsend to see my dad. My sister went last week and texted that he's not doing well. I need to check on him. The weather is terrible, but I'll just rent an SUV instead of a car."
"You're planning to rent a car?" He says it like the idea is foreign to him.
I wave off his concern. "Yeah. It's fine. I'll be back tonight."
"No." His voice is flat.
Oh brother. I repress an eye roll. "Silas, I can handle..."
He cuts me off. "The roads up there are bad. They're narrow and windy. You don't drive enough to be safe on them." He sets his shake bottle down with a thunk. "I'm taking you."
"You don't have to do that..."
"Yes I do." He meets my eyes fully for the first time this morning. "It's going to be easier for you to just say yes than to argue with me. I can't let you drive in this weather. Especially not on Valentine's Day."
My mouth goes dry. So he does know about it.
I should tell him that being perfectly capable of driving myself is true.
But the truth is, relief at his insistence floods me.
The roads to Port Townsend twist along cliff edges and wind through dense forest. Every time I make the trip, I white-knuckle the steering wheel the entire way.
"Okay," I say quietly. My shoulders slump. "Thank you."
His jaw ticks like he wants to say something else. But he doesn't. He just drains his shake and goes to get dressed. "We'll leave in 20," he calls over his shoulder before he disappears into his room.
The drive north is tense from the start.
We sit in silence except for rain hammering the windshield hard enough to test the wipers.
I turn on some jazz really low, but as soon as we get outside Seattle proper and on the ferry, there's so much static that I turn it off again.
For his part, Silas is wound impossibly tight.
His hands clench the wheel. And his jaw is clamped shut so hard that I worry about his teeth.
He's furious about something, but I can’t begin to guess what.
People call him Ice Man. Cold and controlled, never letting anyone see what he's feeling.
Right now he looks like that nickname personified.
Frozen solid, locked behind walls I can't climb.
Does he regret letting his walls down and having sex with me?
Maybe he woke up with some clarity about how I'm going to smother him to death.
It's impossible to know with him.
I stare out the passenger window, watching evergreens blur past. As we drive, anxiety builds with every mile that brings me closer to that house.
When the road climbs steadily upward, I start to see snow flurries.
Not a great sign, but not unusual around here.
My dad lives on the coast of Washington, the house nestled snugly on top of a ridge overlooking Port Townsend Bay.
When we get through the heavy forest of Chimacum, the sea will be close enough to drive the snow away.
But then I will have to face my father. It's my turn to take care of him. Sable and I trade off, and she visited Port Townsend last.
Forget my current situation with Silas. I haven’t seen my dad in almost two months.
The idea of facing the memories that saturate every room of that house fills me with dread.
Unless something is radically different since being there last, the weight of my mother's absence still hangs in the air like smoke.
Silas clears his throat. "I, uh. I got you something."
"You... got me something," I repeat. I feel like one of those Lucky Cat statues, wide-eyed and nodding.
"We didn't talk about doing anything for Valentine's Day. I know that it's sort of a couple's holiday. But I thought just to be safe, I'd get you a treat and some flowers." He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "Don't want to be accused of being a terrible Valentine."
His speech takes me by surprise and I burst out laughing. "Silas, you didn't have to do anything. We're obviously not doing the normal V-Day stuff." My cheeks heat. "Driving to see my dad isn't exactly what most people would consider romantic."
He stares straight ahead, but his lips lift at the corners. "Let me decide what's romantic."
He directs me to the backseat, where I find a bouquet of winter flowers tied with a pretty bow and a metal tin full of pear-flavored jelly beans. "These are my favorites!"
"It's almost like I know you," he teases. “In college, you’d always keep a huge jar of these to study with. You even brought it into the library a few times.”
"That’s true! I forgot about that." I dig in immediately, scooping out a pile of the light green candies and popping them in my mouth. "These are amazing. Thank you for knowing just what would make my day brighter."
"You're welcome, Pretty Girl." Silas slides me a satisfied look. "That should top up your supply for a week or so."
I eat another palmful of the candies, smirking at him. He thinks he knows so much. And maybe, in this one circumstance, he's right.
As we start to get closer, driveways leading to small houses dot the windy country road. By the time we pull up in the driveway and bump down the road to the house, my stomach is in knots.
The two story house of rotting wood and its lopsided porch stand in relief against the heather-gray cliffside and the dark water of the sea.
The yard is overgrown, with weeds choking the flower beds my mother used to tend so carefully.
The gutters sag under accumulated debris.
Paint peels around the window frames and hangs in sad curls.
A stifling weight presses on my chest as I look at the house. Once beloved, the place has now been left to molder. Nothing happy can grow here. I rub my hand absently over my heart, willing the ache to disappear.
"Scout." Silas's voice startles. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine." I force a smile that feels brittle. "I should prepare you. My dad isn't... he's not doing great. Since my mom died five years ago, he's just kind of... given up."
His jaw tightens. "I understand."
"No, you don't." My voice cracks. "He doesn't clean. Doesn't cook. Barely leaves his bed most days. I come up here to take care of him because if I don't, he'll just waste away."
"Scout..."
"I know what you're thinking. Why doesn't he take better care of himself? Why do I have to do it?" Tears sting my eyes. "Because he's my dad and someone has to. My sister can't handle it on her own. So we split it."
Silas reaches across the console and takes my hand. "I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking that you shouldn't have to carry this alone."
My throat goes tight. "Well. Here we are."
We get out of the truck and I lead him up the sagging porch steps. The door sticks when I push it, swollen from rain and neglect. Inside smells like must and unwashed dishes and the particular stale sadness that comes from a house where no one really lives anymore.
"Dad?" I call out. "It's Scout. I brought someone with me."