32. I Whale Always Love You
I Whale Always Love You
Silas stands in the middle of my flat, leaning his weight into his crutches, scanning the walls and the furniture like they will tell him all my secrets. I’ve imagined Silas in my flat countless times since I came back, but actually seeing him here feels like an out-of-body experience.
“And this is my place,” I say, sweeping an arm.
He doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Sir yowls, padding down the hall toward us. Laughing, Silas sits on the back of the couch, leans his crutches up, and scoops the cat into his arms.
“I’ve missed you, too, Sir.”
“He’s a good cat,” I say as Silas lets him go before taking up his crutches again. “He’s been good company since…”
Even after Silas sets him down, Sir doesn’t leave us, weaving around us, perkier than I’ve seen him since I returned home from the hospital.
“I thought you’d have a house,” Silas says, stretching his finger up to right a framed poster of one of my book covers.
“I’ve never really made myself at home.”
He hums, but doesn’t look at me, too focused on my things.
The couch is in disarray, the blankets draped overtop, a remnant of my sad blanket fort.
I step around the coffee table, intending to yank the blankets off the couch before he can see, when I knock over a stack of research.
Cursing, I scramble to pick the pages up, freezing as Silas stops before me.
Blue wool dangles down between us, the hem scraping the floor, and I stand, dropping the papers to the table, not wanting to look at him.
“You kept it all this time?” he whispers.
“It was the only thing I had of yours.”
“Laszlo,” he starts. I look at him now, my chest tight, tears burning. “You don’t need to be ashamed.”
“You’d hate who I was without you, Silas.”
He sets aside the jacket, reaching out to cup my face. “I could never hate you.”
I cover his hand with mine, closing my eyes as I nuzzle into his palm. Neither of us moves for a long moment, our ragged breaths calming into quiet sighs. Finally, I drop my hand and open my eyes.
“I believe you had some questions,” he says. “Mm, actually, before we start, do you happen to have any coffee? I’ve discovered I’m rather fond of it.”
I laugh. “It’s nearly midnight, Silas.”
“I don’t have any intention of sleeping tonight. Do you?”
I clear my throat, fully aware of the blush creeping up my neck and coloring my cheeks. “Good point. Feel free to make yourself at home while I brew some.”
I watch him in my periphery as I work, my hands shaking as I pour ground beans and then some boiling water into my French press.
He carefully maneuvers around the living room on his crutches and glances at the papers on the table, grinning as he flips through them before he shuffles on.
He admires the bookshelves in my small writing nook, the mismatched books haphazardly stacked on the shelves, before he stops at the balcony.
He opens the double doors and disappears outside, a cool night breeze flitting in, the sound of heavy rain filling the flat.
I let the coffee steep for a few minutes before I press it down and pour two cups.
I stop in the bedroom, two mugs balanced in my hands, admiring his silhouette as the city lights dance against a brooding sky.
How many times have I pictured this exact moment?
How many times have I imagined him here with me?
Clearing my throat, I cross to him, settling on the chair next to his before handing over the coffee. I watch as he brings the mug to his nose and inhales, briefly closing his eyes.
“You really do love coffee, don’t you?”
He grins, cradling it between his palms. “It’s one of my favorite things from this time of yours.” He glances at me. “Go on, I know you’re curious.”
I set aside my mug, struggling to find the words. “How long have you been here?”
“Four months, give or take.”
“And how did you … you know?”
Silas swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he taps the side of his mug.
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable,” I rush to say.
He shakes his head. “I want to tell you. If not you … then who?” He hesitates. “It was the knife.”
“So you…”
“I didn’t have a lot of time to make the cleanest cut. The water was to my chin when I finally pulled myself free. I tried to make my way to my cabin, but the lower deck was already flooded.”
I frown. “So you couldn’t reach the other coat.”
Silas takes a sip of coffee, his features relaxing.
“I never did check if there was another coat, if it was hanging in my cabin all this time. I think I’ll always wonder if this coat was actually mine, if it led you to me.
” He smiles wryly. “No, when I tried to get to my cabin, I thought I was dead. I did all that only to sink in the harbor, as was my fate. And then, as if yanked to the surface by magic, that old shirt of yours appeared. I pulled it on, and in the blink of an eye, I was … well, not sinking, that’s for sure. ”
“Did you keep it?” I ask when he doesn’t go on. “The sweater.”
Silas laughs, a full, boisterous laugh, and oh, how I’ve missed the sound of it. “Of course I didn’t keep it. Laszlo, that thing reeked something foul.”
“I can’t help but feel that’s a jab about me keeping your coat.”
He tilts his head toward me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You missed me.” He looks out at the street. “I was found passed out aboard a ship that looked both very similar to She Deceitful, and nothing like it.”
“Ah, you met George, then.”
“Nice fellow. A bit perplexed why a bloody pirate appeared ’board his ship, though. He called one of those wailing vehicles for me, and I’ve been healing since.”
I swivel toward him, and he sets aside his coffee, letting me take his hands in mine. I run my thumb over his paw print ring, marveling at the fact that he’s here, on my balcony beside me, in my time.
“How’d you find me? How did you know I was going to be at the event tonight?”
He searches my face. “I spent months looking for you, Laszlo. I gave them your name, but I didn’t know your family name. No one could help me. Not until today, anyway. I was walking down the street, searching a new area, when I saw a poster with your face on it.”
To think, I almost didn’t go tonight.
“So,” I start, “what now?”
Silas grins. “In this world of yours, I think anything’s possible.”