Chapter 9 Silas #2
The possessive satisfaction that rolls through me should probably make me feel like shit, but it doesn’t. If anything, knowing that she’s completely untouched, that no one else has had what we’re asking for... it makes me want her more. Makes the three of us want her more.
She really is ours.
“You think that matters to us?” Jace asks quietly, his protective instincts clearly warring with something darker.
“Doesn’t it?” She’s looking between our faces now, and whatever she sees there makes her shrink back. “See! It’s weird!”
“It’s not weird,” Cal says immediately, but his voice is rougher than usual.
“Oh yeah? Tell that to each of your faces,” she shoots back, gesturing at us. “You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s a lot to live up to, is all,” Cal says carefully.
“Live up to what?”
Cal’s mouth curves in that wicked grin, but there’s something softer underneath. “The unrealistic expectations of all the ‘Bobs’ you’ve had to test-pitch marketing campaigns to.”
She covers her face with her hands and groans. “Oh my God.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Cal says, and there’s pride and possession in his voice.
She starts to slide toward the edge of the booth, clearly trying to escape, but Jace’s hand shoots out to catch her wrist.
“Don’t run,” he says quietly. “Not from this.”
“But what if I’m bad at it? What if I can’t—”
“Then we teach you,” I say simply, the possessiveness in my voice unmistakable now. “We have nothing but time and patience and the rest of our lives to show you exactly how good you can be.”
Her hands finally slide down from her face like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop or something.
She stares at us for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then her gaze moves to me.
“What about you?” she asks, voice soft but demanding.
“What about me?” I deflect, reaching for my water. “It was hot.”
“Silas.” There’s steel in her voice now, the same tone she used to use when we were kids and she wasn’t buying our bullshit.
For fuck’s sake. I set down the glass and meet her eyes, knowing she’s not going to let this go.
“I didn’t want it to end,” I say finally, the words coming out rough.
“Even if all I was allowed to do was touch you. Just having you that close...” I pause, run a hand through my hair.
“I fantasized about coming home after a job, needing to hold you. To ground myself again. You’re the only thing that keeps me tethered when I have to go dark. Always have been, always will be.”
The confession hangs heavy between us. Parker’s eyes widen, understanding exactly what kind of work I’m talking about, what kind of darkness I carry.
“Silas,” she breathes.
“You asked,” I say simply.
The curtain suddenly pulls back, and Charles appears with Sienna tucked under his arm, both flushed and grinning from dancing.
“There you are!” Charles’s voice booms. “Parker, you were incredible up there—” He stops, taking in the scene. Parker on the table between us, tears in her eyes, the tension thick enough to cut. “Everything okay?”
Cal smoothly leans back, reaching for his water. I let my hand fall from where it was resting near her knee. Jace shifts into that controlled military stance, emotions locked down tight.
“Just decompressing,” Cal says easily, flashing that charming smile. “Hell of a performance.”
But Charles isn’t buying it. His eyes narrow, moving between us and his sister. “Parker? You look upset.”
She slides off the table, smoothing her dress with hands that still tremble slightly. “I’m fine. Just overwhelmed by all the attention.”
“You sure? Because it looks like—”
“I said I’m fine, Charlie.” The snap in her voice makes him step back, hands raised in surrender.
Sienna tugs on his arm, reading the room better than her fiancé. “Come on, babe. Let’s get some air. Give everyone space to breathe.”
After they leave, Parker stands there for a moment, swaying slightly. Then she looks at each of us in turn, and I can see the moment she makes her decision.
“I need time,” she says finally.
“How much time?” Jace asks, and there’s that protective edge again, like he’s already planning how to keep her safe while she thinks.
“I don’t know.” She backs toward the curtain, but there’s no panic in the movement now. Just careful consideration. “I need to think. I need to figure out if I’m brave enough for this.”
“You are,” I tell her. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
She stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. “What if Charles—”
“Charles doesn’t get a vote,” Cal cuts in, voice firm despite the easy smile. “This is between us and you. No one else.”
Her voice is barely audible. “If I decide I want this? What happens then?”
“Whatever we want to happen,” Jace says simply, with that military directness.
She nods slowly, like she’s filing that information away. Then she turns and walks toward the curtain, pausing just before she reaches it.
“For the record,” she says without turning around, “I wasn’t bad at it up there, was I?”
The question is soft, vulnerable, and it makes my chest tight with affection and pride and bone-deep possession.
“Angel,” Cal says, voice rough with want and that hint of playful pride, “you were fucking perfect.”
She turns back just long enough to give us a small, real smile—the first genuine one we’ve seen all night. Then she slips through the curtain and disappears into the crowd.
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of what just happened settling around us like smoke.
“Well,” Cal says finally, reaching for the whiskey bottle that appeared on our table at some point, "that was either the best thing we’ve ever done or the biggest mistake of our lives.”
“Both,” Jace says grimly, but there’s something almost satisfied in his voice. “Definitely both.”
I watch the curtain where she disappeared, and for the first time in six years, I’m not worried about her running.
Because now she knows the truth. About us, about herself, about what we all want.
And Parker Carter has never been one to back down from a challenge.