29. Silas
Ican still smell chocolate and lilac in the air. The thought crosses my mind that maybe I could have delayed this trip, because the image of her, so vulnerable in my bed, made me feel something I haven’t felt since Dean died.
Andreas has recovered from the bullet wound, and now that I know the man responsible for killing my brother is in the same city as me, my skin crawls.
The problem is that we still don’t know what business he has here or where the fuck he’s hiding, since he’s been extra cautious.
It feels like he has someone on call, deleting every trace of him.
The simple fact that he’s in the same city as her unsettles me in a way I can’t shake.
Six times we’ve come close to catching him, and every time I’ve imagined what it will feel like when I put a bullet between his eyes.
I know he has ties to the Russian mafia and that a mission like that will probably get me killed, but it’s a promise I made to Dean.
It’s the only way I’ll be able to go back to Sebastian and Karina with something resembling peace in my chest.
While Andreas works on locating him, finding out where he’s staying and what business he has in Mexico, I have to fly to Pennsylvania on short notice.
I don’t pay attention when the landscape changes or the exact moment I park in front of their house, but when I see Karina’s eyes, I know I was right to come.
“Hey. What happened?”
When she called yesterday at noon and asked me to come, she wouldn’t say why, but I know she wouldn’t have called without a reason.
She gestures with a tilt of her head toward the kitchen, and I know immediately that Seb isn’t home, otherwise he’d already be here, ready to show me whatever he’s built since my last visit.
The kitchen smells of linden flower tea, and Karina’s restlessness makes my own foot tap against the floor without meaning to.
“One of the older boys at Seb’s school broke into the principal’s office and looked through the children’s files.”
I listen, trying to understand what makes this so serious, when it lands.
“Including Sebastian’s.”
“Yes.” It’s the fragility in her voice that makes me go to her and pull her into my arms.
“Karina, we always knew someone would find out eventually.”
I let her cry, let her release it into my arms, while I rub her back slowly.
From the moment we found out about Sebastian, everything I’ve done has been aimed at protecting him. Emotionally, financially, and most importantly, legally.
“He was so upset, but I wanted you to be here when we tell him the truth,” she whispers between breaths.
“Where is he now?” I ask, not letting go.
Because I feel the guilt of not being here for him always, of not being the constant he needs me to be sometimes.
“At a friend’s place. I thought it was better he didn’t see you until I’d had a chance to tell you why I called.”
I just nod and let her settle. I haven’t been running from this moment. I’ve been waiting for it.
Nine years of not being able to speak openly with him out of fear that he wouldn’t take it well, or worse, that he’d hate me for it.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been sitting there when I hear the front door open, and with a single breath, I walk toward those brown eyes, so much like mine, now red and wet.
His lip is trembling, and he stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, not knowing what to do with himself.
It’s the first time he’s looked at me without lighting up when he sees me. Instead he’s watching me with something that looks like suspicion, and God, the organ in my chest contracts with a sharp, painful pull.
“Seb, will you come out to the garden with me so we can talk?”
He nods shyly, and we step outside, where the leaves crunch underfoot.
Karina follows, but she stops and leans against the trunk of an oak tree at the edge of the yard.
For her, Sebastian is the living memory of everything we lost. He is our future and the hope that we’ll find our way back to each other as a family someday.
At the far end of the garden are two swings I put up myself when Seb was three. He takes one, I take the other. We don’t say a word, we just sit in each other’s presence, and I ask Dean, silently, to show me how to approach this. He was always the one who knew how to hold an emotional conversation.
Give me problems, give me approximations, give me theorems and their converses, but don’t ask me to talk through feelings, because I don’t know how to resolve them or where to begin.
Before I find the courage, Seb turns to look at me, cheeks flushed, tears ready to fall, and asks me directly, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re my father?”