27. Silas
Storm is beautiful in the morning, light spilling across her face. She’s sprawled across the bed like she forgot she’s supposed to be careful with me. Whether it be my arm—or her heart.
One thigh’s hooked over mine, her hand loose on my chest. No hesitation. No walls. Like this wasn’t a one-time thing she’d suggested before.
I get the initial limitation. As right as last night felt, it was bound to end up complicated.
The What happens now? and What do we tell Max? Will she or won’t she give this a chance?
But I don’t feel an ounce of it right now.
I’m not worried. I’m getting my girl.
The ache in my chest? Probably from feeling like I’d been screwing this up for years by not choosing her sooner.
And that changes today.
Slipping out of bed, I grab my clothes out of the dryer we ran last night after dinner and step out into the cool fall morning to make a call. I know he’ll be up getting ready. He and his wife no doubt already hitting the gym together.
The phone rings twice before he answers.
“About time you called,” Chase answers, slightly winded.
“Out of breath already? And they tell me I need to recuperate,” I grumble.
“How’s that going?”
I stretch my arm, feeling the soreness from the workout yesterday. Saddling and riding most likely. It wasn’t easy, practiced, controlled movements. It was jerkier than I need right now.
“Think I pushed it with PT yesterday, but it’s getting better.” It’s a white lie.
PT could stand for Pacing Tucker.
He growls under his breath. “Silas, we need you back on the ice. Don’t screw with your recovery.”
I glance behind me. “I didn’t call for a lecture from my best friend. I need a favor.”
He sighs. “Which car you need me to drive back for you?”
I smirk. “The SUV.” It’s one of the three cars I park in the garage of my high-rise apartment building in Denver. The same one Chase lives in.
“Should you even be driving right now?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing I’m opening myself up to questions I don’t need right now.
But he of all people should understand. Chase’s wife, Pepper, is a Denver Kings Ice Queen.
Originally a disguise he’d arranged for his old high school crush when she came back to Hideaway Springs as a runaway bride.
He’d have given and done anything to protect her and eventually—make her his.
“It’s not for me.”
There’s a smirk in his voice when he asks, “What’s her name?”
I’m quiet for a beat, looking out at the mountain view, the fields we grew up racing across. “Storm.”
“Storm?”
“She’s . . . an old friend and she’s got a kid. She works here at the ranch and . . .” My eyes linger on her old car. “I need her in some reliable wheels.”
“Say no more. We’ll drop it off tonight. Got to be at Levi’s for dinner at six. So we’ll swing by around five?”
“I owe you.”
“Just focus on getting back on the ice.”
I’m about to tell him it’s all I’m thinking about—but I’d be lying.
Getting back on the ice has taken a back seat to Storm. And Max. At least recently.
It was the only thing I wanted when I woke up from surgery.
To work through recovery and be allowed back.
But the desperation for it—the urgency—has eased.
Not that I feel any less ready, it’s just not all that matters anymore.
It’s like all the holes I didn’t know I had in my heart have been filled, and playing again would just be icing on the cake.
“Hey, and grab my team jacket in the front closet,” I add.
He sighs. “Anything else?”
I grin at the sarcasm and thank him before hanging up. Then shoot out a text to my brother to check on the kid.
Silas: How was your night?
Dallas: How was your night?
I smirk.
Silas: Don’t be cute. Everyone sleep okay?
Dallas: Max had a great night. We decorated, had dinner, lots of candy, and they both passed out halfway through the movie. So tell Storm not to worry.
Silas: Thanks. She’s still sleeping.
Dallas: **scratches beard . . . waiting for more **
Silas: **rolls eyes and disappears**
Dallas: lol
I shake my head with a grin. Least he didn’t come back with, What else is new?
I turn and step back into the cottage, catching Storm mid-pace between the kitchen and the living room. She stops cold when she sees me, eyes searching my face, her expression caught between confusion . . . and relief.
I shut the door and turn back to her.
“Morning,” she says, her voice raspy.
I don’t say anything as I take my time crossing to her, watching her shift to smooth herself out like I didn’t just catch her spiraling because I wasn’t in bed with her when she woke up. Because she didn’t know where I was.
She straightens at my advance, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.
A slow, knowing smirk pulls at my mouth when I reach her. “You thought I left.”
Dropping the act, she sighs. “Ugh. Can you blame me, hotshot?” She turns toward the kitchen. The pot of coffee already going.
I catch her arm with my left one—already conscious of the overuse yesterday. “No,” I tell her. “I don’t blame you.”
Putting light pressure against her abdomen, I push her until her lower back hits the island. I’m towering over her and I don’t like it. Stepping back, I say. “Get up here.”
Glancing behind, she hops onto the counter like a pro.
I grin and lean into her. “God that’ll never get old.”
“What?”
“You doing what I tell you.” I stroke her jaw.
She purses her lips and cocks her head. “Something you need to say?”
“Yes.” I set both hands on either side of her. “I don’t blame you for thinking I left. But I want it to be the last time you doubt me, Storm.”
Her hazel eyes flash at the command in my tone, then narrow at the audacity of it. “Do you always get what you want?”
“I thought I made it clear yesterday, Bee. I wanted you . . . all those years ago. I came back for you.”
Her eyes soften for a brief moment, dropping to my mouth, then back up. “And what did you do when you couldn’t have me? When someone got in your way?”
I swallow. “I left.”
There’s a momentary beat between us. “Can I get down now?”
“No. There’s something else I need to say so there’s no question about my intentions. I want you. I want this.”
She scoffs. “Silas, last night was—” Her voice cracks like blowing this off is harder than she thought it would be. “It was amazing,” she finishes with a breath. “But I don’t think it’s good for anyone to bet our hearts on a morning-after high.”
I lick my lips, taking her hands. “Fair enough. But this isn’t some big revelation, Storm. It’s . . .” I search for the right words but they’re not as poetic as she deserves. It’s honest. “It’s just the truth finally catching up to me.”
The look in her eyes is like she’s almost afraid to ask. “What truth?”
“When I came back for you . . . and your father sent me away—I was still weak. Still raw from being shut out by my own family for being different. Not because they pushed me out—but because somewhere along the way I convinced myself I didn’t belong there anymore.
” I grip her hands a bit tighter with the confession and feel her soft thumbs smooth my rough skin.
“What I heard wasn’t a simple request from a protective father.
It was bigger than that for me. Almost solidifying my choice to move on.
For a moment, I thought holding on to you was a way to hold on to my roots, my town, what’s familiar, but it wasn’t.
It isn’t. You were something else entirely for me.
Someone I used to love spending time with.
The first person I thought of when I got the news of the early draft picks.
Losing you meant far more to me than being cheated out of learning how to saddle a damn horse. ”
She exhales a laugh, her eyes misting over.
“I don’t blame you for doubting me, Storm. But I’m not walking away this time. So unless you don’t feel the same, don’t expect me to.”
She wants it too. I can feel it. I can see it by the way she leans in to what I’m confessing.
Like a longing she’s too proud to admit.
But there’s still that shadow behind her eyes—one I keep catching that’s got nothing to do with me leaving.
And everything to do with something she’s not ready to say.
It shuts her down every time.
Max’s father.
As if on cue, her head drops to our hands. “Silas, I—”
“What if I told you I don’t need to know who his father is?”
She looks up at me. A question there.
“Not now anyway,” I add with an honest grin.
She nods, her head dropping back to her hands, shaking now even under my grip on them.
Sucking in a breath, she meets my eyes again. “I want you too. But I can’t make any promises about my trust issues.” She swallows hard. “I um . . . I might need some work.”
The hopefulness, the raw honesty behind what she’s asking, makes my stomach dip. I brush my thumbs under her ears and press my forehead to hers. “You don’t scare me, Bumble Bee. But losing you again does.”
Her lashes fall and I feel another swallow. After a moment, she offers me a tired grin. “Coffee?”
“Sounds like I’m gonna need it.” I wink.