33. Storm
I help Max out of his Spider-Man costume and into the shower after the long night at the Halloween festival and enough candy to last through New Year’s, then meet Silas in the kitchen. He’s unloading the refrigerator like he plans on cooking. But we’ve already eaten plenty tonight.
He’s in a Henley that hugs his chest and biceps. It hangs loose over his abs, but I can still see his muscles flex as he starts to chop celery absently.
“What are you doing?” I chuckle, leaning on the kitchen island.
He’s got a boiling pot going and chicken soup ingredients spread across the counter. “Haven’t you worked that arm enough tonight?” I wince as he attempts peeling carrots with his left hand. It’s so aggressive, I’m afraid he might miss and peel skin off.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look up, his eyes laser-focused. “Silas?”
He blinks up, noticing me. “Hey.” Then glances toward the shower. “Everything all right?”
I narrow my eyes. “I was going to ask you that. Did you forget it’s ten o’clock and we’re all stuffed from the festival?”
He stares down at the counter with the spread of vegetables. “Just thought I’d make something warm for the two of you, it was cold out there tonight.”
I watch him curiously, pursing my lips and hopping on a stool to watch him.
He glances up, brief hesitation in his expression. “You said something the other day about going to plenty of rodeos. When was your first?”
The question catches oddly in my chest, but I mentally shake it off. “Oh, I was twenty? I think. I was just shy of drinking age, so it wasn’t as fun as it could’ve been.”
He flicks his gaze to me and I pick up a glare before he drops it back to the cutting board.
“Silas, did something happen?” My heartrate kicks up and I think about what it might be, since he doesn’t respond.
“Is it the team?” I realize I may be just as afraid as he is to lose this.
I want to see him happy, fulfilled. Especially after seeing him last week—the void it’s been for him to not be playing.
“No.” He shakes his head once, voice low when he answers.
I bite my lip. “Is it more . . . media stuff?”
He meets my eyes and I have my answer. I come around the counter to him. “I told you, this is part of who you are and it doesn’t scare me. And we agreed we’ll protect Max from it as long as we can.”
“What happens when we can’t?” he snaps.
“Silas,” I breathe, appreciating his concern for my kid’s privacy. “Slow down. Like you said, we’ll figure it out.”
He stares for a long moment like he’s trying to determine something. “Right. Besides, not like it matters who or what they find, right?”
A chill slides through me. “What does that mean?”
He grips the corner of the counter, eyes zoned in on the marble. “Tell me something, Storm. If your first rodeo was at twenty years old, that would make Max . . . what, seven?”
At first I’m confused, thinking he’s using my first rodeo to mean my first time. Until I remember the story I told him.
It happened at my first rodeo. I was young and stupid. Max didn’t know him and he never will.
I still, lifting my gaze to his. His eyes aren’t soft, they’re not hard either. There’s no accusation. No demand. Just a simple question and a flicker of hurt.
“You tricked me,” I whisper.
His expression softens and he drops the knife, coming around the counter to me. His fingers slide along my jaw, gentle but urgent. “I did,” he winces painfully. “And I hated doing it. But if it’s something you want to keep private, the media won’t care about protecting you the way I do.”
My chest sinks in defeat because he’s right. But the stubborn part of me turns away from him even if all I want to do is fall into his chest.
His arms warp around me. “I hate the idea of anyone blindsiding you.”
“Unless it’s you?” I snap. And I know it’s unfair and likely a diversion.
He turns me toward him but before he can get words out, Max comes into the room.
Oblivious to the tension, my kid surveys the contents in the kitchen and groans. “Are you going to make me eat soup if I want candy?”
There’s a beat before Silas reacts with smirk. “No force-feeding here. But it wouldn’t hurt you to have some warm liquids. You had nothing but corn dogs and fried dough dipped in powdered sugar.”
Max grumbles and turns back to his room. “I’ll have some broth when it’s ready.”
I barely blink before Silas is in front of me again, lifting my jaw with both hands and kissing me softly, murmuring another apology.
I suck in a breath but Max cuts me off from his bedroom. “Silas, will you spend the night again?”
Silas studies my face, calling back but not as loudly—this is just meant for me. “I don’t know yet, buddy.”
I swallow. I can’t dodge this one again. And I’m running out of times this patient man is going to let me.
Stepping back, but keeping his eyes on me, he calls back. “But I’ll be here in the morning, you can count on that.”
Sharp pain stabs my chest, nausea rolling in right after. Because if I break—if I tell him tonight, the likelihood of him being here in the morning is almost non-existent.
Max joins us in the kitchen and Silas and I finish the soup together in comfortable silence. Well, he seems comfortable—like he didn’t just catch me in the lie of the century.
I’m losing my mind.
After his cup of soup and a thorough tooth brushing, I settle Max into bed for the night, dodging his million questions from candy to costumes and of course, Silas.
I move to my bedroom for a moment to breathe. To settle my pounding heart. How did I not think about Jasper in all this media stuff? No doubt he’ll recognize me and know exactly who the kid with me belongs to.
But he doesn’t belong to him.
And Daddy made very sure that Jasper would never come back to claim him. Not unless he feels like signing up for eighteen years of child support including the nine years he’s missed.
I have to believe that’s enough.
Silas steps into the room, stopping a foot behind me.
I can’t think straight.
I should ask him to leave. Tell him Max is getting too attached. I’m getting too attached.
Between my clinginess and dishonesty, he’ll no doubt agree it’s for the best.
And that’ll be that.
Instead, I flip around and blurt out, “Stay.”
His grin is slow and easy. His hands gentle on my hips. “Come here.” He takes my hands and pulls me between his legs as he sits on the edge of my bed, his blue eyes looking up at me. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry that you can’t stay tonight?”
“That too. But no, I’m sorry I backed you into a corner out there. It wasn’t fair and that’s not the man I want to be for you.”
I rest my arms over his shoulders. “Under different circumstances, I might like you backing me into a corner.”
His mouth tips with temptation. “Come on, I’ll get you into bed and I’ll be back in the morning with breakfast.”
I nod and climb onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard, bringing my knees to my chest. “I was young,” I tell him. “But . . . younger than twenty.” I look down at my sheets. “That night . . . shouldn’t have gone down the way it did.”
He watches me like there’s so much he wants to ask. “So there was no rodeo?”
I shake my head with a bitter grin. “It was . . . a different kind of celebration.”
He sits on the other side of bed, facing me.
“His parents had more money than mine. They got the lawyer. All I had was . . . my choice, I guess. They wanted two things. Forget he’s the father and not hold him accountable for eighteen years.”
“And what did you want?’’
“To never see him again,” I rasp. “My mother said we didn’t need some fancy lawyer to make that happen.
Especially if he essentially wanted the same thing.
We refused to sign every version of their so-called agreement.
They kept raising the dollar amount. None of it was close to even covering the first two years.
I was growing tired of the back and forth.
Finally, Daddy said we’ll take their last offer.
So long as they add a clause that says if he ever makes contact again, he’ll be liable for the full eighteen years of the child’s life. ”
I watch Silas take it all in.
“So don’t worry—he’s not coming back here.”
A frown flashes across his face, but then he’s scooting up on his knees until he’s in front of me. Releasing my tight grip around myself and holding my face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He kisses my temple. “That I wasn’t here for you, Storm. I wish I knew. I’d have made him pay.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have regrets. I protected Max’s future by not having this man show up when he grows a conscience in ten years.
And then . . .” My voice cracks and my eyes water.
“I don’t know, try to prove I’m an unfit mother and take him away from me.
” I swallow back the threat of tears. “It took me years to realize this man manipulated me that night. And I never wanted anything to do with him again.”
“You never will. I’ll make sure of it.” After a moment, Silas pushes off the bed, sheds his clothes down to his boxers, and settles next to me, wrapping me in his strong arms. “You know I was never really leaving tonight, right?”
I smile, settling into him. Then close my eyes as I hum, “I wish it was you.”
He kisses my forehead gently. “It is now,” he whispers. “And it always will be.”