Page 16 of Daddy of the Mountain

"People come here in trouble," he said finally, his tone flat. Matter-of-fact. "And I can help." He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. "That’s reason enough."

I blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. There was no bitterness in his voice, no defensiveness, but there was something else—something heavier.

“You could help from town, though,” I said softly, careful not to poke too hard, “join a rescue team or something, right?”

“That’s not who I am,” he said. “I don’t play well with others.”

The bed creaked softly beneath his weight. I could feel him, the warmth of him, so close it made my skin tingle. He sat stiff, hands resting on his thighs, fingers flexing once before going still again. I didn’t know where to look—at him? The fire? My lap? My pulse thudded in my ears, loud enough I worried he’d hear it.

"Storm’s letting up," he said finally, voice low and gravelly.

"Yeah," I murmured. My ankle shifted, brushing against his calf just barely. I froze. So did he. But he didn’t move away.

“You’ll be able to head off soon.”

“Yeah. Feels weird. I’ve enjoyed my time here.”

"Alana," he said, quieter this time, my name rough in his mouth.

"Yeah?"

His eyes flicked to mine then, holding for a beat longer than normal. Long enough that I forgot how to breathe. His gazedropped—to my lips, just a second, maybe less—but I caught it. Heat rushed to my face.

"Silas . . ." My voice barely carried, but he heard it. I knew because his shoulders tensed, just slightly.

The room seemed to shrink. The crackle of the fire faded, everything narrowing to the space between us. He leaned in, not much, just enough that I felt the shift, saw the way his jaw tightened. His eyes searched mine, dark and unreadable.

His jaw tightened. I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. His eyes were locked on mine for a split second before flicking down again, lingering on my mouth like it held some kind of answer he wasn’t ready to hear. I could hear his breathing now, uneven and strained, matching the frantic rhythm of my own heart.

I didn’t think. Couldn’t. The space between us disappeared, inch by inch, until I felt the faintest brush of his forehead against mine. Close enough that his warmth spilled over me, close enough that I could feel the tension radiating off him like static electricity. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to close the gap completely, to bridge whatever fragile thing had been building between us since the moment I’d stumbled into his world.

And then he was gone.

He pulled back so fast it startled me, the sharp intake of his breath breaking the spell. I froze, watching as he squeezed his eyes shut, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. His shoulders hunched, every line of his body screaming conflict.

"Silas?" My voice cracked, slipping through the tight knot in my throat. He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at me. Just pushed himself to his feet, the movement jerky, almost desperate.

"Goddammit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. His fingers dug into the dark strands like he could pull whatever war he was fighting straight out of his skull.

"Hey—" I started, but he turned away, pacing toward the door like a caged animal. My chest tightened, confusion and something else—something raw—spreading like wildfire. "What’s wrong? Did I—"

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not you."

"Then what is it?" I asked, shifting to the edge of the bed. My ankle protested the movement, but I ignored it, leaning forward like I could physically reach him if I just tried hard enough. "Because it sure feels like it’s something I did."

He shook his head, still facing the door. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to steady him. If anything, he looked more wound up, his fingers curling into a fist where they rested against the wood.

"Silas." I said his name again, firmer this time. He flinched, just barely, like the sound itself hurt. My pulse hammered, a mix of frustration and worry tangling together in a way that made my voice sharper than I intended. "You don’t get to do that—pull away like that—and then leave me hanging. Talk to me."

He turned, and there was something wild in his eyes now, something I didn’t recognize but couldn’t look away from. "I can’t just . . . do this." His hand swept through his hair again, fingers tugging at the strands like they might distract him. "I’m not—" He stopped, exhaled sharply, then looked at me full-on, his gaze pinning me to the spot. "I’m not a casual man."

"Okay," I said slowly, frowning. "I’m not asking you to be casual. I don’t—" I cut myself off, unsure how to untangle whatever mess we’d wandered into. "Just tell me what you mean."

He laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was bitter, low, a sound that scraped over my skin. "You don’t get it," he said, pacing again, his footsteps heavier now. "I’m not what you think. I can’t be what you’re probably used to."

"Then tell me." I stood, testing the weight on my ankle, but I couldn’t stay seated anymore. He’d built all this distance between us, and I needed to close it. "Help me understand, Silas. You’re making no sense right now."

He stopped pacing so abruptly I thought he might’ve hurt himself. His back was to me, the broad line of his shoulders rigid as stone. For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. That he might keep standing there like a statue until I gave up. But then, slowly, he turned.

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