Page 6 of Even After Sunset

Right.

So I do. For what feels like a really long time, but is probably just five minutes. Which is still long enough that the fatigue starts to catch up with me again and it actually helps balance out the intensity of my nerves. My head is a little clearer, at least. I’m a little less freaked out.

And Silas is still fast asleep.

I try one more time, unsuccessfully, to wake him up, and then decide I might as well get some sleep myself. I don’t need to be in Provincetown for another ten hours. We can figure things out in the morning. I’ll buy him breakfast and we can catch up. I can make sure he’s okay and get him a bus ticket home and find out what else he needs; figure out a way to see each other again once I’m back home without his aunt finding out.

Except I don’t want to send him away after I just found him. Not after just a few hours. Already I’m regretting how I reacted to seeing him at first; what I said and how I said it and what I didn’t ask, or how I could have asked it differently. Because I wish that the re-connection felt more concrete… more tangible. More like something I could hold on to, especially if I’m not going to see him again for another couple of months. Or possibly years.

I go through the night-time routine, which I know will become second nature to me soon, but for now, feels stilted and awkward. I velcro the covers over the front windows, draw the curtains and make sure the doors are all locked. And finally, after brushing my teeth and grabbing a quick bowl of cereal, I check on Silas one last time, debating whether I should do something to make him more comfortable. But I have no idea what that might be, so I just head down the short hallway and collapse onto my bed.

I keep my clothes on and stay on top of the covers. Because even though he isn’t technically a stranger, the idea of changing into my sleep shorts with Silas just a few feet away just feels strange. Also, I have no idea if he’s going to wake up puking in the middle of the night or something, or if there might be some other scenario where I’ll need to jump out of bed at a moment’s notice.

So I lie staring up at the shadows on the sloped ceiling above my bed, trying to focus on something simple to keep my thoughts from racing. But it doesn’t help; my brain is a jumble pile.

It is really,reallyhard to comprehend that this guy, who has stubble and muscles and a freaking tattoo on his forearm, is the same lanky Silas from seven years ago. But it is him. Silas Carmichael is here. In my kitchen. And I have so many questions for him. So many things Iwant to say to him, too.

I hate that he’s drunk and that he got kicked out of my friend’s party and that he didn’t even seem excited to see me. I hate that I don’t know him anymore. I hate that even though I’m not sure I’ll even like the person he’s become, this might be the only chance I ever get to see him again. Most of all, I hate that Silas Carmichael was just sitting two feet away from me and I had no idea what to say to him.

But tomorrow will be different. Because tomorrow I will be better prepared. Tomorrow I will find a way to make sure it isn’t the last time I see him.

Chapter Four

Jackie

Iwake up to the sound of running water and bolt upright as soon as I remember that Silas is here. I blink, squinting over at him just a few feet away, where he’s leaning over the kitchen sink, splashing water on his face. A thin beam of light squeezes through the gap between the window and the closed curtains and casts a hazy glow along his profile, making him look almost other worldly.

He turns off the tap and straightens, drying his hands on his jeans. His pale skin glistens, emphasizing the contrast with his full, pink lips, and he just stands there as droplets of water slide down his cheeks… his jaw… his neck… soaking the collar of his faded black T-shirt.

He glances over at the bedroom and when he sees me sitting there watching him, his body stiffens. I can see the outline of firm muscle across his shoulders through his worn T-shirt. He has the body of a man now. He’s barely even familiar.

The realization sends a wave of nostalgia through my chest, which makes me even more determined to rekindle at leastsomesort of connection with him.

I smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

His voice is sort of gravelly. And deep—another reminder of how much has changed since we last saw each other.

There’s an awkward silence after that, and I lean over and grab a scrunchie from the side pocket next to my pillow and use it to pull my hair up into a messy bun.

“Have you been awake for long?”

He looks away when he answers. “Maybe five minutes.”

Another awkward silence.

I straighten the covers, then climb out of bed. Silas is sitting at the table now and I watch as he retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. My jaw goes slack.

He taps the end of the box against his palm to slip a cigarette between his slim fingers. The ritual looks familiar to him and it makes me sad, because Silas hated smokers. We both did. We agreed it was disgusting and trashy, and only stupid people would ever waste their money on cigarettes when you could spend it on Twizzlers and marshmallow bananas instead.

I don’t even know if he likes marshmallow bananas anymore.

“Is this their camper? Richard and Meryl?” he asks, as if we were just talking about them. I’m surprised he even remembers their names.

“Oh. Uh, no. It’s mine.” I feel a tinge of pride as I explain how I bought it for a steal with money that I saved from jobs over the past few years, and then did a lot of the re-furbishing myself. I want him to know that I’m making my own way. Or at least that I’mtrying; so he sees that I haven’t turned into an entitled snob, the way we always imagined kids would be who grew up in a fancy town like Sandy Haven.

I expect him to ask why I’d buy a camper, because itisa little weird. Also, it would give me a chance to tell him about the food truck business I’m starting. But he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there twirling the cigarette over and over between his fingers.

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