Page 41 of Every Hidden Truth

Of course, I’d been driving, so I hadn’t responded, and he must have gotten anxious because he started to ramble.

Will: She’s in Arizona. Did you know? She wants to come visit. I told her about the baby.

Barely a minute had passed before he’d texted again.

Will: She asked about you.

My throat thickened at the last message, and I lowered my phone to my lap as I swallowed the hard lump. It was so like her to come waltzing back into our lives like she had a place there. She’d done a number on all of us when she left six years ago. Somehow, Will never harbored the bitterness I did.

Dad never talked about her, his heart still shattered from her betrayal, and I forced myself to pretend she didn’t exist. Her abandonment hurt—of course it did—but I refused to give her that kind of power. She left us, and I wouldn’t waste tears on her.

But now she was clawing her way back in through the only unsealed door. Will was an idiot.

Silas: Sorry, I was driving. Don’t give her my number.

I tucked my phone into my pocket and tossed my backpack over one shoulder.

Dad had left this morning for Muncie and wouldn’t be home till Saturday afternoon. Spending the majority of my birthday alone was going to suck, but I couldn’t blame him. He had to work this week in order to stay home through the holidays. We’d still be together in the evening for my birthday dinner, at least.

My phone trilled as I hung my coat on the rack, and I leisurely removed my boots, procrastinating. I didn’t want to talk about Mom, especially with Will acting forgiving. It was her choice to leave, and someone had to hold her accountable.

Pouring myself a glass of chocolate milk, I grabbed a banana from the fruit basket on the dining table and collapsed onto the couch. I sipped my milk as I fingered my phone, curious but afraid to read Will’s message.

Annoyed at my cowardice, I unlocked my screen.

Will: I wouldn’t give her your number unless you wanted me to. I just thought you’d want to know that we talked.

I set my glass on the coffee table and responded.

Silas: Thanks. How is she?

The wait made my skin itch, and I slid my phone next to my milk as I peeled my banana. Needing a distraction, I took a few suggestive selfies of me eating the banana and sent them to Ben, chuckling to myself as I imagined his mortified reaction. Getting a boner in his tiny Speedo couldnotbe comfortable.

My phone buzzed, but it wasn’t Ben.

Will: She’s okay, I think. It was awkward and weird. But it was nice to hear her voice. She sounds just the same.

Silas: Okay, just don’t give her my number.

Will: I won’t.

Bored, I pulled out my econ study guide and pretended to study, checking my phone every few minutes even though Ben wouldn’t be done with practice for another hour.

Will changed the subject, and we chatted off and on as I stared unseeing at my study packet. I hated finals week. At least Friday would be a half-day.

I must have drifted off on the couch at some point because I startled awake to my front door opening. Ben cautiously poked his head in, his mouth open to call out to me, but our eyes met as I sat up on the couch. His lips thinned into his rebuking mother look as he strode into the house, brandishing his phone.

“Seriously?” His screen was open to our conversation, and I snorted at the picture of my mouth wrapped around the banana in a rather lecherous way.

The scent of greasy meat and fried potatoes distracted me from Ben’s scandalized frustration, and I spotted a bag of food in his other hand.

My mouth watered, and I scrambled to my feet, hands outstretched.

“Food! Gimme.” I yanked the bag from his grip and ignored his deepening frown as I pecked his cheek. “Thanks, Benji.”

“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is getting a boner in a Speedo while standing in a room full of straight, naked teammates?” He removed his coat and shoes, his movements extra jerky to punctuate his annoyance.

I did nothing to hide my chortle. “Oops. Sorry.”

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