Page 23 of Redemption
“I’ll think about it,” I say, knowing my window for deciding is closing fast.
“That’s all I can ask,” Lily says, trailing her fingers down my arm and making me wonder how effectively I set that friendship line. From the softness in her eyes when I look up, I think I might need to etch it in stone because her green eyes don’t make my heart speed to dangerous speeds like the pair of icy blue ones I looked into today. Even though nothing will ever happen between MJ and me, the same is true for me and Lily.
But I don’t want to hurt her, so I stand until we are the same height and pull her into a hug. “Thanks, Lily. You’re a good friend.”
She flinches in my embrace, the words settling between us. When she pulls back, there’s a sad acceptance in her eyes, and I can’t help but sigh in relief.
______________________
After leaving the school, I hopped in my truck and drove.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling up to an older brick home on the outskirts of town with milkshakes sitting in my cup holder. I know better than to show up empty-handed.
Pulling into the drive, I cut my engine and grab the shakes. The stairs on the porch creek beneath my weight, and I make a note to come out here on my next weekend off to replace some of the boards.
The last thing I need is the old man falling through one and getting a call on my next shift.
Knocking on the door with my foot, I step back and wait. When there’s no answer, I knock again.
“Come on, Old Man. It’s burning up out here,” I holler, chuckling as I wait.
“Careful who you’re calling old,” a voice calls from inside. “I bet I could still take you.”
The funny thing is, he’s probably not wrong. I met Silas when I arrested him for fighting in the grocery store parking lot. He was seventy-five at the time, and that was three years ago. He’s a feisty old man, but I love him. He’s become somewhat of a surrogate grandfather to me. My grandparents live five hours away, so I don’t get to see them much, and as much as I love them, Silas is a realm of his own. It’s impossible to keep up with him to keep him out of trouble.
It’s a couple more minutes before the door finally creeks open, and when it does, I almost turn around and leave. The older man stands in the doorway, clad in a white undershirt, boxers, and nothing else.
I screw my eyes shut, forever traumatized by the sight, and booming laughter filters through the air.
“Silas,” I groan, “stop answering the door in your underwear.”
“Boy, you can’t boss me around. Besides, looks like you already tried that with someone else, and they gave you a shiner. Didn’t you learn your lesson?”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t heard the rumors about how I got this. You’re the worst gossip in this town.”
He chuckles, “Oh, I know—and I would love to have a conversation about that one. You ready for that?”
“Not in a million years,” I grumble, shaking my head. My eyes stay closed.
Silas knows who MJ is. Everyone knows the Harrison’s, but he doesn’t know all of it, only that once upon a time, I was in love with her, and it didn’t work out.
“That’s what I thought.”
I can’t help but smile at the grumpiness in Silas’s voice. He pretends to be a grump, but he’s really a softy under all that hard exterior. At seventy-eight, he is covered head to toe in tattoos and is taller than I am. The man is intimidating, but I once watched him get down on his hands and knees to have a conversation with a four year old. He didn’t want her to feel like he was towering over her, so he got on her level despite the ache in his joints and the time it took him to stand back up.
I sigh, knowing that I’m fighting a losing battle. “If you want this milkshake, put some pants on at the very least.”
“Well,” Silas grumbles, “I might let you boss me around for a milkshake.”
It’s only when I hear his footsteps disappearing into the recesses of his home that I chance opening my eyes. Peeking one eye open, I sigh when the coast is clear. Silas left the door open, so I step inside, pulling it shut behind me.
“Your milkshake is melting,” I yell, letting my voice echo off the walls of the house.
When you walk in, the living room is to the left. I head in that direction, sitting on one of his floral couches to wait for him to return. The whole house is a mish-mash of furniture and decor he’s found over the years. Not one piece of it matches, and not because he can’t afford it. Silas prefers the oddity of the things in his home, and I have to agree that it matches him.
“If you’re bringing me a milkshake, then things must be dire,” Silas says, coming back into the room and buttoning his jeans.
“Maybe I just wanted to see your ugly mug.” I extend my arm and wait for him to take the cup from me and get settled.
