Page 42 of Stupid Dirty

Silas is pretty fucking cool.

Getting a front-row seat to watching him come out of his shell and learn to be happy? It’s icing on the cake. Every day he’s away from his dad, I swear his smile gets a little more carefree. No one could watch that without feeling like they’re looking at a miracle.

I’m pretty sure I’m smiling to myself like a dope while I clean this vomit. It isn’t until Tristan speaks that I snap out of my weird train of thought.

“So, I got called out to a bar fight on Saturday night. Treated some cuts and scrapes on a very belligerent guy who looks like an older, meth-ier version of you and shares the same last name. Anything you wanna talk about?”

I grimace. I try to keep the disaster part of my life separate from my job, where I pretend to be a somewhat put-together person. But it’s a small town, and Tristan has lived here long enough. I’m not fooling anyone.

“Yeah, he likes to make an entrance whenever he comes back to town,” I answer with a sigh.

Tristan keeps a carefully neutral expression. “Has he been around to see your mom? I can see you’re sporting a nice new shiner and it ain’t dirt bike season.”

“It’s fine. Silas was there. He helped me kick the old man’s ass to the curb. It’s all under control.” A little smile teases my lips at the look of shock on Dad’s face when Silas tackled him into the counter like a linebacker. If I had been breathing at the time, I would have fucking cheered.

“Ah. Silas.” Tristan stares me down. “The infamous Silas.”

There’s a pause, and I can’t figure out what Tristan is building up to saying. Calm green eyes take in every inch of me the same way he takes in a scene as soon as we arrive, and it makes me nervous.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Tristan is my friend, but he’s also a little scary sometimes. I’ve seen him in some of his less controlled moments and there’s some real darkness behind his eyes. I get the feeling that his capacity for violence is a lot more extensive than he wants anyone to know.

Which is fine. Everybody deserves a fresh start. I don’t need to pry, and I’m perfectly happy never pissing him off and finding out what happens when his control snaps.

But my patience is thin today. Silas is the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time. If Tristan has something shitty to say about him, I want him to get it over with.

“Yeah, but you didn’t not say anything, either. You’ve got that look on your face like you’re about to tell me you’re dying. Or ask me to help bury a body. I never know with you. I’m too tired and bruised to bullshit. Whatever you wanna say, just spill.”

If he’s surprised that I snapped at him, his face doesn’t show it.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, is all.”

“Jealous, Tristan? You’re still my work-husband, don’t worry, boo. That relationship is carved in stone.” I laugh it off, very determined to cover up how uncomfortable this conversation is making me.

“You know what I mean. He gets back to town, and first you’re furious at him for some weird, made-up reason.”

“It was not made up—”

“I’m not done. Then the next time I see you, you’re friends. Not just friends, you’re insta-besties.”

I can’t help but snort. Tristan is a good-looking guy, but he’s also a big, very tough-looking guy. Like if Liam Hemsworth went to actual war and then got his nose broken a couple of times. I’m a big believer that there’s no right or wrong way to ‘be a man’, but it’s still surreal to see him use the phrase ‘insta-besties’.

“And ever since, he’s in every single story you tell. ‘Me and Silas took the girls back-to-school shopping’. ‘Silas has neverplayed video games before, so I’m teaching him’. ‘I need to finish my shift early so I can take Silas car shopping’. I’m glad you’ve made a new friend, but it all seems kind of co-dependent, don’t you think?”

I stop, turning the thought over in my mind. Is it? Maybe from the outside it looks like that, but from my perspective, it’s just Silas. Why wouldn’t I want to spend more time with him? He’s awesome.

The thought makes me laugh to myself.

“You don’t get it because you don’t know him,” I explain. “He’s impossible to get tired of. No one’s given two shits about Silas since his mom died, if not longer. He’s spent his entire life in a black hole of empathy, and managed to come out of it as this sweet, hilarious, generous guy. Now he’s learning to enjoy his life for the first time, and I get to be the one to teach him. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that? And if I’m spoiling him with attention, so what? He fucking deserves it. He deserves everything I have to offer, so I’m not going to hold back because of whatever arbitrary decisions society has made about men needing to be independent. Fuck that and fuck you for suggesting it.”

When I look up, I realize Tristan has completely stopped counting drugs and is looking at me with his eyebrows raised. He stares at me long enough that I feel like I’m going to explode, but before it gets to be too much, he speaks.

“Cade, are you guys involved?”

I freeze.

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