Page 79 of Stupid Dirty

“What do you think?”

“He’s definitely shit-faced, but he’s alert and oriented, so we can’t take him involuntarily. If he wants to AMA out, he can. I just don’t want him to try to drive. Or wander down the highway until he meets a big rig, face first. Do you think your boy would come get him?”

I hate the idea of waking Silas up to come deal with his dad in this state, but it might be the best option. Ubers don’t exactly hang around these parts in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, let’s try.”

We have him sign that he’s staying here against medical advice and I send Rolla back inside, telling her to make sure no oneserves him again tonight, which makes her snort. I also make sure she has his car keys tucked safely behind the bar so he doesn’t get any dumb ideas while he’s waiting for his ride.

“Can I call Silas to come give you a ride, Travis?” I ask once everything else is settled.

I expect a lazy nod or possibly more childish defiance. I don’t expect the raw anguish that takes over his face.

“Silas is a ghost. You can’t call the dead.”

Tristan and I are left gawking at each other.

“Cade, do you know what he’s talking about?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

Drunk people say a lot of shit, but this is weirder than anything I’ve heard before. I try to gently prompt him a couple more times, but all it does is make him more and more agitated, spilling incoherent things about Silas and ghosts and death, over and over. The fact that I spoke with Silas a few hours ago, before he went to sleep, is the only thing allowing me to stay rational and not worry that something fucking unthinkable has happened tonight.

It doesn’t stop the pit ofwhat iffrom weighing down my stomach, though. If something happened to Silas, I wouldn’t be called. I’m not his family. I shove the thought away, along with all the other troubling shit that’s invaded my mind tonight, and focus on the task at hand.

I don’t know what Travis is talking about, but it’s clear that if Silas shows up right now, he’s going to lose his shit and make everything a hell of a lot worse. And possibly say some shit to Silas that will haunt his nightmares forever.

“Fuck.” I run my hands through my hair, trying to think, before eventually turning to Tristan. “Okay, it’s almost midnight. Let’s go back to the station, leave him here with Rolla, and then when we clock out, I’ll come back as a civilian and drag him home in my truck. Professionally my hands are tied, butas his son’s very pissed-off…whatever—” Tristan smirks when I equivocate over what word to use. “I have no issue hog-tying him in the back of my truck and dragging his ass back to town. Hopefully, he’ll pass out on the drive so we can get through the whole thing without waking Silas up and pulling him into this shit.”

Tristan nods. His arms are crossed over his chest, drawing attention to how fucking wide he is, and there’s a hint of a murderous expression in his eyes. Tristan’s always been a question mark in my life. There’s a lot I don’t know about him or what he’s capable of. But times like this make me damn glad that he has my back.

“I’ll come with you, in case he puts up a fight.”

I want to object, but to be honest, I probably need the help. I just want to get through this without Silas knowing. So instead, I sag with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

He claps me on the shoulder with one strong hand. “Thank me by thinking about what I said before. I also accept sports cars.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

I’m woken up by the sound of a crash downstairs, followed by muffled cursing. At first, I assume it’s Dad finally dragging himself home, until I hear a familiar voice.

Cade?

Hauling myself off my mattress and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I rush downstairs to see what’s going on. I’m only wearing sweats, but if someone’s breaking in, they can murder me shirtless.

It’s still dark downstairs, but there’s enough light coming in from the porch to show Cade and a slightly bulkier figure—Tristan, if I had to guess—dragging a third person into the entryway.

“Dad?”

Cade and Tristan both look up at me, but Dad remains slumped between them. The naked pity on both of their faces is something I’d love to never, ever see again.

“Hey, baby,” Cade says in that soft voice he uses when he’s worried about me. I don’t know why he’s being so delicate withme, but the use of the endearment has me flushing crimson, anyway. Hopefully, it’s too dark for Tristan to notice.

“What happened?”

“He got a little too sauced out at The Last Glass, but he wouldn’t let us take him to the hospital,” Tristan says, still in professional mode while Cade watches me with sad eyes. “Cade said you had work in the morning so we thought we could pick him up when our shift finished and bring him home, save him from waking you up to get a ride.”

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