Page 90 of Stupid Dirty

“Baby, what happened?” I whisper.

Instead of answering, he turns to open the door and gets out of the truck. I follow, and together we unlock the silent house and head inside. Once his bags are on the floor, Silas takes my hand again and leads me to the bedroom that used to be Travis’.

He points to a spot in the corner, a few inches of worn carpet between the bathroom door and the wall.

“This is where Dad found me, the time he thought I was dead. I was less than a year old, and he said I was wrapped up in sheets like she’d tried to strangle me. I was cold when he touched me. ‘Like meat.’ That’s how he described it.”

My eyes are glassy, but I focus my attention onmySilas, here in front of me. My brain is screaming at me to claw my way through time and save him from all of this, because it never should have fucking happened. It’s all I want. It’s impossible, though, so the least I can do is set aside my own emotions to give the present-day version of him my full attention.

We move into the bathroom, and he points at the floor by the toilet.

“She was here. She’d taken pills, but she was still alive as well. He took us both to the hospital, and once we came home, he quit touring and convinced himself that everything was going to be fine. Six years later, she killed herself in that bathtub.” He gestures towards it absently, and I’m rocked by a wave of nausea in response. “By cutting her wrists. I was with her, but I don’t remember. I always used to wonder why she wanted to take mewith her the first time, but not the second. I guess I’ll never know.”

Silas swipes at his face, even though it’s bone dry. His fingers reach up to tug at his hair out of habit, but I don’t think I can watch any more of this. Moving closer, I pluck his fingers from his hair to wrap his hand up in mine again instead.

When I press my face into the side of his forehead, we both take a deep breath at the same time. Our combined exhalation seems to scatter the remnants of memories from the room until it’s just us again. The way it was meant to be.

“It’s been a big day, baby,” I say to him. “Let’s go to your room and sleep for a little while. We have the rest of our lives to deal with this shit.”

Silas doesn’t answer, but he rolls his head until there’s barely an inch between his lips and mine, and our breath is mingled in the space between us. Nodding slowly as he keeps pressing into me, Silas lets his body sag into mine, and I’m there to catch him.

We stay huddled together as we head upstairs, our movements sludgy with exhaustion. I’m about to dump him onto his mattress because I’m well past giving a fuck about putting sheets on it, but Silas stops me.

“Can I take a shower first? I feel…” No words come out to finish that sentence, but I can fill in the blanks. It’s a gross kind of day.

“Of course.” I press a kiss against his lips, but break away before we have the chance to get distracted. “I’ll see if I can find some sheets or something, then we’ll rest for a while.”

The smile that takes over Silas’ face is small but genuine, which makes my heart seem to swell to the point of bursting.

“You don’t have to go to work today?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Tristan’s covering for me. He says you owe him for that, by the way, and I have no idea what he’s going to want in return. I hope you think me and Possum Hollow areworth it, because he definitely might ask you to help him bury a body. Who the fuck knows.”

A warm chuckle spills out of Silas before he kisses me again. This time is a little deeper, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, but I still don’t let us get derailed.

“Go. Shower,” I say, swatting him on the ass. “I promise I’ll still be here when you get out.”

He sways as he turns to go, nearly drunk with exhaustion, but he’s still smiling. The tendrils of hope that have been steadily wrapping around my heart finally outnumber all the anxious ones, and I can breathe again.

Right: sheets. Bed.Silas.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

By the time I step out of the shower and towel off, my mind feels like a battlefield.

The familiar, almost comforting tug of numbness is there, telling me to wall off my brain and go to sleep. But for once, there are too many other thoughts and emotions vying for my attention. Part of me wants to melt into Cade’s arms and cling to him, convinced that everything will work out as long as we’re together. Part of me is buzzing with happiness that I finally made a decision for myself and went after what I really wanted. And part of me is already wrapped around the laundry list of practical things I need to deal with in order to survive, like begging for my job and truck back from Ford.

Meanwhile, the small, lurking voice of fear is still asking me if I made a mistake, and if this isn’t the first step I’ve taken towards ruining Cade’s life by hitching his wagon to my broken one.

And the smallest, most child-like part of my mind is wishing Dad were here. It’s like I’m mourning the death of some potential future-Dad who woke up one day and suddenly saidand did all the right things, and cared about me the way I wanted him to. I know that was never going to happen, but now that he’s gone, there really isn’t a chance.

“You okay?”

Cade’s voice brings my attention back to the present. I’m standing in my room with a towel wrapped around my waist, but not moving towards the mattress.

The mattress which has sheets on now, I notice. Because Cade went and found some for me. This is probably the kind of thing that most people’s family do for them all the time. It’s tiny, really. But something about it is taking root in my heart and not letting go. There’s a burning pressure behind my eyes, and I don’t cry, but it’s the closest I’ve come all day.

Over fucking sheets.

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