I am. And I’m not.
“What the hell?” I manage, forcing my voice level even as confusion gnaws at me. “How did you—how are you here?”
Silas shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, avoiding my eyes. “I’m back in town. Figured I’d surprise you. You never pick up when I call.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” I say, sharper than I mean. “How’d you get in? You don’t have a key.”
His mouth twitches, not quite a grin. “Guess your lock isn’t that hard to figure out.”
A hollow laugh slips out of me. It shouldn’t surprise me; Silas has always been good at finding ways in when doors were closed. Still, something in the pit of my stomach tightens. I want to press, but the last thing I need is to chase him off after just getting him back in front of me. So, I let it go. For now.
He leans against the counter, eyeing me like he’s cataloging every change, every line in my face. “So. Hockey. How’s it going?”
My ribs throb under my shirt. Phoenix’s laughter echoes in my head. Coach’s narrowed eyes when I lied about being fine. And still, the words that come out of my mouth are smooth, automatic. “Really good. I’m really clicking with the team. We had a great practice.”
Silas’s shoulders ease, his relief immediate. He wants to believe it. Needs to. I hate how easy it is to give him that.
He pushes off the counter, drifting closer. “That’s good, Lee. That’s really good. I was worried, you know? New city, new team. It’s a lot of new shit in your life.”
I shrug, careful not to wince. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”
Because Silas has handled enough of my issues for a lifetime.
“Of course you can.” His voice is firm, like he’s trying to will that truth into being. He pauses, searching my face, then nods like he’s convinced himself. “You’re tougher than anyone gives you credit for.”
I swallow hard, the lie sitting heavy in my chest.
Tough. If he knew how badly one hit rattled me, how much effort it takes just to keep the mask in place, he wouldn’t be saying that. But that’s the point. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Because Silas carried enough for both of us when we were kids. He doesn’t need to carry me now.
“Want a drink?” he asks, moving toward the fridge like this is his house.
I watch him grab two beers, the casual ease of it surreal. He slides one across the counter, and I catch it out of reflex. The cold bites into my sore fingers. “Thanks,” I mutter.
We crack them open, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. For a moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.
But memories have a way of bleeding into the present, whether I invite them or not. I see Silas at sixteen, standing in our old kitchen with a beer of his own, trying to act like he’s grown enough to keep the world from caving in. Dad’s been out for three nights straight, the fridge empty except for mustard packets and a carton of milk gone sour. I ask him if we’re gonna be okay, and he lies, same as I’m lying now.
Yeah, Lee, he said, ruffling my hair with a forced grin.We’re good. I’ve got us.
And I believed him because I had to.
Now here we are again, only the roles reversed.
“You seeing anyone?” Silas asks suddenly, dragging me back to the present.
“What?” I blink.
He smirks faintly. “Don’t give me that. You’re twenty-two, buff, and playing hockey. You telling me there aren’t people lining up?”
I roll my eyes, grateful for the change of subject. “That’s not exactly my focus right now.”
“Still,” he presses, tilting his bottle toward me. “You deserve something good. Someone who gets it. Not just the game, but… you.”
My throat tightens. If he knew about Phoenix—about the way his attention clings to me, sharp and confusing—he’d never let me hear the end of it. He’ll just say that I’ll end up with someone just like dad.
“Maybe someday,” I say carefully.
Silas studies me for a beat, then lets it drop.
