Silas owns the movie theater Jake and I both work at. Well, worked at, until it burnt down in a freak accident.
“Maybe I’ll just text him,” I murmur.
Jake gives me a disapproving stare. “Izzy.”
“Email?”
His eyes narrow.
With a huff, I open his contacts and click on the one labeled Boss Man. Then, before I can chicken out, I dial the number and place the phone to my ear.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Relief fills me. Maybe he won’t answer, and I can just leave a message. Maybe he’ll?—
“Hello?” Silas’s familiar gruff voice floods the line, and suddenly, my hands are slick with sweat.
I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but hold the phone in a white-knuckled grip and pray I don’t pass out.
“Jake?”
Jake gestures for me to say something, but I can’t. Words fail me.
You can do this, Izzy!
I clear my throat and tentatively croak out, “Silas?”
There’s a beat of silence, then I hear him whisper, “Isabella?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Another awkward silence descends, and I swear it’s hellbent on suffocating me. A noose coils around my neck and tightens. “I think… I think we need to talk.”
“Yes,” Silas replies simply.
Then more silence.
Jake rolls his eyes, reaches for the phone, and tugs it away from my numb fingers. He holds it to his ear.
“We’ll meet you at Corner Café in an hour,” Jake tells Silas. He pauses, listening to whatever Silas says on the other line, and a frown touches his lips. “Yes, I’m with her now. At Hale and Gerry’s house.” A beat. “What do you think I’m doing? Obviously I’m having my wicked way with— No, no, no. I would very much like my balls to remain attached to my body, thank you very much.” Beat. “No, I don’t want to see what the inside of my skin looks like. Yes. Yes. Okay. See you then.”
Jake hangs up and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside me.
He throws his head back with a groan. “Damn, I thought Silas was scary normally, but knowing he’s your bio dad?—”
“Don’t say that,” I interrupt, flinching.
Jake lifts a brow. “Say what?”
“The D-word.”
“Dick?” He blinks up at me innocently, and I shove his shoulder.
“Asshole.”
“I can’t say asshole? That doesn’t start with a D. It can have a D in it, of course?—”
