“Do you want any sauces?” He asks as he moves it onto a plate and places it on the table.
“No, thank you,” I wet my lips, “Silas, we need to talk.”
His whiskey eyes meet mine and hold, the gold of them swirling as he unscrews his water bottle and takes a swig. He really is a beautiful man—strong, a quiet, simmering power that vibrates from him, warm eyes, a kind smile.
“We do,” he agrees, flicking his eyes to his kids. “Can it wait until they’re in bed?”
I look toward his children, my body softening, “Of course.”
“I just don’t want them overhearing anything heavy.” His eyes bounce between mine. “They’ve been through so much and…”
“Silas,” I reach for his hand over the table, “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
His eyes move to where we are connected, a line appearing between his brows, and I snatch my hand back, covering it by grabbing a slice of too hot pizza to shove into my mouth. It burns immediately.
Silas is running a hand down his face when he returns from the kid’s bedrooms, a tiredness to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. I feel for him, and I doubt I’ve made his life any easier.
I’ve never felt guilt like this.
I’d listened while he’d put Caleb and Rosie to bed. Caleb was quick, with some reassuring words of encouragement and love, but Rosie had seemed harder. She argued, asked for more time to watch TV, begged for more milk and more cookies, and peed four times—though I doubt she actually went—in the space of ten minutes. It’s the age, I’m sure, though I have zero experience when it comes to kids. She’d eventually settled when Silas read to her, his deep voice soothing, and I’d found myself entranced by it. At one point, I’d crept closer to try to hear him better, but then I’d heard him move and I panicked. The run back to the couch had left me with a sore toe after I’d stubbed it on the coffee table in my haste to pretend I wasn’t about to press my ear up to the door to listen.
“Are you okay?” He stops when he spots me, my foot in hand, trying to ease the throb in my toe.
“Fine,” I squeak.
“You sure?” He crosses over to the kitchen and reaches for the top shelf, pulling down two crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“I’m okay.”
“You want one?” He asks, holding up the whiskey. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to experience the burn from before.
“Do you have anything sweeter?”
His mouth tips up into a full, wide grin, showing teeth. It’s the first time I’ve really noticed that his canines are slightly elongated, the tips pointed to look like small fangs. “I do. Give me just a minute.”
I watch in fascination as he starts pulling different liquids out: orange juice, cherry liqueur and vermouth, lining them up with the whiskey before he starts to pour it all into a cocktail shaker with ice. He shakes it and then strains it into the glass; the drink coming out a shocking red color.
“What is that?” I take it from him when he offers it over.
“It’s called aBlood and Sand,” Silas says, turning back to pour himself a small serving of the same whiskey he used in my drink. “Try it.”
On the first sip, I get hit with the smoky notes of the whiskey, though it doesn’t burn like it did before. That’s quickly replaced by both a spicy note and something sweet, the flavors all working together on my tongue. I swallow it down and rush to take another, letting the taste wash through my mouth. “That’s good.”
“Glad you like it,” Silas lowers onto the couch on the opposite side to me, “How are you feeling?”
I spin the glass in my hand and stare down into the red liquid. Everything in me wants to lie, but starting whatever this is—a new life? A new beginning?—on lies isn’t how I want to begin.
“Guilty,” I admit.
His head tilts just a touch. “Why?”
“Because I’ve come here and messed up your life.”
A small chuckle shakes his shoulders. “My life was already fucked to begin with, Honeybee. You’ve done nothing of the sort.”
The way he says honeybee… almost affectionately, and though I want to pry, figure out why he’s calling me that, I choose not to. I can’t get attached to Silas.
“I need to find work,” I tell him, twisting my glass, the condensation running down the edges wetting my fingertips. “Get some money together.”
