Page 76 of Top Shelf

Later that night, when we’re getting ready for bed, I can’t find my glasses case. Remembering I left it in my backpack from earlier, I go in search of it. I find it haphazardly abandoned at the door, where I discarded it as soon as we got home. Unzipping the front pocket, I rifle through the mess, making a mental note to clear out all the empty snack wrappers and random bits of crap that have accumulated. My fingers brush over the hard plastic shell of my glasses case, and I pull it out. Snapping it open, I pause…

There’s already something in there. A piece of folded paper.

The outside is blank, with nothing giving away what it is or how it got inside the case.

Curiously, I ease it out, unfolding it carefully.

You wore the past because it doesn’t ask anything of you, but you’re not that girl anymore, and we won’t let you go back.

The next time you put on a jersey, make it one that tells the truth.

You’re ours now.

–S

I stare at the note, needing to read it twice to truly take in the words. It’s so unmistakably Silas that I don’t even need his added ‘S’to identify it.

For a man who doesn’t speak, he sure knows how to slice straight to the bone. His possession doesn’t burn like Lucian’s or bruise like Ronan’s. It coils, low and slow, curling around my ribs and pulling tight. With every word, he makes it apparent just how clearly he sees me. He cuts me open and exposes every fear, every insecurity I barely dare to acknowledge. Where Lucian pushes and Ronan demands, Silas coaxes.

The note trembles slightly between my fingers as I read it again.

You’re ours now.

Those words echo louder than they should.

Lucian, hurling a puck into the plexiglass like it personally offended him.

Ronan, pressing me against the wall, hand at my throat, words like fire in my veins.

And now this. Silas’s version—quieter, sharper, but no less suffocating.

All three of them, in their own way, are saying the same thing.

I don’t know what to do with that; not even sure I want to touch it.

Not when my body still burns from the memory of Ronan’s lips ghosting my jaw. Not when I’m still humiliated by the fact I all but asked him to kiss me. Not when the air around Lucian feels too hot to breathe whenever he’s near. Not when Silas sees me in a way no one else ever has.

And yet, I find myself folding the note back up and sliding it into the back of my glasses case, pressing the lid shut like it might dull the sharpness in my chest.

Some girls get flowers.

I get thinly veiled threats disguised as love letters.

And the worst part?

I think I like this better.

19

SILAS

The Crooked Crownsmells like citrus, hops, and caramel malt when I walk in—warm, rich, and bitter. Casting a quick glance around the relatively busy room, I dismiss my typical spot in the back corner and instead opt for a vacant barstool not far from where Wren is currently pouring a fresh pint.

Tonight’s not about hiding in the back and watching her. I’ve done plenty of that since she first set foot on campus. I followed her and her friend back to her apartment on Friday night and camped outside, staring at the lights shining through her window until they blinked out at one in the morning. Then again, on Saturday, when she went to the local market. I watched while she sniffed at half a dozen candles multiple times, coming back to one that was obviously her favorite and debating over buying it before setting it back. She did the same at the used book stand, reading the backs of books and flicking through them, even pausing to read the first handful of pages of a few, before setting them down and walking away.

Of course, after she left, I went around and purchased everything she’d looked at and left it outside her door for her. However, the next time she goes to the market, I don’t want tobe stalking from the shadows. I want to be beside her. Sniffing the candles. Flicking through the pages of those books.

So, no, tonight isn’t about me watching her.