Page 4 of Yours on the Canvas

From launching a paint grenade to wrapping every item in CJ’s office in neon pink paper, or smothering Deck’s truck in hundreds of Post-it notes.

Once Silas decides you’re his person, all that quiet disappears beneath a wicked sense of humour.

Silas and I have ended up in each other’s beds more than once. Not nearly as often as I’d like, because by God, that man makes my body sing.

But somewhere along the way, casual stopped feeling casual for me. I care deeply for Silas, but I’m not stupid enough to say that out loud. I know he doesn’t want anything serious.

I turn towards the television and prop my feet on the coffee table. I know better than to interrupt Silas when he’s working.

I had asked him once what he was doing.

Let’s just say his explanation was about as clear as whatever was on his screen. All I saw were letters, numbers, and lines of code that meant absolutely nothing to me.

Turning around with a sly smirk, he’d leaned in, whispering like it was a top-secret classified file: “Let’s just say the Pentagon’s cybersecurity isn’t quite as impenetrable as everyone believes.”

Okay then, message received. After that, I never asked again.

“Hey.” His fingers paused over his keyboard.

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Rough night at the cafe?” His gaze travels over me. “You look like you got caught in the knife drawer.”

His hand reaches out before I can stop him, and one fingertip brushes gently across my cheek.

The touch is barely there. It’s a touch so light I could almost pretend it didn’t happen, but I feel it, and my body freezes under his fingertip. I reach up, forcing him to move his fingers away, and my fingers brush over the sting of dried blood on my cheek.

Shit.

I drop my hand quickly.

“Just a stubborn oven rack,” I lie, keeping my voice level as I turn back towards the television.

Hale shifts in the armchair, grunting as he reaches for the bag of chips on the coffee table.

I feel his eyes on me and glance over. He’s watching us, a frown pulling between his eyebrows. That boy is a little too observant for a ten-year-old.

I raise an eyebrow, and he ignores the silent question, grabbing another handful of chips and turning his attention back to the television.

The room settles into comfortable silence as the television drones in the background, keys tap against plastic, and Hale crunches through another handful of chips.

It’s almost painfully ordinary.

After the noise, the blood, and the violence of last night, I hadn’t realised how badly I’d needed this.

Campbell River and the underground fights exist in two completely different worlds.

They must.

Because if those worlds ever collide, I’ll lose the only place that still feels remotely like home.

2

Jack

I’m on my way home from Silas’s when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Casting it a quick glance, I see it’s a text from Frank.

Fight in Vancouver. One week. You want in?