Page 106 of Saddle Storm

He flicks his gaze to me and I pick up a glare before he drops it back to the cutting board.

“Silas, did something happen?” My heartrate kicks up and I think about what it might be, since he doesn’t respond. “Is it the team?” I realize I may be just as afraid as he is to lose this. I want to see him happy, fulfilled. Especially after seeing him last week—the void it’s been for him to not be playing.

“No.” He shakes his head once, voice low when he answers.

I bite my lip. “Is it more . . . media stuff?”

He meets my eyes and I have my answer. I come around the counter to him. “I told you, this is part of who you are and it doesn’t scare me. And we agreed we’ll protect Max from it as long as we can.”

“What happens when we can’t?” he snaps.

“Silas,” I breathe, appreciating his concern for my kid’s privacy. “Slow down. Like you said, we’ll figure it out.”

He stares for a long moment like he’s trying to determine something. “Right. Besides, not like it matters who or what they find, right?”

A chill slides through me. “What does that mean?”

He grips the corner of the counter, eyes zoned in on the marble. “Tell me something, Storm. If your first rodeo was at twenty years old, that would make Max . . . what, seven?”

At first I’m confused, thinking he’s using my first rodeo to mean my first time. Until I remember the story I told him.

It happened at my first rodeo. I was young and stupid. Max didn’t know him and he never will.

I still, lifting my gaze to his. His eyes aren’t soft, they’re not hard either. There’s no accusation. No demand. Just a simple question and a flicker of hurt.

“You tricked me,” I whisper.

His expression softens and he drops the knife, coming around the counter to me. His fingers slide along my jaw, gentle but urgent. “I did,” he winces painfully. “And I hated doing it. But if it’s something you want to keep private, the media won’t care about protecting you the way I do.”

My chest sinks in defeat because he’s right. But the stubborn part of me turns away from him even if all I want to do is fall into his chest.

His arms warp around me. “I hate the idea of anyone blindsiding you.”

“Unless it’s you?” I snap. And I know it’s unfair and likely a diversion.

He turns me toward him but before he can get words out, Max comes into the room.

Oblivious to the tension, my kid surveys the contents in the kitchen and groans. “Are you going to make me eat soup if I want candy?”

There’s a beat before Silas reacts with smirk. “No force-feeding here. But it wouldn’t hurt you to have some warm liquids. You had nothing but corn dogs and fried dough dipped in powdered sugar.”

Max grumbles and turns back to his room. “I’ll have some broth when it’s ready.”

I barely blink before Silas is in front of me again, lifting my jaw with both hands and kissing me softly, murmuring another apology.

I suck in a breath but Max cuts me off from his bedroom. “Silas, will you spend the night again?”

Silas studies my face, calling back but not as loudly—this is just meant for me. “I don’t know yet, buddy.”

I swallow. I can’t dodge this one again. And I’m running out of times this patient man is going to let me.

Stepping back, but keeping his eyes on me, he calls back. “But I’ll be here in the morning, you can count on that.”

Sharp pain stabs my chest, nausea rolling in right after. Because if I break—if I tell him tonight, the likelihood of him being here in the morning is almost non-existent.

Max joins us in the kitchen and Silas and I finish the soup together in comfortable silence. Well, he seems comfortable—like he didn’t just catch me in the lie of the century.

I’m losing my mind.