God, I never want to say that word again. Never. I’d be the rudest person ever, but if I never had to say that word not followed by a kiss again, it would be okay.
I tune out the conversation about some big donation Dad is trying to land for Rusk, and instead sneak my phone out underneath the table.
Phones aren’t allowed during meals. It’s one of Mom’s rules, but I can’t help it. I have to know what’s happening at the game.
I don’t know if they’re playing an easier team or if things have changed since last week, but on my phone I watch the score climb, as I periodically pause to scoop some food off my plate so my parents don’t become too suspicious. Rusk leads by three. Then ten. Then sixteen. And I find myself imagining Silas’s face on the sidelines. Is he happy for his team? Or still too frustrated by his inability to play?
“Dylan? Is that a phone beneath the table?”
I drop my phone into my lap and look up at Mom. Guilty.
“Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I just had to check something.”
“Are you waiting on a call?”
“No, I was . . . sorry. I’ll put it away. That was rude of me.”
I hear Silas in my head telling me to stop apologizing, and then I imagine him kissing me, and it feels like my lungs are filled with water.
“What are you checking?” Dad asks.
I could lie. Say I’m waiting on an e-mail about school or the shelter or anything. But I’m so tired of lying.
“I was checking the score on the football game. Rusk is up by sixteen if you were curious.”
“Honey.” That one word from Mom is chastising, and I don’t know if it’s for using my phone at the table or for the information she’s inferring after that confession.
As always, Dad gets straight to the point. “That football player you were talking to at the party. I don’t want you involved with him. I’m not sure what he told you, but he’s violent and troubled, and he’s been suspended from the team because of it.”
I don’t know what to say to that because technically the things he’s said about Silas are true. Granted, I wouldn’t go so far as to call him violent. But he does walk that line, and I can’t ignore that, can’t excuse it just because I’m attracted to him.
“He’s worked really hard to turn that around, Dad. I think if you asked around now, you’d hear a different story.”
“Kids like him always have the same story. And it always ends up the same eventually.”
Those words burn something up in me, and now I’m the one battling violence. Words like that, people like my father . . . they’re the reason Silas feels like he doesn’t fit in my world. And honestly, I’m not even sure that’s the kind of world I want to be in.
“Then why adopt me?” I ask. “If you think people are only products of where they came from and they can’t change . . . why bother?”
“Oh sweetheart,” Mom says, reaching across the table for my hand. “You were one of the good ones.”
I pull my hand away and stand up, “Silas is one of the good ones. He’s dealt . . . is dealing with a lot. And if you knew him—”
“I don’t need to know him,” my father says. “You think I haven’t seen hundreds of guys like him go through that university? I’m happy to have them there, for them to get an education in exchange for the money they bring in on the team. But that doesn’t mean I want him anywhere near my daughter.”
I shake my head and purse my lips against the urge to cry. I can’t believe I ever contributed to this, that I ever made Silas feel like any of this was true.
“You do need to know him, Dad. Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother says fast. “You and Henry have only been apart a month or two.”
I look at her then, pause, and make sure she sees the seriousness in my face when I say, “Henry and I are never getting back together. I don’t love him. I don’t want to be with him. That’s not going to change. Not ever.”
“You’re overreacting. Henry hurt you, and now you’re lashing out in the best way you know how. I understand that. And this Silas is certainly attractive, so I don’t blame you for getting confused.”
“You think I’m confused?” I can’t help but laugh. “For the first time maybe ever, I know exactly how I feel and exactly what I think. And you’re not going to tell me I’m confused or wrong, not going to convince me I don’t know who I am. Because I do. I finally do.”
“No one is saying you don’t know who you are.” Dad cuts in. “But perhaps if you’ll sit back and think—”
“I didn’t know who I was,” I tell them. And there’s no stopping my eyes from tearing up now. “Not until Silas. Before that . . . I was whatever you wanted me to be. Or whatever Henry wanted. I was so worried that I’d lose you, that you wouldn’t love me, or you’d regret taking me in, that I was too scared to be anything other than what you considered the perfect daughter. But I’m not perfect. I can’t be. Not even if I was still interested in trying. And Silas . . . he was the only person to see that. To see how hollow I’d let myself become. So I do love him. I’m not confused or misguided. Not anymore.”
Mom stands and comes around the table toward me. She cups my face in her hands and says, “We could never regret taking you in. You’re our daughter. And we love you no matter your imperfections. I’m just worried, darling. It’s not even about his issues. You know what guys on those teams are like. They break hearts left and right, and I don’t want yours to be one of them. I believe that you love him. I do. I’m just not sure it’s smart to get involved with a boy who may not be able to love you back the same way. I don’t want you to fool yourself into thinking it can be something more permanent.”
It stings. Because that’s exactly what I thought. That I would be stupid to picture any future between me and Silas, but these days I’m having trouble picturing one without him. If I’d just gotten over my fears faster, listened a little more to my heart and less to my head, maybe I’d still have him now.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. But you’re wrong. Silas is good for me. And he deserves so much more than what I’ve given him. So, I’m going to go see if I can catch the end of his game. And I don’t know . . . maybe eventually you’ll be able to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
Because I finally trust myself.
As I leave the house and climb into my car, I turn the radio station to one playing the game and start my trek across town.
I think about all the things I know about myself, the truths I’ve discovered and am still discovering.
I can be impulsive and hotheaded. I don’t like dressing up or fancy dinners. I want to go to parties. Real, irresponsible parties, not dinner or garden ones or whatever. I want to meet people. All kinds of people. And I want to laugh. I haven’t done that enough in life. I don’t just want to help people. I want to fight for them. I don’t want to be invisible ever again. I want to be bold. I want . . .
Silas. I want Silas so bad that I feel his name whispered in my every breath, can still feel the warmth of his touch like he’s next to me, leaning across the dash to kiss me at the red light. He’s lodged so deep in me that the memory of him is written on my bones, twined in my blood.
Stuck in traffic, I listen as the game winds to a close and Rusk wins by thirteen. I scream along with the fans I can hear in the background of the broadcast, and for the first time in two weeks, I take a full breath of air.
I’m going to see Silas after that game. I have to.
A QUICK CALL to Stella assures me that the team is celebrating their win at a frat party on campus tonight. I run home and pull on my favorite skirt, and I find a button-up shirt that I know drives Silas crazy. Tonight, though, I leave an extra button undone.
When I get to the party, Silas isn’t there yet, but I find Stella in the living room. The celebration is already in full swing, and Stella is perched on a cute frat boy’s lap, laughing. She waves me over when she sees me.
&nb
sp; I’m so freaking nervous. What if he won’t give us another chance? What if he’s already moved on to some other girl? Or he’s woken up and realized that he doesn’t want to be in a relationship after all? God, what if his mother is still around? I don’t even know how he’s handling that, if he’s handling that. He could be spiraling out of control again, and I would have been one of the things to push him to it.
“Cute outfit!” Stella shouts over the music. “Try to look like you’re not about to vomit, though. Doesn’t quite scream I’m here to win you back.”
I take a seat beside her and the frat boy on the couch, and drag my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What if he blows me off? I’m not sure I can handle that.”
Stella looks up at the ceiling and sighs before draining the last of whatever is in her cup. She holds the empty cup out to the frat boy with a playful smile, and he shifts her off him to go get her a refill. When he’s gone, she turns to me. “How is it that I always end up being the one to give relationship advice? You people realize I’m completely antirelationship, right?”
“You know Silas, though.”
She slants an eyebrow. “Not as well as you know him.”
“I don’t mean like that. I mean . . . you get him.”
“I did before. Mostly because I think he’s a lot like me. But you kinda rewrote the book, sister. I don’t know. Just be honest. Don’t try to make excuses. He’ll hate that.”
“How mad is he? Have you seen him at all this week? What’s he been like?”
She shrugs. “Normal.” My stomach sinks. Normal? Does that mean . . . like the old Silas? “He hasn’t hooked up with anyone else that I know of, if that’s what you’re asking. But he’s not drowning in a bottle, either. Dallas said he’s been concentrating on football, helping the kid who took his place. Which thank God. If I had to sit through another game like last week, I would have lost it.”
I should be glad that he’s okay. That’s what I want for him, what I’ve wanted for him from the beginning. But all I can think about is how I felt after Henry. I was thrown for sure because my five-year plan had just completely unraveled, but when the dust cleared, I wasn’t sad. Not at all. What if that’s how Silas feels?
“Aw shit. I shouldn’t have told you that, right? It’s freaking you out. Listen . . . Silas is no stranger to mistakes. You’re gonna be fine. He’ll understand.”
I hear a cheer from the front of the house, and I take that as a sign that the first of the team has arrived. I take a few deep breaths, but I still feel like the ground isn’t quite steady beneath my feet.
Stella’s frat boy returns with a new drink, and as I stand to go in search of Silas she pipes up from over her cup. “Should plan A fail, there’s always plan B!”
“What’s plan B?”
“Naked apology. Works every time.”
I see his roommate Brookes first, and I can’t read the look he shoots me, but I’m 99.9 percent sure that guy doesn’t like me. Silas says he’s a funny guy, but I’ve never seen it. Then again, I’m usually on the receiving end of a glare.
I make my way over to stand by the stairs while people stream in. I recognize five or six guys from the team, but surrounding them are people I don’t know. Girls. Guys. They’re raucous and loud, and I’m willing to bet most of them are already drunk.
When Silas enters, it’s mostly girls around him, but he has an arm slung around a shorter black guy. He’s shaking him by the shoulders, and the guy is smiling, and the people around them are laughing and cheering, and he looks good.
He doesn’t look remotely as torn up inside as I feel.
He walks right past me without even seeing me, and I think about making a break for it. I could do this another time, somewhere a little less public.
Then from the door I hear, “Captain Planet! What are you doing here?”
Torres has a girl on each arm, but he ditches them both and jogs down the steps into the foyer to throw his arm around me instead.
He leans down to say something to me, but I don’t even hear it because Silas definitely sees me now. His gaze is hard on me, on Torres, really, and I don’t even think the guy realizes it.
I’m about to say something when I finally register what Torres is whispering to me, “And incoming in three, two, one . . .”
Silas says something to the player he’d been talking to and then starts in my direction.
Torres laughs. “Do I know my boy or what? You’re welcome. Now, I’m gonna run before I lose a tooth.”
He jogs away from me toward the kitchen, and starts singing the school fight song at the top of his lungs. Half the party joins in, and I can’t hear anything over the tone deaf and the drunk. But I don’t need to hear to see the way Silas hesitates now that I’m alone. He stops, looks me over briefly, nothing more than a quick scan, then turns and goes back to the crowd he left.
They move into the living room, and I stand there, my back pressed against the stair railing, trying not to react, trying not to let everyone see that I’m crumbling.
I was always scared that Silas would hurt me, but I never thought it would be like this.
Never thought I would feel invisible with him.
I stay there as the party kicks into high gear around me. I should leave. I should do something, but it’s easier just to stand here, to pretend I’m as invisible as I feel.
“How much of an asshole am I if I say I told you so?”
I turn and Brookes is sitting on the stairs just above me.
“If you have to ask how much of an asshole it makes you, the answer is you’re already an asshole.”
He leans his forehead into his hand and gives a low, husky laugh.
“I’ll take that.”
“And I’ll take that I told you so.”
What had I told Silas? If he took me down with him, it would be because I jumped, not because he pulled me? Well, I’d jumped.
And I hit bottom.
“You need a drink, girl. Come on.”
I think back to my earlier declaration of who I am. I wanted to go to parties and be bold. I wanted to meet people. Well, here’s my chance.
I won’t be invisible. No matter how Silas Moore looks at me. Or if he looks at me at all.
Chapter 29
Silas
I assumed Dylan had already left; instead she’s stolen away all my friends.
I walk into the kitchen a couple of hours later to refill my beer, and she’s sitting on top of the dining room table. Brookes, Torres, McClain, and Dallas are around her, and they’re watching in rapt attention as she tells a story.
I sidle a little closer, my back to the group, and hear the tail end of it.
“I don’t even think. I just grab the handcuffs off Matt and snap them on the first thing I see, and the police officer is just staring at me like I’d completely lost my mind. Which I had, of course.”
“Here’s my question,” Torres says. “What was your friend Matt doing with handcuffs?”
She laughs, this high, tinkling noise that goes straight through me.
“Matt is . . . oh God, how do I explain him? Matt doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. He brought the handcuffs as a joke. I don’t think he even remembered they were in his pocket.”
“See,” Torres continues. “I want a thing like that. A gimmick that’s just mine. Like . . . the weird guy who always has a pair of handcuffs.”
“You have a thing,” Dallas says. “You can’t seem to hold on to your clothing when alcohol is involved.”
“I’ll have you know, I am fully clothed right now.”
“You’re not wearing shoes.” Brookes cuts in, low and matter-of-fact, and the table erupts into laughter.
I look, because I’m a fucking train wreck. Dylan’s head is tossed back, her gold hair fanned out behind her, her long, gorgeous neck on display.
Torres shrugs. “So I got comfortable. What’s the big deal?”
“Do you have any idea wher
e your shoes are?” Dallas asks.
He thinks for a moment, opens his mouth, and then closes it.
The laughter doubles, and Dylan covers her wide smile with her hand, leans forward, and her eyes catch mine. I grab my beer and head out of the kitchen before the rest of the group catches sight of me, too.
I’ve just edged my way out into the living room, when I feel warm fingers graze my arm.
I turn, and she’s there, too damn close for comfort, too damn far for everything else I want.
“I was wrong,” she says. “But you were wrong, too.”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
She pauses and smiles. “No, actually. It’s not.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I want to be here.”
“Finally figured out what you want, huh?”
She shrugs. “Maybe I just gave myself permission to want it.”
The music switches to a booming rock song, and she squeezes her eyes shut against the noise.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asks.
“About?”
“Everything.”
“Not sure I’m up to talking about everything.”
“Silas, please.”
How is it that I still can’t say no to her?
“Fine. Upstairs. We’ll find someplace quiet.”
It’s déjà vu as I follow her up the stairs, her perfect ass right at eye level, only there’s twice as many stairs here as my place.
“So, tell me again. You’re not apologizing?”
She slows her stride and glances back over her shoulder. “You, me, and sorrys don’t typically lead to fruitful conversations.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious or fucking with me. And I’m too impatient to wait until we’re in a room somewhere to find out. I stop her at the top of the stairs, my hand curled around her elbow.
“I need you to tell me straight, Dylan. You know I don’t like to talk, so what is this?”
She takes my hand off her elbow and holds it in hers.
Just then a door opens on the landing above us, a bathroom I assume, and I see Carter step out, in the middle of zipping up his jeans. He freezes for a second when he sees me, and I scowl. I don’t like everyone knowing my business. And this place is too public for whatever is about to go down. And I’m still pissed about the thing with Carter and the brownies. Every time I see his face, the anger rises back up. Dylan might not be mine anymore, but I sure as hell don’t want him anywhere near her.