I swing my gaze to Wyatt.
“It’s true.” He drinks more juice.
The clawing comes when I consider it. Fuck. Is it getting worse? I don’t remember it being this heightened. Maybe it’s because Silas and I are fighting. “I’m gonna go home, but dinner’s good.”
“It’s fajita night. I have to keep the major here fed or he’ll shrink away with all that running,” Simon says. His expression can only be described in one way: flirtatious. Apparently, the whole house is enamored with Wyatt.
I snap my head to Shane to see if he sees what I see. Shane winks. Yeah, he does.
“You okay, Oli? For real because my phone has been blowing up with texts and phone calls and we all know who they’re from,” Darry says.
“I am. I mean it.”
“Good. Then I’m gonna tell Silas to calm the fuck down and then I’m taking the major for a shower. We’ll be awhile.”
Wyatt’s about to say something, but Simon points his spatula at him. “I don’t need help. I’m not even in school right now. Go. Both of you—Oliver’s going to keep me company. Do me a favor and bring Asher with you. I’ve had it with his bare feet tracking dirt in from the outside. Have you seen the bottoms? Dirt has seeped into his fucking skin.”
“Will do, Simon,” Darry says. Is this really my brother? He’s so agreeable and helpful and … sober? I think he’s sober. Darius yanks Simon toward him by his waistband and then traps him with arms around his neck, sealing the deal with a long kiss.
* * *
Oliver
Relief floods me as soon as I pull into the driveway. I sit for a moment, playing with the strings of Simon’s hoodie. I had forgotten a jacket in my storm out. The major was the one who pointed out that I was shivering—I was so mad I hadn’t noticed—but Simon was the one to grab his school hoodie from over the couch arm and pull it over me.
There’s only one decision left to make. Whom do I talk to first?
Silas or Julius.
My dad or my boyfriend.
The answer is too swift.Dad.I want my dad. I want to feel his solidness. Smell his familiar scent. Cry. He’ll know exactly what to say and what to do with me.
Before reading the book, I would have said that was the little kid answer, but I don’t think it is. It has to do with our past.
That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to choose my partner first—at least for some things. This has got to be one of those times.
Huffing, I rise out of the car and hope Silas isn’t waiting for me. If he is, I won’t be able to resist running into his arms. I’m shocked to death to see Lakshan in his usual place on the sofa, which is in the room adjacent to the entryway. I raise my brows letting them ask the question.
“He’s in his office. He asked me to wait up for you.” I had texted them both—Silas and Julius—to let them know I’d be home.
“Is he … is he mad?”
It’s not an immediate answer—so yes—and he tilts his head letting the longer of his dark hair fall to the side. “He’s not mad at you. He’s just mad.”
I run a hand through my hair and rub the back of my neck. For reasons I can’t explain, the pull for me to head straight to Silas’s office is stronger. “Well, goodnight, Other Dad,” I say, allowing the warmth of Lakshan’s energy to fill me.
He crooks a finger. “Come here.”
Obediently, I walk to the couch and lean over for a hug, squeezing him tightly.
“Goodnight, troublesome son.”
It’s not a Silas hug, but it’s enough to give me the strength to head up the stairs instead of down the hall to Dad’s office.
* * *
Oliver
