Page 36 of Blurred Lines

My stomach twists. It's that damned city voice, all smooth and hesitant. "This ain't about fancy degrees, Emily," I grunt, unable to keep my mouth shut. "It's about doing right by Harvey."

She meets my gaze, those blue eyes flashing steel. Oh, I see the sparks all right. Shame they're buried so deep. "Don't you lecture me on obligation, Silas. This place …"

"Place?" The word bursts from me, rough and bitter. "This place is your home."

Finn cuts in, his voice pained. "Em, I know it's a lot, but if you could give some time to the vineyard, run some posts, maybe a campaign, it would mean everything."

Her lips press into a thin line. "It's not just about money, Finn. You want me to gamble my career …"

The words hang unfinished, heavy with hesitation.

My patience is wearing thin. "Why should it be a gamble, unless you're afraid of helping the workers on the vineyard?" I ask coldly, stepping closer. "Yes, there will be a fight. But why are you running before it's even begun?"

Anger flickers in her eyes "Don't pretend to know me, Silas. Maybe I don't wear my heart on my sleeve …"

"Maybe you don't wear one at all," I fire back. Each word feels like hauling a fence post, anger a sour burn in my gut. "Perhaps the city life is safer for you, but here you are. What do you think? You can just take the money and bolt?"

Why? Why did I just say that? I know it's not true, and that's the last thing she wants. Then why?—

It's too late.

She inhales sharply, chin lifting just a fraction higher. "That's crass, even for you, Silas."

The silence stretches thin, broken only by the relentless ticking of the old clock above the door.

My hands clench into fists. I want to shake her, to yell, to make her see?—

Suddenly, she sighs, the fight draining from her shoulders. "Look, I … I'm sorry. I know it's bad. But it's not my battle to fight."

My anger simmers, replaced by a weariness deeper than any day's labor.

She might be fire and steel, the kind of woman who stirs a man's blood, but Emberton flows in my veins, and the veins of Finn and Caeleb. It's our battle, win or lose, and hers only if she chooses it.

Damn shame she's choosing wrong.

I try a final time. "You're smart, Emily. Tougher than you give yourself credit for. Take what's yours and make it something amazing."

Something shifts in her expression then, a mix of gratitude and vulnerability that claws at my insides. My exterior hides its own scars, but the way she looks at me makes me think she sees beyond the facade.

"Thing is, Silas," she says softly, "maybe I'm not so sure I want it. Not the fight, the uncertainty …"

Irritation flares, hot and quick. "The hell you mean, you don't want it? This place could be your whole damn life, a fresh start."

"Easy for you to say." Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the steel gone, replaced by a weariness that echoes my own. "You were born and bred here, Silas. You belong to Emberton as much as it belongs to you. You've never known anything else."

The air between us thickens, charged with my rising temper. She doesn't know—couldn't know—that words like "belonging" slice at me deeper than any insult. Memories rise, unbidden: foster homes, cold stares, the sting of being the unwanted one, passed around like a worn-out dollar bill.

"But you, Emily," I continue, my voice laced with bitterness, "you always have your escape route back to the city, your fancy apartment, your high-stakes life where this place is little more than a summer fling."

Her eyes, those damn summer-sky eyes, widen with a flash of hurt I can't take back. "Silas, that's not … I never meant …"

But I'm not listening. The fury I usually keep chained tight is twisting free, fueled by too many lonely nights and a lifetime of feeling not damn good enough.

"You don't get it, see?" My voice is a growl now, echoing in the quiet kitchen. "You never had to fight for a place to belong. You were born with a silver spoon, Emily, while some of us were abandoned on the damn doorstep."

The sharp intake of her breath is barely audible over the roaring in my ears. Finn shifts uncomfortably, one hand hovering as if to reach out, to stop me. But I can't stop.

It's like a dam bursting, years of unspoken hurt spilling out in a venomous torrent. "Harvey offered you a lifeline, a legacy, and you spit on it. Well, if you don't want it, someone else will. Someone who sees this place for what it is—a treasure worth bleeding for."

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