Page 30 of Silent Is The Heart

Mouth in a thin line, he picks up his steak knife and starts sawing through his meat with more force than necessary. Maybe he’s just really hungry.

Or maybe, like everything else, I’ve fucked up again. When he pops the first bite into his mouth and lets out a loud exhale around it, I watch in silence as he sets down his utensils and unbuttons his cuffs. Rolling up his sleeves, he reveals his inked forearms, a vivid contrast to his white dress shirt. Leaning forward more casually than before, he hunkers over his plate, giving a dismissive nod to the waiter when he delivers theproperfork.

Yeah. I definitely fucked up.

CHAPTER 16

Easton

I rescheduled Molly Vasquez’s inner thigh tattoo for this shit? No wonder Wolf acts like he has to make all the important business decisions.

Salad forks. Dinner forks. Linen napkins that don’t soak up shit. Oh, how the other half live.

Turning over my bike’s engine, the only saving grace of this lunch date is that I get to cart AaronPreciousManicki-Reider away from this fancy-ass place Steve McQueen style. I hope they ban him after this for me rattling their windows.

What the fuck happened to him? We used to shoot the shit like it was effortless. He seemed like his old self when we were texting this week. Now, he’s trying to show off with this place and acting all awkward, but not the endearing kind of awkward that used to make me melt each time he said something corny. Freaking Jason Reider is to blame, no doubt. He ruined a man who had potential.

Thinking ill of the dead, even if the dead was a dickhead before he died, is the final way to top off my soured mood. I’m no saint, but I don’t need more inspiration to conjure cynical thoughts.

I let loose on the road out of town, back toward Aaron’s little cottage. That part makes no sense to me. So, I wasbeing a little nosy by insisting I could pick him up since he was springing for lunch, but I’m glad my nose let me in on new Aaron details. If he’s all fine dining, why does he live in a dinky little cottage? At least it’s by the water. The lucky shit. I’d be out there every day, jumping in bare-ass naked. I bet he doesn’t indulge in that activity.

When we pull into the gravel drive outside his place, he goes tense behind me as I take in the change of scenery from earlier when I picked him up. The truck that was sitting out front—a rusty old one that also doesn’t jive with the fine-dining type—is currently on the back of a flatbed trailer. The logo on the door of the semi hauling it reads,Sullivan Recovery Specialists.I somehow doubt this type of recovery has anything to do with substance addiction.

“Oh, God. No,” Aaron gasps behind me, scrambling off my bike. “Shit. This cannot be happening.”

Whatever is going on is urgent enough that I don’t get a backward glance. I stay put, watching like a voyeur. Aaron races up to one of two men in navy-blue coveralls who is tightening tow straps down on his truck. I don’t catch all of what’s said, but there’s something about being defaulted on a payment and repossession of his listed collateral. I’m guessing this jalopy is his listed collateral.

A man walks out of the cottage, looking flustered and… a lot like Aaron. Judging by the evident cochlear implant surgery scars around his ear and the fact Aaron starts signing rapidly to him, I’ve just laid eyes on his infamous brother, George, the one I heard so many childhood stories about years ago. He throws his hands up, gripping his head while Aaron elaborates animatedly about money problems and something to do with Jason… Jason and Jason’s debts. How the plot of marital blissthickens. When they disappear into the cottage, a blanket of dread covers me as I wait for them to re-emerge.

Are they arguing? Would his brother hurt him?

I’m off my bike and striding up the few steps to the porch without further thought. I can hear Aaron explaining how he consolidated debt into loans and has been doing everything he can to pay them on time.

“This is so embarrassing. My other tenants know my brother is living here. What if any of them saw this?” George’s voice warns.

Looking past them, there’s little to land my gaze on. The living room is devoid of furnishings save for a camping chair next to a few stacks of books. There’s a TV sitting on the floor at the far end of the room, but it’s not even plugged in. Through the doorway on the other side of the room, I catch a view of a mattress… on the floor, no bedframe. He told me at lunch that he moved into this cottage over a month ago.

I let my boots scrape against the hardwood floor as I cross the threshold, alerting Aaron to my presence. I get a pitying look as though he’s sorry for neglecting me, which is baffling as hell, given that his current circumstances seem more pressing. The sound of truck doors slamming outside, however, draws his attention back to the yard.

Moving so he and George can pass, I make my way slowly down the stairs, regretting the view. The workers pile into their semi and start to haul the truck away. Aaron’s shoulders slump up ahead of me. He drops his face into his hands as though shielding himself from reality will protect him from further misery. His brother stands by, looking helpless and uncomfortable. I can relate. I don’t know why I’m still lingering. This isn’t something I need to or should see.

I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it doesn’t involve me.

Making my way back to my bike, I straddle it with every intention of making a quiet escape. However, damn fool that I am, I take one last look and catch Aaron holding up a hand, beckoning me to wait.

He follows George to a van withManicki Property Managementon the side of it.Other tenants, George had said in the cottage. He’s not just his brother, he’s his landlord. The pieces start falling into place more than I care to learn. After Aaron bids George goodbye, he makes his way back over to me. I should have left when I had the chance.

His mouth moves, but nothing comes out. Eyes glassy with tears, his chest is heaving like he’s out of breath. It’s now that I register that the dark circles under his eyes aren’t likely from age. He’s only thirty-three. His khaki slacks look worn in the light of day and there’s a button missing from his cuff, a wayward thread sticking out at the hem.

Running a hand through his thick brown hair, he grips a handful of it as he flounders, baring his teeth in anguish. “They…they took my truck,” he blurts, stating the obvious. “I…have bills…from Jason. I don’t know why. I always took care of the bills, but they just kept showing up after he died. Credit cards I didn’t know about, memberships, tabs from clubs. He had properties and bad investments I wasn’t even aware of, money he borrowed privately and never paid back. Just when I think I’ve found everything, something else falls in my lap. I don’t know why he…” he trails off, staring out at the water or possibly nothing.

You didn’t have to take me to lunch, I tell him, a distraction from the uncomfortable confession. That was supposed to be my purpose, right? A distraction.

Sucking in a breath, he shakes his head. “No. I did. I had to make up for making you uncomfortable.” Swiping at his eyes, he swallows like he’s trying to regain some of his composure and cocks his head with a smile. “And…you brought me a milkshake. I’m sorry the restaurant was…too much. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Glancing at the place where his truck was parked, he grimaces. “And…I’m sorry you had to see that. I wasn’t always such a mess.”

How are you going to get to work?

“Oh, I’ll…go look for another one. It’ll be fine,” he lets out airily.

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