Page 68 of Silent Is The Heart

The days haven’t been much better, trying to think of what to text Easton that doesn’t sound like forced pleasantries. Asking how he’s doing and relaying silly things from work have lost the appeal they had only days ago. Each time I typed a message, this dirty sensation enveloped me as though I were an adulterer, leading him on. I am, aren’t I? If I don’t know what in the hell I’m going to do about Jason, then I’m stringing along a good man.

And Jason…

He’s my husband, whom I wept over for months on end. Granted, we didn’t have the best relationship, but it wasn’t all terrible. I grieved in earnest. And now he’s alive, but did I give him a warm welcome? I don’t think I even hugged him. What is wrong with me?I can’t be what either of them needs me to be right now.

When I think about Brazil, I get this mix of happiness for Jason for having a good life awaiting him there and bitterness that he’s been living so comfortably while I was miserable. That has to make me the most selfish person to walk the planet.

As I pull out of Hampton Hills for the day, I idle at the first intersection. One direction leads toward home, the other toward downtown. I should go to the cottage and see if Jason will turn up out of thin air again, try to get more answers out of him, and try to talk some sense to him. I should. I really should. I’m grateful, though, that my hand turns the wheel down the street that leads me to a certain tattoo shop.

Shaking the rain off my coat, I hurry inside out of the wind. Shannon greets me like an old friend, giving me a much-needed dose of comfort. I’m not disappointed to learn from her that Easton had to run upstairs. I’d rather talk to him in private. Kiss him in private. Maybe convince him to lock me in his room for the night and tell me this is all a bad dream.

Bounding up the back staircase, breathless, I knock on the door to his apartment. The sound from the television murmurs inside. With any luck, I caught him on his dinner break.

The knob turns and the hinges creak, giving me a second’s notice to brandish a smile full of affection. I have no right to ask him to wait in limbo, but maybe I am selfish because I want him to wait. The face that greets me isn’t the handsome one I’m desperate to see. It’s older and weathered. While the man oddly looks like he could be an older version of Easton should Easton live an incredibly rough life, I believe it’s the plumber from the other day.

Crap. Is he having plumbing issues again?

“Hi. I was just coming to see Easton,” I inform him, although I’m not sure why I’m announcing myself to the plumber.

“Oh…um, yeah. Yeah, come on in.” Stepping back, he draws the door open wider. “You’re, uh, the boyfriend, right?”

Am I still? “Um…yeah.”

“He just headed to his room.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I’m about to start toward Easton’s room, but the man is just standing there with his hands in his pockets, smiling at me. Does he want to shoot the shit? No wonder he’s back again. Easton mustn’t be getting his money’s worth if the guy just stands around like this.

“Aaron…what are you doing here?”

Saved by the sight of a beautiful man. “Hey!” I call, catching him coming out of his room with a zip-up hoodie in his hand. “Shannon said you ran upstairs, so I thought I’d catch you while you weren’t busy.”

“I was just grabbing a sweatshirt.” His gaze darts to the plumber and then back to me. Starting toward me, he guides me by the shoulder toward the door. “It was getting cold downstairs. Let’s, um, go outside.”

I know things were grim the other day, but I don’t even get a semblance of a smile. Maybe I should have called first.

Out in the hallway, I wait for him to head downstairs with me, but after he closes the door, he just stands there. Shit. He probably has to wait for the plumber to finish again. My brain is so useless right now.

“Are you still having problems with the pipes?”

He’s just staring at me. Why isn’t he saying anything?

Oh, God. Is he giving up on me already?

Shit. Do I blame him?

“Easton?”

“He’s not a plumber.”

The skittishness and the strange glances, like he was preoccupied by the older man’s presence, take on a new meaning. It’s not possible, is it? He wouldn’t… cheat on me, would he?

What am I saying? Given his fight-or-flight response, after the other night, I should hardly be surprised if he looked for physical comfort to blot out the drama I laid at his feet. Still, the thought pulverizes something inside me.

“He’s…my father.”

CHAPTER 34

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