Page 69 of Silent Is The Heart

Easton

The look on his face—I can’t bear it. This isn’t supposed to be easy. I knew that he’d eventually show up to say goodbye. I also knew that nothing about him issuing me goodbye was going to be easy, but this would make recovering from it quicker. Two days alone with my thoughts while Jason was out there…notdead—it’s a miracle I didn’t hop on my bike and drive halfway across the country by now in a fit of madness.

“He got out on parole and had nowhere to go,” I explain casually.

“But…he killed your mother.”

“More or less.”

“Wait…why did you say he was the plumber?”

Because I’m a fucking idiot who’s used to lying to every man I sleep with. Nope. Not responding with that.

Because I love you and didn’t want you anywhere near him. Because that was before I thought you were going to give up on us. No. Not going there either. Stick with the plan, Easton.

Squinting, he stares down the hallway in thought. “Wait… That was a week ago. How long has he been here?”

Slipping my hoodie on, I shrug like it’s no big deal. “A few weeks.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“He said he wouldn’t be here long.”

“Is that why you always stay at my place and don’t want me to come over here?”

Is he actually hurt by that? I never said I didn’t want him to come over here. Fuck. Why didn’t I just lie? Leonard looks like a shitty plumber. Maybe Aaron would have believed it.

“I didn’t want to behere. I wanted to bethere,” I concede, because it’s the truth and I don’t have it in me to act aloof any longer.

“But…Easton, I don’t understand. How can you let him stay here?”

“He’s my father.”

“He’s a murderer!”

I want to believe his concern is for my well-being, but the hike in his confidence over my affairs compared to his own the other day strikes a nerve. I didn’t think he’d judge me. Or maybe I did and was hoping he’d prove me wrong. I can see the opening like a sinkhole appearing in the ground, ready to swallow up our relationship. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? A way to be pissed off again instead of feeling like I got dumped for Jason.

“You’restaying with one, aren’t you?”

“What?” he balks.

“The man whokilledyour husband,” I challenge, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

A blush creeps across his cheeks and his posture deflates. “That’s not the same.”

This is fucking stupid, says the heartsick part of me that equals ninety-nine percent of my being. Why am I trying to pick a fight? I don’t want to fight with him. I just want him to tell me he doesn’t give a damn that his husband is still aliveor that my father is an ex-convict. I want him to tell me he’s come to get us both out of here until the unwanted people in our lives fuck back off to where they came from. I want him to tell me again how henever knew what love wasuntil he met me. And I want the chance to tell him back without getting my heart smashed by a boot heel of a plastic surgeon with shitty taste in cologne.

“What are you doing here?” I murmur, picking at a splinter on the doorframe.

“I just…wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”

Tocheck on me…

Tosee how I’m doing…

Oh, God, doesn’t that sound familiar? And it’s a far cry from the way he usually greets me, distant. We’re back to day one again when he first showed up at my apartment with his electrolarynx. I saw this coming like a drunk staggering into the shop wanting their partner’s name tattooed over.

An ugly sound comes out of my throat. It doesn’t quite feel the way laughter has recently.

---