Page 50 of Silas's Sweetheart

“I’m here. That’s it, sweet boy, let it out. I’ve got you,” said Popi, his gentle words and touches helping to soothe away Silas’s terror.

Popi never stopped the reassuring words as Silas let out all the emotions that messed him up. He was never good at speaking about them. Silas had discovered early on, he had no issue crying out his feelings, but only with Popi. When the sobs were down to hiccups, he released a shuddery breath.

“I’m good, Popi.” He kissed the top of Popi’s head, indicating he could let go.

Tear-filled eyes met his, and despite his lack of glasses and blurry eyes, Silas’s heart felt the impact. “Popi… don’t cry…” he hiccupped.

“Tears are nothing to be ashamed of, have I not taught you that?”

Silas nodded, plonking the mug and bottle on the counter to scrub at his wet face. “I know, Popi, but I’m making you cry. I—”

“You are my eldest son, my firstborn, and if you’re upset, then so am I. Whatever it is, we’ll work through it together, like we always have.”

The rebuke was there, and Silas didn’t shrink back, despite getting duly chastised. He was more worried about the ‘working through it together’ part.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and swiped at his eyes, hoping the blurriness would lessen. In his haste to get to the kitchen, he’d failed to pick up his glasses. Clear vision would definitely have helped him gauge how much he was going to have to explain to Popi.

“Sit, and I’ll make you an ice cream strawberry milkshake. It’ll be better for you than that whisky.” He glanced at the large fruit bowl on the far counter. “I’m sure Bessie stocked up on fresh strawberries when she went shopping.”

Knowing exactly how long it would take Popi to make his favorite creamy drink, Silas’s pulse skipped a beat or two at being trapped in the kitchen with no buffer between him and Popi’s prying. “Popi—”

“If you tell me you're fine, I swear I’ll get your dad to come down here and you can explain why we had all those tears.”

“Popi,” he groaned, knowing that would be exactly what he’d do. Crying on Popi was one thing, crying on Dad was a totally different thing altogether. He’d done it, of course he had, but he tried to avoid it when it usually made him feel… he couldn’t explain it, not that he tried, it was just somehow worse.

“Then park your behind on that stool and talk to me,” Popi said, sniffing and wiping at his eyes much the same way as Silas had.

He cursed his quivering heart as he did as he was told, unable to deny a tearful Popi.

“I had a nightmare.” It was easier to start there.

Popi bustled about the kitchen, not looking at him and doing nothing more than making a sympathetic noise, which helped settle Silas more than anything else could have. He rubbed at an eyebrow.

“Booker told me what he’d dealt with in Drinkwater… and it got tangled up in my head.” That was one way of putting it. “That night, the boys cornered me and I couldn’t escape… the pain… it became centered in my gut and I felt like I was… dying.”

“I wish your dad had ripped their damn heads from their shoulders for laying hands on you,” Popi muttered crossly, slamming the tub of ice cream on the counter.

The outrage and seeing Popi like this always made Silas chuckle, because Popi wasn’t violent and always believed that talking should address any situation rather than fists. So when he wished Dad had gone with violence, it never failed to make Silas feel that much better. “Popi, you know you don’t mean that.”

“That maybe so—most of the time—but there are some circumstances where a good thrashing is deserved.”

Silas’s chuckles increased. “I won’t tell Dad you said that.”

His parents had very differing opinions on this subject and Silas had listened to them both on a few occasions after he’d come home bruised from school, before the last time the gang had jumped him and Booker had gone all bear to save him. He’d had therapy to help him get past his fear and anger. He had just never talked about the betrayal, he’d focused on the upset at Booker suffering rejection by his family for his act of bravery.

Popi waved a hand in the air. “Yes, well…” he coughed. “As I said before, karma will not miss those bullies for what they did to you.”

He had everything on the counter when he finally glanced at Silas. “As we only got the call this evening about Drinkwater, I’mgoing to suggest that isn’t what has had you hiding from your brothers?”

Dammit all! He knew it, even as he leaned his elbows on the counter and gave Popi a beseeching look. “Popi, I don’t—”

“You’re brooding and angry. It isn’t like you.”

“I’ve always been a brooder, I’m like Dad.”

Popi pointed a strawberry-laden fork at him. “That might be so, but these angry outbursts are not you. I’ve seen the group chat between the PAs, Silas. Ranty pants, that’s all I’m going to say.”

Who the hell had called him that?

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