Page 48 of Wrap Around
"–because we're so good at talking, right?" I cross my arms and glare at him pointedly. "We've barely had a full conversation since I got here."
"And whose fault is that?"
"It's not for lack of trying on my part. You won't talk to me."
"Why would I want to talk to the man who stomped on my heart and cheated on my sister?! Who's still cheating on my sister." His hands are in his hair again. I'm surprised he has any left with the way he pulls on it constantly. "And yes, I hear my own hypocrisy. You make me crazy, Silas. I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
He stands and paces the room. "I can't be around you. I can't be on the same team with you, can't pretend to be friends, can'twatch you play house with my sister knowing that–" he cuts himself off, and I fill in the rest of the sentence for him.
"…knowing that I'm in love with you and always have been?"
He turns his head to look at me so quickly I'm surprised his neck doesn't crack.
"You're married to my sister." He says slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. "You have a baby with her, you–"
My heart is beating in my throat, threatening to send anything I've eaten or drank in the last several hours right back up.
"I've been trying to tell you it isn't what you think."
"What does that mean?!"
"Are you ready to listen?" I ask calmly, trying to dampen my nerves.
"I don't know," he replies. "I'm afraid that some shady bullshit is going to come out and I'll just want to punch you."
"You've already done that," I remind him. "And what did I do?"
"Nothing," he snaps back. Then he sits at the edge of the bed, brows knit together in confusion. "You didn't fight me off or hold me back. You didn't tell Coach or anyone else. You haven't outed me or called me on my hypocritical bullshit. Why? Why, Silas?"
"Because I love you." My eyes burn, the realization that I've said those words out loud twice now hitting me hard. "I've been in love with you for as far back as I can remember. I never told you because I was afraid. I was afraid if anyone knew about me…"
"That you'd be cast out or worse," he finishes for me.
I nod quietly, looking down at the pack of cookies I no longer have the stomach for.
"That day at the lake…"
"Was the first time I had any inkling you might have felt the same. I think a big part of me didn't really believe it was really happening. Like it might have been a dream. I was so afraid and confused."
"Because you love my sister, too?"
I cock my head, trying to think of the best way of answering that. "Yes," I say, noticing his shoulders tense. "But not in the way you're thinking."
Gideon looks confused. Angry. Sick to his stomach.
"What does that mean, Silas?"
"It means you need to talk to your sister," I say, pleading with him. "I've been trying to get the two of you to just talk to each other, to trust each other. I haven't told her your secret," I tell him. "But I'm also holding on to one of hers. Before I left I told her that I can't do this anymore. I can't keep your secrets from each other anymore. It hurts too fucking bad," I say, my voice cracking. The tears that threatened earlier spill over. "It's hurting me, it's hurting both of you. But mostly, it's hurting us. Because if we'd all been honest from the beginning, none of this would have happened."
The rest of the weekend goes by in a haze. Time moves like molasses.
The rest of the team is enjoying the warm Southern California weather, but I want to get home so badly that I'd rather go back to the freezing temperatures of Alberta. We pull off a win for our first game, which feels nice since none of us can remember the last time we won an away game. I didn't score, but I got two assists. We lose to Vegas in a 3-0 shutout, but none of the team seems bothered by it. They're all looking forward to going out on the town. I'm too tired to even pretend I'll go, but that doesn't stopme from sitting up, awake, watching the clock and worrying what Gideon might be out doing. The last time we played in Vegas he got shit faced and I'm pretty sure he'd been out hooking up, if his rambling was anything to go by.
It's after ten when he gets to the hotel. He's sober. Sober enough that he notices how tense I am. He must realize what I've been worried about, because his mouth quirks up on one side.
"You worried about where I've been, Caldwell?"
