Page 62 of Ex- Factor
Inside, Silas stopped in the middle of the living room and ran a hand over his face.
“Eshe, I…” His voice was rough, gravelly. “I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I lost my mind. I yelled at you. I pushed past you. None of that’s okay.” His voice cracked. “There’s no excuse. What happened with my parents… it’s a reason, but not an excuse. The way I spoke to you. The fight. The way I let Donte bait me—God, I’m groveling here. Just tell me what to do. Please.”
“You didn’t put your hands on me,” I said softly, cutting off his spiral. “You pushed past me. There’s a difference.”
“It’s still not acceptable,” he whispered.
The shame in his eyes gutted me.
For a second, I just looked at him. Part of me wanted to be furious—to tell him that if this was the man he turned into under pressure, maybe I should be scared. But the bigger part of me—the part that had seen him hold me steady when I crumbled, that knew how hard he fought to be better—wouldn’t let me.
“You don’t have to get on your knees,” I said, walking over to him. I took his bandaged hand in mine. “I accept your apology, Silas.”
He sagged in relief, but I held up a finger.
“But you only get one time,” I said, my voice firm but not unkind.
He nodded immediately, like he’d been waiting for me to draw that line. “Understood.”
“Good. Now, you need to sleep.”
I led him upstairs. He didn’t argue. He took a quick shower, then collapsed onto my bed naked, asleep almost instantly. I pulled the comforter over him and then did something I hadn’t planned—I lay down beside him, on top of the covers. Just to remind him he wasn’t alone.
I must have dozed off too, because the next thing I knew, voices were carrying up from downstairs. I slipped out of bed carefully. Silas didn’t stir.
Downstairs, Angel, Cassius, and West were letting themselves in, arms full of takeout bags and bottles. The smell of fried chicken and garlic noodles filled the air—sharp and comforting all at once.
Angel’s voice was soft with concern. “How is he?” She was holding a sleeping Ekon against her shoulder.
“Asleep,” I whispered. “He’s… processing.”
They nodded. No one offered platitudes. They just unpacked food, spread bottles across the counter, and madespace for me to breathe. It wasn’t loud, but it was solid. Present. That’s how you knew who really loved you.
“Put Ekon on the bed with Silas. He’ll be happy to see him when he wakes up,” I said.
Angel went upstairs. When she came back, we all settled in the living room, picking at food, drinking, trying to fill the silence with something normal. The clink of bottles, the rip of foil containers, the crunch of fries—mundane sounds in a house that had carried too much heaviness for one night.
A sharp voice rang out from upstairs. “Daddy! Up!”
We froze. Then came the sound of a slap. “UP!”
A moment later, heavy footsteps descended the stairs. Silas appeared, hair mussed but with a spark of light back in his eyes. Perched on his hip was Ekon, grinning like he’d just conquered the world.
“Our son,” Silas said to Angel and Cassius, “has a violent wake-up call. He slapped the hell out of me.”
He tried to smile—and this time, it stuck.
Cassius raised his beer in a mock toast. “We’re so sorry, man.”
Silas just nodded, taking a long pull from his own. “I know. Thanks for coming. I don’t really want to talk about it in front of Ekon.”
The silence that followed was heavier than the food in our stomachs. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, trying not to make it worse.
And then West blurted, “Me and Aja broke up.”
We all turned to stare at him.
Silas cut his eyes at me, ever the observer. “Eshe. Why do you look a little too happy about that?”
