Page 16 of The Best Worst Mistake
His entire world changed in one loss of a heartbeat. Si inherited his father’s multi-billion-dollar business portfolio. So if he’d been a bit brash and cocky before his inheritance was signed for, the instant media attention as one of the world’s most wealthy — and arguably most handsome — young bachelors did a huge number on his ego.
Right here is where it happened. Silas disappeared. Not physically, but in every way that someone can disappear while standing right in front of you. He went from being someone I loved and admired to someone who oozed the uglier sides of wealth and privilege, acting like money could solve anything he said or did that hurt. The loss of who Si was broke my heart, and within months he was a man I could barely stand to be around.
The immediate shouldering of immense responsibility might have been too much for any twenty-six-year-old to handle gracefully, but it took him to a place that was so different and so dark that I rarely saw him outside the sleaziest tabloid photos — usually with a few women draped around him as he stumbled out of a nightclub in some random location around the world.
And whenever I did see him in person? He’d grown so bitter toward me — toward everyone that had someone left to love — that all I ever received were sarcastic jabs thrown my way, usually at the expense of being Grant’s ol’ ball and chain.
The transition gave me whiplash and felt as bad as if he’d slapped me across the face himself. It hurt losing him. And that was before I lost Grant, too.
Over the last year, I haven’t heard a single peep from Silas since he walked off my porch the day of Grant’s funeral. Not even after I sold the building he gave us. I’d heard through their friend, our mutual attorney, Dax, that Silas had asked him about the sale, but that he didn’t look into it any further. I think it’s because Silas already knew the role the building had played in the end.
I’ve never allowed myself to question Silas about the building. Afraid of what I might uncover if I do. Afraid that if I say the words out loud and notice any hesitation in his response — or see any look in his eye that might suggest Silas already knew — the knowledge of that would break me for good.
I like to think Silas meant well that night he showed up to offer me money, but the conversation was tone-deaf and cold.
We were so stiff and awkward that night, shifting on our feet inside the home that Grant and I had shared and made memories in without him.
Me, with my swollen red eyes, pulling miserably at my thick black dress that had grown too tight while Silas stood quietly in my foyer.
Him, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit, looking fresh off a designer runway in Milan. Like he was more ready to jet set or spend all night getting bottle service at a swanky nightclub nearby than having just attended his best friend’s funeral a few hours before.
The house was so quiet when he came. I could hear him breathing over the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he shifted around, unsure of what to say.
Just seeing him had sent a flood of nostalgia that felt more like a desperate need for something of the past to still exist between us. Threatening to make me forget how horrible things were between us. When really, I just wanted more than anything to spend ten minutes living in the past, where Silas and I could laugh with each other, and Grant was just another room away.
But everything about it was uncomfortable.
He’d stood too close.
Studied me too intently.
Spoken too gently.
The familiarity and softness in his eyes while he watched me squirm had nearly ended me. The old Si was still in there and I could see it.
I could tell he was hurting, too. Of course he was. But seeing him again that night, with no one else around to ease the mood, was like seeing a second ghost. One I wanted to turn back time for.
I knew, in my gut, it was the old him standing at my door. His words and his offer didn’t match his demeanor, as if someone else had put him up to the task, asking him to make me feel small. He’d squirmed so uncomfortably, like he hated himself just for saying it all out loud.
But I didn’t know what else to do. So instead of saying anything meaningful, I’d glared too harshly, forcing myself to ignore the sickening wave of missing him that I’d felt when I’d first seen him, the old him, standing outside.
Without Grant to buffer things, everything we said felt charged and electric and wrong. Like I couldn’t get away from him fast enough but also like I never wanted him to leave. Never wanted that part of me that was alive with both Silas and Grant to walk out the door with him forever.
But it did. And I’d practically pushed him out.
I knew I wouldn’t reach out to him after that, but he hadn’t either. And now, a whole year has gone by.
I glare down at Monica’s card wondering whether I can just retrieve the travel itinerary from her and fly solo to these places. Opting to convince whatever hotel staff is holding Grant’s letters hostage to give them to me without Silas there.
But I toss the card back on the counter and exhale stiffly.
Years ago, I would have hopped on a plane with Silas without a second thought. Especially if Grant was coming along, too. But those days, those carefree moments, feel impossible now.
“Why would you put me in this position, Grant?” I whisper.
After everything I’ve already gone through?
I check the clock above the stove.
