Page 100 of Ugly Truths
The news anchor's mouth moves, but her words are drowned out by the ringing in my ears. The prepared family statement appears next, featuring an older photo of Silas, Natalie, and Jeremy alongside their father on a red carpet somewhere. The words are kind and polished and tell me exactly which option William took.
My phone lies beside me, its screen dark and still.
The pressure in my chest is unbearable. My fingers twist the edge of the comforter, and the fabric bunches between them.
Where is he? Did he go to William’s mansion? Ishe at the coroner’s office? Should I call him? Should I go to him?
There's a faint shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. My head snaps toward the door just as Silas steps into view.
His gaze is fixed on the television, where the news plays a montage of William’s public life. Charity events, corporate galas, ribbon-cutting ceremonies. It pauses the longest on what might be the last family portrait they ever took.
In the photo, Silas’s mother sits in the center, her health already fading. William stands behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Silas and Natalie flank their mother with polite smiles on their younger faces. Teenage Jeremy stands slightly off to the side, as though he doesn’t quite know how to fit into the frame.
I fumble for the remote. The screen goes black, but it does nothing to hide the shadows under Silas’s eyes. The tie around his neck hangs loose, his dress shirt wrinkled, and the suit jacket he left wearing this morning is nowhere to be seen.
I stand and take a hesitant step towards him. “Silas,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
The muscles in his jaw are set so tightly that his cheeks appear frail and hollow. Slowly, he turns. A pair of blank eyes meet mine, the whites are tinted an irritated shade of red.
“What do you need?” I repeat the question he once asked after I was assaulted, hoping it might offer him even a fraction of the comfort it gave me.
Silas blinks.
“I don’t know.”
Every cell in my body aches at how unsure he sounds.
I take another cautious step toward him. “Then let me help you figure it out,” I offer.
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. I close the remaining distance and wrap my arms around his neck.
Rising on my toes, I press my cheek against his. “I’m sorry he couldn’t see what he was losing,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the way the rest of meshakes.
His movements are hesitant, but he takes little time to slide his hands around the back of my waist. Against my ribcage, I can feel the pulse of his rapidly beating heart, and he lets his head drop to my shoulder in a defeated slump.
“I fucking hate him,” he says, his lips trembling against my collarbone. Heat prickles under my skin. What I wouldn’t give to have William in front of me so I could kill him myself.
My fingers slide into his hair, thumb moving back and forth in comforting strokes. “I know,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I know.”
The world outside fades out just enough for me to whisper the reassurances he needs.
“You did the right thing.”
“He didn’t want to change.”
“He would have hurt more people.”
“We can fix this now.”
“I’m sorry.”
Only when his arms relax around my middle do I pull back enough to hold him at arm’s length. “A shower might help,” I suggest softly. “Let me get it ready for you.”
His expression is still distant, but after a pause, he nods. I lead him to the bathroom, flipping on the dimmest lights as I go until everything is soft and golden.
Releasing his hand to turn on the water, I test the temperature with my fingers. When I turn back, Silas is standing in the center of the room, his eyes tracking my every movement.
Stepping toward him, I reach for his glasses first, gently sliding them off his face and folding them with care. I place them on the edge of the sink. The gesture always feels strangely intimate to me, and tonight, it feels even more so.
