Page 33 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

I read his letter twice more, not yet ready for my time with him or his words to truly be over for this leg of our trip.

Then I breathe in the scent of the paper, praying that this one still has any small trace of him left clinging to the papyrus since it was so much more well-preserved than the last two.

But there’s nothing left of him anymore.

Just the words that I haven’t had time yet to process.

I roll to my side on the bed, dragging my knees into my chest.

Needing to delve into the picture Grant’s just painted of the three of us — but especially of Silas — while I try to close the freshly opened wound in my chest.

I feel inexplicably guilty for leaving Silas to struggle all alone after his father died. Knowing, now, how unmooring the experience of losing someone can be.

I always knew how important he was to me, but could never have guessed just how much the feeling was the same for him too.

I remember that night. I remember waking up all stiff and smoky in the morning, telling Grant how shocked I was that I didn’t get attacked even worse while I slept.

“Some kind of miracle,” I’d told him.

Then I’d asked Silas how he’d slept that night as we all made instant coffee over the fire and rolled up our makeshift beds.

“Pretty decent,” he’d said, not really looking at me.

He hadn’t mentioned what he’d done, or bragged to the other guys that he’d been the only gentleman among them to stay up all night stoking the fire.

This is the first I’ve ever heard of it.

I have so many questions I want to ask them both.

Why did Silas stay so far away from me this entire past year?

And why did Grant choose this exact timeframe to tell me everything he thought I should know?