Page 163 of The Story of You

“That is such bullshit, my love.”

He winks.

It’s time to go. We’ve all said our words and I promise Mama we won’t wait so long to return, but that we’ve brought her with us this time anyway.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. My skin breaks out in gooseflesh. My heart races. I turn and way across the cemetery are two people I can’t make out.

One of them I don’t need to. “Take everyone to the van, Darius.”

Darius sets his eyes to where I’m staring. “You’ve got to befuckingkidding me. I knew it. Motherfucking cunt cocksucker, Iknewit. Yeah, I’ll take them and then I’m grabbing a sledgehammer and smashing one half of that gravestone.”

“Dad? What’s going on?” Oliver rubs his arm. He can feel it too. “Oh. Oh, God. No, Baba, please. Let’s just go. At least take Lakshan with you, please?”

I have been running from this moment for twenty-one years. It has found me. More accurately, it has always been watching me.

“I’m sorry, Eaglet. I have to do this alone.”

* * *

Silas

Isaunter. He’s not going anywhere. He’s here for me.

He’s standing by a bench under a tree. The other person with him is an oddly familiar young man.

As forhim, his skin is only a tad weathered and it’s fucking annoying that we look the same age when he’s twenty-three years my senior. The sunny smile radiates as it always did, his hand resting inside the pocket of his black slacks the same way mine does. He’s kept his hair the same, a wavy tumble of blond locks to the bottoms of his ears pushed back and off his face. Some places have white, but it only serves to make his hair closer to Oliver’s platinum. He’s tall and broad, but I’m bigger than him in every way.

And yet, he feels huge.

I almost can’t find my breath. The hollowness of my broken heart overwhelms me. That ache. The need to just touch him one more time. To hear him say the words I loved. A million instances flood back. None of the bad ones of course—can’t make this too easy—just the good. Takeout on Wednesday nights. Movies cuddled up on the couch. Soft kisses. Warm whispers. My heart beating in sync with his.

I’m not surprised in the least that he’s alive. Maybe deep down, I always knew.

“Hello, Aleksander.” My fingers itch in the air. How good would it feel to sink into him? To smell him? Would his scent do the same as always? The small bits of comfort I’ve been able to scrape for myself pale to what I’ve always gleaned from him.

He softens for a fraction. He’s not unaffected either. Much more than he’d like to be from what I can read from him. “Well, fuck. I had a speech planned, but look at you, Silas, you still rob me of all coherent thought. I’ve missed you so much … it hurts.”

I know the feeling. I force myself to harden. It’s the only way I’ll get through this. I slip into the persona I’ve built—the cold one.

“What do you want?” My eyes flick to the boy. My brain trying to tell me something. “If you’re just here to taunt me, you’ve done a great job, but I’ve got better things to do.”

“I wanted to know if you were still mine.”

There were never any lies between us.

“I will always be yours.” It’s oddly empowering to admit that out loud. “Happy?”

“It doesn’t matter when I can’t have you. I kept my promise though. Do you see? I gave you everything. Oliver. Darius. My fortune. Anything you’ve ever needed.”

I remember the last promise he made me. That he would be better. That he would never harm Oliver again. It would seem he got the message that I didn’t believe him. “Was this to prove yourself to me? Is that what you’re doing?”

“Yes. I knew it would take a grand gesture and so I died.”

“Now what? We ride off into the sunset?”

“Is that on the table?”

“No.”