Silas’s voice rang out over the distance. “What’s he doing here?”
As if he knew Dawson.
Even without touching, I was close enough to Dawson that the growl he let out vibrated over me. “I live here. What’s your excuse?”
I stiffened. He didn’t live here.
“You do not,” I objected, and it was breathier and more unsure than I’d wanted it to be. I stepped farther away from him.
“Yeah, I do, actually,” he said with a quirk of his lips I wanted to smack away as he waved a garage door clicker as if it were proof.
I glanced to the driveway where a sleek gray sports car sat. He must have tried to park in the garage. I’d disconnected the overhead door opener at the same time I’d loaded the plastic and tables inside.
Silas closed the distance as Dawson and I continued to stare at each other. When he got to us, Silas pulled me into him with a casual arm over my shoulders. I had to fight every urge in my body that told me to toss it off. Dawson took in the casual embrace with a slight furrow to his brow.
“Violet, want to tell me who this is?” Silas asked.
He was jealous, and it made me want to laugh for many reasons. Because we were broken up. Because Dawson was the one person I could never have.
“Silas, this is Truck’s brother, Dawson. Dawson, Silas.”
The two men eyed each other but did not shake hands. The negative energy drifting between them was tangible. Calculable. I wasn’t sure how they’d even met, but I did my best to lighten the mood by turning the conversation.
“Where have you been?” I asked Dawson.
“Tarifa,” he said.
My heart clenched even though it shouldn’t have. Just like Silas’s jealousy was so unnecessary, I had no right to mine either. I smiled. “Jada was just there too. At her family’s villa.”
“We were in Spain for different reasons, but it was convenient for both of us. We just flew back this morning,” he said casually. But beneath the nonchalant tone, I heard something else, something he was trying to tell me that I couldn’t unravel. Another formula with an unknown variant. All I knew was that he’d been with Jada.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been traveling with her for several years now. My friend had become his. They moved in similar circles. Circles I couldn’t imagine because they came with yachts staffed with a year-round crew and helicopters on the bow.
Dawson watched as Silas rubbed his hand along my shoulder. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’m off to bed.”
He headed toward the house.
“It’s not even noon,” Silas said scornfully.
“Yep,” Dawson retorted without a backward glance. His tone said he didn’t give a flying fuck what Silas thought.
“Now, I know why there were never any bookings for the Mark Twain room,” I called after him.
“If you’d accidentally put someone in there, they would have complained about the full closet and desk littered with papers,” he said and then disappeared inside.
Silence settled down between Silas and me. I pushed away, heading toward the garage. I needed to double check the numbers I’d seen before Dawson had arrived and filter through the boxes of my belongings that had arrived after Silas had left earlier.
Silas followed me.
“Is he a drug dealer or something?” he asked.
“What on earth would make you think that?” I stared at him, shocked.
“The little things you and your family have said about him. Then, he shows up at all hours of the morning from out of the country with no sleep. It’s like he works for a cartel or something.”
I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
Silas stared at me. “Sometimes, you can be really naïve, Vi.”
Had he always been this condescending? Had I just never noticed it? Or was it a new thing because I was refusing to give in to what he wanted and return to Stanford with him? “Dawson is not a drug dealer.”
“So, the fancy car in the driveway. How’d he pay for it?”
“He races boats.”
His turn to snort with derision.
I started opening and closing the boxes of my belongings that I’d had the shipping company stack by the door. Some would go upstairs in my room and some I would just have to store. Silas watched.
“What’s the name of the last race he was in?” He yanked out his phone and started typing on the screen.
My frustration ratcheted up a thousand notches. “I have no idea. Why do you