Page 98 of The Silent Hour

Lila stumbled back, startled. The trailer was deathly quiet except for my harsh breaths. She touched her mouth, not saying a word. I ran both hands over my face and turned to the door.

“No. That doesn’t happen again.”

She didn’t argue. She picked up her flashlight and turned back to the desk. “Then you leave.”

She offered me the exit I’d accused her of withholding. I hesitated at the door, hand on the cold handle, heart hammering. To home and everything I’d built. I stayed rooted, knowing I still had a choice.

When I released the handle, I knew exactly what I was doing. I turned. Lila’s eyes lifted, something shifting in her expression.

“Ethan,” she breathed as I crossed the trailer.

This time I kissed her without hesitation—no shock, no second-guessing. My hands settled at her waist; hers caught my shirt as I backed her against the far wall. She broke the kiss first. We hovered for a breathless instant, staring into each other’s eyes, then her hand slipped into her pocket. She withdrew a single condom, holding it between finger and thumb.

And just like that, the last illusion vanished, I knew precisely where this was heading.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ETHAN

I LEANED DOWN TO KISS her again when a sound cut through the night, not from her or me. I paused to listen; she started to speak. My hand clamped over her mouth to shut her up. Silence stretched and all that remained was the falling rain, her breathing, and how my ears caught only the thrum of my blood.

Lila’s hands moved slowly, deliberate fingers sliding to my belt. As I searched to see if anyone or anything moved around us, her hand slid lower, dipping inside my boxers, cupping me.

"You're bigger than I imagined," she whispered.

I grit my teeth as she stroked me, her hand making a fist. “Fuck.”

I could still turn and walk away. In five minutes, I’d be back at the car with Eric, the heater blasting, the familiar scent of stale coffee and worn leather seats filling the space between us. An hour after that, I’d be turning my key in the front door lock, stepping into the quiet dark of my own house.

Julia would be asleep in our bed, her body curled into the hollow I’d left behind on my side, one hand tucked under her cheek like she does when she’s dreaming.

My wife.

My girls, their crayon drawings still taped to the refrigerator door, their small rain boots lined up neatly by the mat. My entire fucking life was sitting right there at the other end of that dark, wet drive home.

Somehow, knowing exactly what I was walking away from made it worse that my feet stayed planted on this grimy trailer floor.

Lila hadn’t trapped me. Her eyes were clear and waiting. She wasn’t offering anything I didn’t understand. I wanted it. Maybe that was the fucking problem, all those weeks of pretending not to see her. Every time I caught my eyes drifting toward the line of her throat when she turned away.

Every fucking time her perfume, something like night-blooming flowers and clean sweat—hit me a second before she spoke. Every moment I became aware of how close she was standing in the break room, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin and immediately hated myself for noticing.

I’d made it bigger than it was by refusing to name it. The condom sat pinched between her fingers of the hand not slowly jerking me off, a small foil square in the dim light.

A choice.

Fine. I was done wondering what her skin felt like. Done replaying every look she ever gave me across a conference table. Done letting this fucking woman live inside my head like she’d paid rent.

Maybe the fastest way to kill this thing was to finally touch it. To peel back every layer of mystery and see it for exactly what I knew it had to be: nothing special. Just skin and bad judgment wrapped in a shitty trailer and darkness.

This was what she wanted, and some sick part of me wanted it too. So, I’d finish it. Once. I’d fuck every question out of my system until there was nothing left to wonder about. Then I’d go home, shower her off my skin, and bury this next to every other stupid thing I did before Julia decided to love me.

Somehow, taking ownership made it easier to stand there for another thirty seconds. I wasn’t losing control. I was ending something. At least, that was the lie I chose to swallow.

I took the packet and tore it open with my teeth, never taking my eyes off her. She stopped stroking me and helped roll the latex down my dick in one practiced motion, the kind of muscle memory that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with being a man who'd learned to dress himself for protection before he'd learned to love someone worth protecting.

The moment it was on she was sliding her jeans down her hips. I roughly helped shove them the rest of the way, past her thighs, past her knees. Then I turned her. Not gently. My hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her forward until her palms met the wall. She was already leaning, already arching her back, her sweater riding up to expose the dip of her spine.

I positioned myself behind her.