Page 48 of Glorious Ruin
When the last fight in his muscles gave up, he slumped against the wall. His breathing reduced to a series of jagged, shallow gasps.
“Jesus Christ, Cal,” he whispered, finally pulling his hand away from his mouth. His knuckles were red and damp, bite marks strewn across the bones. “Are you trying to kill me? We have to go to dinner, and I can’t even remember my middle name right now.”
“It’s okay, I’ll remember it for you.”
Hurricanes was exactly what you’d expect from a beach bar: dim lighting, neon beer signs that hummed with age, and the smell of fried food and cheap tequila. It was packed, the air vibrating with the sound of a jukebox playing some country-rock anthem.
We managed to snag a high-top table near the dartboards. Silas and I stood together, talking to April and Sarah, while the rest of the herd engaged in a fiercely competitive game of darts.
“I’m telling you, April, the wedding has to be in the fall,” Sarah proposed while gesturing wildly with a fry. “Philly in October is peak-vibes. Plus, the lighting for the photos? Incredible.”
“I don’t care about lighting, I care about the guest list,” April countered, her bossy-big-sister energy in full effect. “If Cal doesn’t invite the cousins from Scranton, Aunt Marie will never let him hear the end of it.”
I groaned, leaning my elbows on the table. “Can we talk about literally anything else? We’ve been engaged for like twenty hours. My brain hasn’t even processed the silver on my finger yet, and you’re already booking caterers.”
“It’s a Donovan wedding, Cal. If you don’t start now, you’ll end up getting married in a Wawa parking lot with a priest who’s also a part-time DJ,” Sarah teased, then immediately went back to discussing floral arrangements and dessert options.
My sisters eventually drifted toward the bar to order another round, leaving Silas and me alone. The neon light of a Budweiser sign cast a red glow over Silas’s face as we gazed upon our families.
He leaned in close to me, dropping his voice so the others couldn’t hear. “You know, looking at them, seeing your sisters and my family all together like this… Itfeels real. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like we’re trying to hide from the world.”
I looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the gold in his eyes. How he looked happy,peaceful. It took everything in me to fight the urge to reach out and pull him into a kiss right in the middle of the bar. “It is real, Si. As real as it gets.”
It was a while later, laughing at Evan’s nonsense of missing the dartboard entirely and hitting the wall, when the energy in the air shifted. I knew the feeling well. It was the same one we got right before a match started, a prickle on the back of your neck that says someone is watching.
A man approached our table, looking to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a polo shirt that was clearly a size too small. Apair of expensive sunglasses hung from his collar. He was clearly several drinks deep. I could smell the bourbon from three feet away. His eyes had that glassy, unfocused sheen of someone who’d been celebrating for far too long.
A heavy hand clapped onto Silas’s shoulder, the force of it making Silas stumble forward an inch. My spine stiffened immediately, every protective instinct roaring to life.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the man slurred, his voice loud enough to draw eyes. “I thought that was you, Si. How you been, boy?”
Silas's expression shifted rapid-fire between emotions, recognition blooming before hardening into a deep, guarded tension that locked his jaw. He straightened his shoulders, gently dislodging the man’s hand.
“Evening, John,” Silas said, his voice clipped and tight.
“So, who brought you? Scott or Mav?” John leaned in with a hint of condescension. “They’d be the only ones who could drag you out of those back-water woods.”
Silas’s jaw ticked, the pulse in his neck jumping. “I’m here with some friends.”
John nodded, his gaze sliding over to me. He looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing. “I just assumed they’d be here because…well, you know. Life of the party n’ all.”
Silas let out a sharp, annoyed huff, his hands fisting at his sides. “There’s no party, John. Leave it alone.”
John didn’t leave it alone. He turned fully toward me, extending a hand that was slightly unsteady. “Shit, where are my manners? I’m John. John Brewer. I’m Si’s cousin. Second cousin, technically. Grandfather’s nephew.”
I stared at his hand for a second before returning to his eyes and reaching out. My grip was much firmer, and probably more aggressive than necessary, but this guy gave off an asshole energy I didn’t like. “Cal Kincaid.”
“Kincaid, huh?” John let go of my hand, his smirk widening as he looked between us once again. When his gaze remained on Silas, the mask of family friendliness finally slipped entirely. “Oh, and by the way, Si…” He leaned in, his tone dropping into a vicious mix of intoxicated rasp and sloppy arrogance. His eyes clocked me once more before a single brow raised. “This is a family beach. You know, with kids and decent people around. Make sure to keep whateverthisis away from them. Nobody wants to see that shit in public.”
My blood instantly boiled, and the air within the bar felt like it had been sucked out of the room. I stood and stepped into his personal space, my chest inches from his. His nose, that’s what I wanted to break before putting him through the high-top table. But I liked my career, and I wasn’t going to give this drunk piece-of-shit the satisfaction of a headline.
“Listen man, we don’t—”
The words didn’t even have a chance to hit his ears before there was a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
CRACK.
Silas. My sweet, calm, always anxious but notoriously kind, fiancé hadsnapped.
