Chapter 17
Rue Monroe had a gut feeling there was more to Julian Carter’s cryptic words, but she didn’t want to get dragged into whatever drama he was brewing. She grabbed her purse and turned to leave, calling back toward the break room.
“Shane, I’ve got a dinner thing tonight. I’m heading out.”
With a lazy wave from her brother in response, Rue made a quick exit from the therapy center, unaware of the way Julian’s gaze followed her, something unreadable darkening his expression.
Later that evening, in the private room of a downtown bar, Rue pushed open the door and was greeted by chaos.
Shay Whitman was belting out a drunken rendition of a Taylor Swift breakup anthem, while the rest of the crew clapped and laughed like idiots.
But Rue’s attention snagged on a quiet figure curled up in the corner.
Dr. Silas Whitman—Shay’s brother—was buried in a black turtleneck, hunched on the couch like a vampire dragged into the daylight. His eyes were glued to a glass of lemon water, totally out of sync with the loud, wine-soaked crowd.
Rue slid in beside him on the couch, causing the cushions to dip.
“You seriously showed up? Didn’t your sister say you’d rather chew glass than deal with crowds like this?”
“I figured being a shut-in was starting to rot my brain,” he muttered, taking a sip from his drink. “Plus Shay said if I stayed in one more weekend, I’d grow mushrooms.”
Rue snorted. “Dude, relax. No one here’s gonna bite you.”
Silas flushed pink to the tips of his ears and started fiddling with his phone like it was a shield. “Hey… are your headaches still gone?”
“Haven’t had one in weeks. Thanks to Dr. Whitman’s miracle meds.”
She rested her chin in her hand, watching him. “Why? Your doctor instincts kicking in again?”
He shrugged, still scrolling. “Just wondering.”
Then, completely out of nowhere: “Do you have someone you like?”
Rue choked on her beer. Hard.
“Jesus, no! I just got out of a psych ward six months ago. What kinda question is that?”
Silas passed her a napkin, his voice low. “Just asking. Being single is good… you know?”
“What’s good about it?”
“It’s easier,” he muttered, turning his face away. The bar’s chandelier light caught the edge of his glasses, hiding the look in his eyes.
By the time the night wound down, Shay was absolutely hammered, flopped across the table mumbling something about another round.
Silas looked ready to kill someone as he tried to haul her upright.
“Rue, help me out here?”
She darted to the other side and hooked an arm under Shay’s waist.
“How much did she drink?”
“Enough to ruin my damn shoes,” Silas grunted as Shay’s heel nearly crushed his foot.
Rue glanced around. “At least three bottles of wine and she mixed in champagne. Rookie mistake.”
Shay suddenly thrashed in their arms, insisting she needed karaoke. Her fingers flailed toward Rue’s face.
They finally wrestled her into the backseat. Rue slid in next to her, exhaling.
“Your sister has the alcohol tolerance of a toddler.”
Silas gave a half-laugh, eyes flicking to Rue’s hair, wind-tousled from the walk. Then he blurted, “You sing really well.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He slammed his foot on the gas.
The car stereo clicked on to a hauntingly familiar ballad:
“If I lost my mind right now, would love even matter anymore—”
Rue quietly hummed a few notes. She caught Silas smirking. A real one.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
At the curb outside her building, she reached for the door but Silas stopped her.
He’d already moved around to her side and pulled the door open.
“It’s late. I’ll walk you up.”
Rue glanced at Shay snoring like a buzzsaw in the backseat. “Sure.”
The elevator smelled faintly of champagne and regret.
As they neared her floor, Silas cleared his throat.
“If your head hurts later… honey water before bed helps.”
She turned, waiting for more.
He opened his mouth, paused…
Ding.
The doors slid open. She stepped into the hallway.
Silas just stood there, lips pressed together, saying nothing.
