Little good deeds
1709 Words
SILAS'S POV
I was a coward.
That's what it came down to, really. I'd spent so much time blaming everyone else… Martha, Millie, circumstances, bad luck… but the truth was simpler and more pathetic than that.
I was just a coward.
I took another drink from the bottle of whiskey on the table in front of me. It was barely noon, but what did it matter? It wasn't like I had anywhere to be. No job to go to. No reputation to uphold. Nothing left except this dingy apartment and a woman who hated me as much as I was starting to hate myself.
The TV was on but muted, showing some daytime talk show I wasn't watching. My phone sat next to the bottle, screen dark. I'd been staring at it for the last hour, working up the courage to make a call I knew I had to make.
But courage wasn't exactly my strong suit these days.
The door to the apartment opened, and I heard Martha's footsteps. She didn't acknowledge me, just went straight to the bedroom. A few minutes later, she came back out with her laptop, settling on the couch across from me.
We'd been living like strangers for days now. Ever since I'd... since that night.
I pushed the thought away, gulping another drink.
"Going somewhere?" I asked, noticing she was dressed nicer than usual.
She didn't look up from her laptop. "Meeting someone."
"Who?"
"None of your business."
Fair enough. We'd stopped being each other's business a long time ago. Maybe we never really were.
I watched her for a moment, noticing the way her jaw was set, the intensity in her eyes as she stared at the screen. I recognized that look. I'd seen it before, back when we were planning... well. Back when we were younger and stupider.
"What are you up to, Martha?"
"I said it's none of your business."
"Is it about Millie?"
That got her attention. She looked up, her eyes cold. "Everything is about Millie, isn't it? For both of us. She's ruined everything."
"She didn't ruin anything," I heard myself say. "We did. We ruined it ourselves."
Martha's laugh was bitter. "Oh, so now you're defending her? After everything? After she ran away and left us looking like fools? After she sent Callie to destroy our wedding in front of everyone? After she got my father arrested?"
"Your father deserved it," I said, setting down the bottle. "He exploited her for years. Stole her money. Used her like a cash machine since she was a child."
"So what?" She slammed her laptop shut. "We could have made it work. We could have been happy. But she had to come back. Had to ruin everything."
"She came back for what is hers. For her mother's legacy."
"And what about my legacy?" Martha's voice cracked. "What about what I deserve?"
I didn't have an answer for that. Because the truth was, Martha deserved better than what she got. Better than her parents using her as a pawn. Better than me.
But that didn't excuse what we did to Millie.
"What are you planning?" I asked again, quieter this time.
She stood up, grabbing her bag. "I'm planning to make sure that b***h understands what it feels like to lose everything. To be afraid. To have something precious taken away."
My blood went cold. "Martha, what does that mean?"
"It means I'm tired of being the victim in this story. It's her turn."
She headed for the door, but I stood up, my hand on her arm. "Martha, wait. Whatever you're planning, don't. It's not worth it."
She yanked her arm away. "Don't touch me. You lost the right to care about what I do the night you beat me bloody."
The words hit like a physical blow. She was right. God, she was right.
"I know," I said quietly. "I know what I did was unforgivable. But Martha, if you're planning to hurt Millie or... or that boy..."
Her eyes flashed. "That boy should have been yours. Should have been ours. But she took that too."
"He was never ours to take. He's Millie's son."
"He's Braham's son," Martha corrected. "Some werewolf with more money and power than sense. And Millie's just using him to get everything she wants. A father for her bastard. Security. Status."
"You don't know that."
"I know exactly that. Because that's what I would do. If I were in her shoes."
She left then, slamming the door behind her. I stood there for a long moment, my mind racing.
Whatever Martha was planning, it involved that little boy. Leo. Lionel. Millie's three-year-old son who'd done nothing wrong except have the misfortune of being born into this mess.
I thought about the child I saw the day Millie made her grand return. The boy in those paparazzi photos. Small, dark-haired, with his mother's eyes. Innocent.
And I thought about what it would do to Millie if something happened to him.
I'd told myself I hated her. That she deserved to suffer for humiliating me, for choosing that werewolf over me, for being everything I'd wanted and couldn't have.
But the truth? The truth was I'd never really hated her. I hated myself for not being good enough. For being weak. For letting Martha and her father manipulate me into betraying the one person who'd actually cared about me.
Millie had been kind. She'd been genuine. She'd loved me, or at least she'd tried to. And I'd destroyed that because I was too much of a coward to stand up to Martha and Sabrina’s schemes.
I walked back to the table and picked up my phone.
I could ignore this. I could let Martha do whatever she was planning and pretend I didn't know. That would be the easy thing. The coward's thing.
Or I could do the one decent thing I'd done in years.
My hands shook as I scrolled through my contacts. I didn't have Millie's number anymore… she'd blocked me years ago, and rightfully so. But I had Callie's number. From back when we'd all pretended to be friends.
I stared at the contact for a long time.
This was it. The moment where I either proved I was more than the pathetic excuse for a man I'd become, or I let my last shred of humanity slip away completely.
I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
It rang three times before Callie answered, her voice sharp and suspicious. "Silas?"
"I need to talk to Millie," I said, the words tumbling out fast before I lost my nerve. "It's about Martha. She's planning something. Something involving Leo."
There was a long silence. Then, "Why the hell should I believe anything you say?"
"You shouldn't," I said honestly. "I've lied before. I've done terrible things. But Callie, I'm not lying about this. Martha is planning to hurt that little boy to get back at Millie. I don't know exactly what, but I know it's happening soon."
Another pause. I could hear muffled voices in the background, like she was talking to someone else.
"If you're lying..." Callie started.
"I know. I know what will happen. But I'm not lying. I swear on... on whatever's left of my soul, I'm not lying."
"Hold on."
More muffled voices. Then a different voice came on the line. Deeper. Male. Dangerous.
"This is Braham Gothan. You have exactly one minute to convince me not to track you down and rip your throat out for calling this number."
Despite everything, despite my fear and shame and the fog of alcohol, I felt a flicker of something like respect. This was a man who protected what was his. Who didn't make empty threats.
"Martha is planning something," I said quickly. "I don't know all the details, but she's been watching your estate. Tracking when Millie takes Leo to the park. She met with some private investigator named Daniel Chen. She's obsessed with making Millie suffer, and she thinks the best way to do that is through Leo."
"When?" Braham's voice was like ice.
"I don't know exactly. Soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. She left here twenty minutes ago for some meeting."
"Where does this meeting take place?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me."
I heard a low growl, and the sound made every instinct I had scream danger. "If you're lying, if this is some setup..."
"It's not." I closed my eyes. "Look, I know what I am. I know I don't deserve any mercy or second chances. But that little boy is innocent. Whatever Martha's planning, he doesn't deserve to be part of it."
There was another long pause. Then Braham said, "If your information checks out, I'll make sure the authorities know you cooperated. If it doesn't..."
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
The line went dead.
I set down the phone and picked up the whiskey bottle again, but I didn't drink. I just held it, staring at my reflection in the dark glass.
For the first time in months—maybe years—I'd done something that wasn't completely selfish. Something that wasn't about what I wanted or what I thought I deserved.
It didn't make up for the past. It didn't erase the pain I'd caused or the trust I'd broken. But it was something.
Maybe it was too late for redemption. Maybe I'd burned too many bridges and hurt too many people. But at least I could say I'd tried to stop an innocent child from getting hurt.
At least I could say I hadn't been a complete coward.
Not this time.
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city. Somewhere out there, Martha was meeting with whoever she'd hired to help her.
Somewhere out there, Millie was trying to protect her son. And somewhere out there, a three-year-old boy was playing, unaware that his aunt was planning something terrible.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the glass, to my reflection, to everyone I'd hurt. "I'm so sorry."
It wouldn't be enough. It could never be enough.
But maybe, just maybe, it would be something.
- Writer
