Silent Heart (The Vlasov Bratva #5)

Chapter 15 – Harley

T he sun played peek-a-boo behind the clouds the whole drive back to the farm. I licked the jam off my fingers, doing a happy little dance at the possibility of…whatever this was. The worst-case scenario, we didn’t talk again. Given the way Kole watched me drive away, that wasn’t likely. Best case? I would have another collision with him.

At least one more before his summer trip ends.

“If not more,” I mouthed to the trees at the last bend in the long driveway.

They fluttered in agreement.

The Lexus parked in front of the house snapped my attention right back into the present. Frowning at the strange vehicle, I cut the engine and hurried inside.

Oh, the accountant. He’d said something about stopping by this morning to go over papers with grandpa, when I waited on him last night, but we’d been so busy and then my grandparents confronted me after coming home, so it escaped my mind.

“Hi, Mr. Jefferson,” I called out, from the front door as I slid out of my boots.

“Just getting home, Harley?” the accountant responded from the living room.

The toast turned into a pit deep in my stomach. “Been out running around this morning, Mr. Jefferson.”

“You’re such a busy little bee, Harley,” he laughed.

I laughed with him, before darting upstairs to find my scrubs and finish getting ready. Their voices carried to the landing between the hall bath and my bedroom. As I gathered my things, enough of the information trickled from below to spark my attention. Not this again. With a groan, I padded to the railing and leaned over to hear better.

“Just call the developer. The sale would cover the back taxes, Rodger,” Mr. Jefferson insisted.

My grandpa hmphed. “I’m not selling, Phil. I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice.”

“Yeah, I know it,” the accountant sighed.

“Come, let me walk you out,” Grandpa insisted.

“Convince him, Marta. It might be your only way out of this,” Jefferson said as his parting shot.

The front door clapped behind him. I sagged against the railing. While offers to buy the land were frequent enough, there’d been no indication that we were behind on taxes. But it wasn’t like my family talked about such things. Oh, no! We kept a brave face, pretended all was normal, and kept anything that could be construed as a problem to ourselves.

Blowing out a short breath through my nose, I trotted downstairs. As badly as I needed a shower, this came first. My grandma looked up expectantly from where she fiddled with the end table and a dust rag.

“What did Mr. Jefferson need?” I hedged, fiddling with my scrubs.

“Just dropped by for a cup of coffee,” my grandma said with a smile. “Want something to eat?”

Knowing it was futile, I rounded the banister, intent on returning to my morning routine.

“Where were you last night?” Grandpa called out, banging back into the house. “There was a big storm, and your car was gone. Why'd you leave?”

Behind him, a fresh band of summer storms rumbled across the heavens. It mirrored the frustration bubbling inside. We didn’t talk. There were never deep conversations around the dinner table. Everything was always some big secret, so why the hell should I reveal mine? And just like that, the need to explain and defend myself vanished.

“I went for a drive after being cornered last night. Now I’m off to work.” I pounded up the stairs.

“Cornered? You weren’t cornered ,” he protested.

I sighed, not wanting to get into it. This was the remorse he felt after a few too many. “It’s okay, Grandpa,” I called over the banister. “I’m fine! Everything’s fine.”

Gathering my things, I looked longingly at the shower once more. I hadn’t washed the restaurant or the nocturnal jaunt from my body. And this morning? That was going to linger on me the whole day.

Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to mind.

I skipped down the stairs. Snatching my leather cowgirl boots for later, I opted to wear my waterproof muck boots since another steady downpour had arrived.

“Do you believe the things she accuses me of?” Grandpa rasped, anger boiling his words hot. “Out all night? And blames me? I’m just worried about her! That’s all.”

“You were rather hard on her,” my grandma insisted.

“Do I dare ask where you were, young lady?” My grandfather crossed his arms over his barreled chest, looking like a thundercloud.

Remembering that he was from a different generation, I chose my response carefully. “I was just cooling off. I was tired and needed fresh air.”

“You were with someone.”

Oh, Lanta! “Not in the way you think. Besides, that’s the problem here. Your full-grown grand daughter wants to talk about the fact that we owe back taxes. Care to explain that?”

Grandpa’s gaze thinned. “You never asked. You’re too busy hoarding your pennies to run away for a fool’s dream.”

His words were bitter. I reeled, reaching for the wall to brace myself. “ Excuse me?”

That prickly, wrinkled lip curled with disgust. “All you can talk about is running away. So go. The door’s open.”

With that, Grandpa ripped the door open and walked outside. Grandma hurried over to close it, giving me a pat as she walked by.

“He’s hurting, Har. Best let him be this morning, okay?” She gave me a squeeze.

He wasn’t the only one. I rubbed my chest.

I was going to be ten minutes late at this point, but that was worth it not to follow him. I couldn’t take anymore feeling bad about choosing me. I followed my grandma to the kitchen, where she was in the process of making lunches. Her movements were stiff and disjointed. As if her body was tired. I hoped she wasn’t sore.

The fridge squeaked in protest as I tugged the door open. I grabbed a small, red wheel of cheese and tugged the wax off.

“Did you want me to pack you a lunch? You didn’t have a chance to last night,” Grandma offered, her voice sweet and warm.

I pinned her with a look. “I’m thirty-four! For crying out loud, I’m not some kid! I know what I want, is that so hard for him to understand?”

Grandma sighed and threw the dishtowel over her shoulder. “To Rodger, you’ll always be the little thing in pigtails that we were blessed with in our twilight years, Harley.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I bit into the cheese. “He doesn’t treat the boys that way.”

“They don’t sneak into the house after being out all night when one of his oldest friends—who attends Redeemer with us, I might add—comes over for a business meeting.”

It didn’t seem like he was actually mad about the out all night part. I pinched my nose, trying and failing to take calming breaths. “How bad is it, Grandma?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she murmured, reaching under the counter for a crockery bowl. It was green and had been used by her mother. As she straightened, her face pinched in concern.

I saw it then, an elderly woman who refused to acknowledge big changes were coming. She would fight to her last breath to keep everything the same. The next decade, while holding great promise for my own goals, was going to destroy them one way or another.

“How much, Grandma?” I insisted.

“Harley,” she tsked.

“Would ten grand cover it?” I held my breath.

“Posh, child, we’re not that destitute. We have a savings for just such an occasion. You’re going to need every cent for next year. We might not be able to help you financially, but we don’t want your dreams to suffer because you spent all your hard-earned money.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she patted my hand. “We’ll be fine,” she added.

I wished I could believe her.

***

My eyes swept over the boats tethered to the docks as I parked the Passat around back. I groaned aloud.

What now?

As if the frantic text message that we were down staff tonight wasn’t bad enough, now I couldn’t just jump into the flow of the dinner rush. I hurried inside, tied on my apron, and punched into the computer system.

“Rodger’s at the bar,” a flushed Angelica breathed as she brought dirty dishes to the dish pit.

I gave the bartender a tight look. “How busy is it already?”

“We’re going to be slaughtered!” she sang out, not bothering to wash her hands before diving back into the chaos.

Ah, gross. I laughed under my breath. Just another display of food industry hygiene. I was one of the few servers who always washed, even if I was busy. Most of the others didn’t bother.

I hurried to my grandfather, deciding to get that out of the way so it wouldn’t interrupt the flow once I started tending tables.

“Here,” Grandpa said gruffly.

“Hi to you too,” I breathed.

He grunted but pushed the zippered cooler at me. “You didn’t take lunch, Marta said.”

I paused. It wasn’t an apology. Rodger Kellnhofer never apologized for getting drunk and stupid. But it was a peace offering.

“Come on, Har, you need to eat something before you work all night.” Grandpa took a sip of his Coke, which by the looks of it didn’t have rum in it.

While the wounded part of my soul wanted to throw the food back at him, the fact that he’d driven the speedboat over here just to make sure I ate before my second job said more than any words he could muster.

“Thanks,” I breathed, digging ravenously into the container. Roast beef—from a roast, not the deli—on rye.

Angelica sailed over, eyes wide. “That looks tasty.”

“No kraut, which is a sin. The Mrs. said it would be soggy,” my grandfather grumbled. “Don’t know who’s going to take care of you when you run off to school.”

I passed half to the bartender who wolfed it down before taking a big bite out of mine.

“I’ll be fine,” I promised.

My grandfather grunted. “Education is one thing, but Chicago? There are drug cartels there. Car jackers. You can’t conceal and carry on campus, either!”

His concerns were valid. And there wasn’t much I could say to reassure him except that I would be extra careful. Right now wasn’t the time to go into all of that, though.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” I murmured and pecked his cheek.

He grunted. “Thank your Gran, it was her idea.”

But you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to. With a half sandwich in my stomach and a temporary truce with the man who raised me, I was ready to face the evening.