Chapter 3
SILVER
It takes me almost an hour to reach Wheaton.
Solana pin dropped the location, which seems to be some kind of college housing a few blocks down from Wheaton University. I don’t know much about her, other than what I’ve learned in passing from Big Eddie and Moses and the few details she had revealed weeks ago when I gave her a ride home.
Solana Youngblood is twenty. She’s a junior in college, majoring in Theater Studies.
She’s the only female left in the Youngblood family, and she’s made a recent habit of getting herself into trouble.
On New Year’s Eve, as she reluctantly climbed into my truck, she let it slip that it wasn’t the first time she’d ordered drinks at a bar.
I had cocked a brow at her and asked her if Eddie knew about this. Arms folding in her lap, she fell into disgruntled silence after that.
I hadn’t mentioned giving her a ride that night.
I could’ve easily told Eddie and Moses about it the next day at the saloon, but I refrained from doing so, figuring it had been a harmless ploy.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t already been drinking when I was her age, and she was only a few months shy of twenty-one.
As she hopped out of my truck and muttered a quick thanks for the ride, I told her it wasn’t a problem. She could always reach out if she needed one.
The offer was genuine, but I had no idea she would do so again this soon. Let alone during the early hours of Sunday morning, which means she must’ve gone out last night. She must’ve gone where most college-aged kids do on a Saturday night. Some sort of party or bar.
I’m not judging. I’m not her father, even if I’m old enough to be.
But I am concerned after hearing how upset she sounded. The distress in her voice was clear. She’d been crying and could barely get a word out, stammering over herself.
The first thing I had asked her was if she was at a safe location. She’d hiccuped a yes, sounding both tipsy and on the verge of more tears. Then I asked her if she was hurt, to which she told me no.
She just needed me.
Her exact words, spoken so plainly and softly it tugged at something deep within my chest.
I was once a husband, and I’ll always be a father. My protective instinct is strong. It comes naturally before I can ever snuff it out.
“Stay put,” I had told her. “I’ll be there within the hour, Solana.”
My calm yet resolute promise seemed to soothe her in some way. She sniffled and thanked me.
Now, as I cross the town border over into Wheaton, the GPS on my phone tells me I’m less than five minutes away.
It’s not even six a.m. yet, which means the town is virtually dead.
Very few cars occupy the roads as I flick on my turn signal and make the left that’ll lead me to the address Solana gave.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting pulling up outside 3480 Valencia Road, but it’s not the sight that greets me.
I brake outside the small home that clearly needs better care (the grass is uncut and dying and the paint’s peeling), and notice the girl perched on the front steps. She staggers to her feet, mascara streaked down her face and her complexion sicklier than usual.
She shuffles across the pavement clutching her tiny purse and phone in one hand and her pair of heels in the other.
It’s as she gets closer that I notice all the other unsettling details about her appearance.
The dress ripped at the hem. The medley of purple and blue coloring along her throat and the other bruise on her knee. Her puffy, bloodshot eyes and the way she struggles to even open the door, like she’s still not all the way sober.
My stomach pits, those protective instincts magnifying by a thousand. I’m half a second away from jumping out of the truck and running around to the other side to help her in when she finally manages to crawl into the seat.
Her purse and heels slip from her fingers and tumble to the floor of the cab. She plops down into the seat and fumbles with the seatbelt for so long I reach over and grab her hand to stop her. A simple touch, yet one that jolts us both at once from the skin-on-skin contact.
She goes still, her misty dark eyes flicking over to mine. Even more up close, I can see all the other telltale signs she’s in distress. Tears she’s holding in. The subtle quiver of her bottom lip. Makeup that long ago faded. Some of it smeared, like her mascara.
Immediately I have an urge to wrap her up in a warm blanket and shield her from the rest of the world. I want to make anything and everything that’s gone wrong better somehow. Not that I know her well, but it’s an instant and intrinsic urge that comes on so strong, I can feel it pulsing through me.
Whatever the fuck happened to this girl last night, I need to know about it. I need to make it right.
It’s easy to act out of impulse. Go shooting off at the hip. Let baser emotions and compulsions drive me. But I force myself to keep calm—for her benefit too—and start off where it makes sense.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Solana?” I ask. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
She can’t seem to look me in the eye. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks then drops her gaze to some indiscriminate point in between us, like the gears. Slowly she shakes her head and then mumbles, “I didn’t mean to spend the night.”
“Spend the night with who? Whose house is that?”
“My friends’.”
I study the way her behavior shifts and the cues she gives. I’m twice her age, a father of two, and the president of a biker gang—I’m pretty damn good at picking up on tells. She starts picking at the torn fabric of her dress, brows knitting like she’s thinking up her story.
“Friends,” I repeat. “What kind of friends?”
She shakes her head and mutters names like, “Shay, Yvette, and… and some others…”
Some others, alright.
Something tells me those some others are of the opposite sex.
“How’d your dress rip, Solana?” I ask.
“I… I fell. I was drunk, okay? I know I shouldn’t have been drinking, but I had a few and got clumsy and fell in my heels.”
“And that’s where the bruises are from?”
She quickly nods.
She’s lying. Either she doesn’t want to tell me the truth, or she doesn’t even know the truth herself.
My money’s on the latter.
The girl’s still tipsy. I can tell in how uncoordinated she is, see it in her watery, unfocused eyes, and even faintly smell it on her breath.
But she’s not going to tell me much more than she already has. Not right now, parked out in front of the house she just escaped.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask.
Again she nods, this time slower.
“Don’t…” she pauses for a difficult swallow, her voice hoarse. “Please don’t tell my uncle.”
“Solana,” I say. “New Year’s Eve was one thing. This… this is another.”
“If you’re going to snitch, then… then I’ll stay. I’ll just go back inside, and you can forget the ride.” She sits back in the passenger seat and crosses her arms defiantly, an almost petulant pout blooming across her face.
Though it seems she would prefer if I didn’t snitch and just agreed to give her the ride, she’s fully prepared to follow through on her threat. She’s stubborn enough that she’ll hop out of the truck and march right back into that house.
…where her friends would be inside waiting for her.
The thought makes every muscle in my body clench. It makes my hand ball into a fist in my lap. I’m not even sure who I’m angry with or who to blame for the state she’s in, but I damn sure won’t be letting her return to that house.
Even if her claim about falling is true.
Clearly her friends didn’t give much of a damn if they let her sob and sit outside in the cold. If she hadn’t meant to even sleep over in the first place.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll give you the ride. I won’t tell your uncle or brother. On one condition.”
She sniffles, chancing a quick glance over at me. “What?”
“I don’t want you going around those people again. I don’t care if they’re your friends or if what you say about falling and ripping your dress is true. They’re not good for you. Stay away from them. Got it?”
She thinks on what I’ve proposed, then shakes her head in answer.
“And no more underage drinking.”
“But—”
“No more underage drinking, Solana,” I say firmly, holding her gaze captive. “You had too much to drink last night, and it’s a dangerous game to play. Especially for a girl your age.”
She reluctantly nods.
“I need your word, Solana.”
“Okay,” she mutters. “I won’t… I won’t do it again.”
I twist the key in the ignition and restart the engine. Within seconds we’re leaving the small house behind, heading for the road that takes us out of Wheaton and puts us on the path for Pulsboro instead.
We ride in silence.
Me thinking on the promise I made to her about keeping this from Big Eddie and Moses.
Something tells me she’s having similar thoughts—she’s thinking about how she just told me she’s done seeing those friends and drinking underage.
Neither of us have any way to make sure we keep our promise. We both could be lying.
I can’t pretend I’m not conflicted. Big Eddie and Moses would want to know about this; they would probably have a similar reaction to mine, protective instincts emerging at the mere sight of her.
But what would it accomplish when she insists nothing happened?
She claims she got too drunk and fell and then accidentally stayed over her friends’ house?
Deep down, I’m aware there’s more to the story.
Her behavior couldn’t corroborate this more. Even as we’re on the road, riding in uncertain silence, she wipes at her eyes and sucks in shaky breaths.
More than once I’m close to pulling over. I outright ask her if she’s sure she’s alright.
“Yes,” she warbles out. “Just… I’m so embarrassed.”
I glance over at her again, a pang of sympathy and guilt hitting me at the same time. “Don’t be. Everybody’s had a night or two where they had too much. The more important thing is that you’re safe and unharmed and that you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Have you ever… has it ever happened to you before?”
“You mean have I ever had too much? Have I ever made an ass out of myself?”
A small sound, almost like laughter, slips out of her. She’s still so upset she can’t bring herself to fully laugh, but it’s close enough that a sliver of pride beats through me.
“Many, many times,” I go on. “Too many times to count. But that’s where you’re going to be different than me. You’re going to do better. You’re not going to be like me when I was your age.”
She falls silent again, staring out the window like she’s thinking on what I’ve said. We fall into another spate of silence as I redirect my attention to the road ahead and she seems to get lost in her head.
I’m still concerned about her. Still convinced she hasn’t told me the whole truth.
But I’m also relieved she’s stopped tearing up. That she’s calmed down as much as she has. At one point, as we pass through Jefferson, she nods off for a few minutes.
I let her sleep, aware of the fact she feels safe enough to.
It’s what convinces me to keep my word. Keep her secret.
She asked me not to tell Big Eddie and Moses, and for now, I’m going to follow through on that. I’m going to show she was right to trust me in the first place.
The miles wind down, and soon enough we’re outside the house she calls home. Moses’s bike is gone (he’s out of town for a bike show), but Big Eddie’s is parked in the garage driveway.
I shift gears into park and give Solana a gentle shake by the shoulder. She stirs with squinted eyes and a little hum from her throat, then it dawns on her where we are.
“That was fast,” she mutters, sitting up. “Um… thanks for the ride. You really didn’t have to.”
“I told you you can call me anytime. I’ll pick you up if you need me to.”
She nods, then starts gathering her things, her fingers fumbling for the door handle.
“Solana,” I say before she can open the door. “Remember what I’ve said.”
“I will. I’m done with that…”
“If you need to talk about it more—about last night—I’m here.”
A second or two passes where we hold each other’s stare, and the subtext of my words hangs in the air. She knows she didn’t tell me the truth about last night, and I’m letting her know I know. I’m telling her she can come to me about it, and then…
…then I’m not even sure.
I’m not sure what I’ll do, depending on what it is. If I’m even capable of remaining as calm and rational as I try to be.
But the first step is gaining her trust. Getting her to open up. Realize she can tell me about it.
“I know,” she whispers. The corner of her lips quirks slightly, almost like the beginnings of a grateful smile, and then she’s pushing the door open and climbing out of the truck.
I wait idled at the curb as she walks up to the front door, fusses with her keys ’til she’s got the right one, and then heads inside. The door drifts shut, and I wonder if Big Eddie’s already awake. If he’ll even notice she’s just come home and didn’t sleep there last night.
Most of the town sleeps late on Sundays. It’s not even eight a.m.
Big Eddie was out last night at the watch party at the Steel Saloon. He’s probably knocked out in bed.
My assessment’s correct—a couple seconds later, I see curtains in one of the windows rustle. They part to reveal Solana glancing out, probably checking to see if I’m still here. She waves at me. I nod in return, then I’m starting the truck and taking off.
I’m leaving, keeping this early morning pick up a secret. Nobody else will know. Just the two of us…