Chapter 8 Solana
SOLANA
You could probably cut the awkward tension with a knife if you tried. Rachel’s introduction is met with an uncertain silence as I look up and discover Silver at her side.
We both come to the same realization as our gazes meet and it sinks in that I’ve been hired to babysit his son.
When I responded to the listing on the babysitting job site, I hadn’t even considered it could be for Silver’s family. The name listed said Roberts and Silver’s last name is Kingman.
But I hadn’t thought about the divorce. Though I don’t know much about it, Uncle Eddie’s mentioned it in passing.
I showed up this evening expecting to have dinner with Rachel Roberts, her son, and her daughter, and their father she only vaguely mentioned.
Things were going so well. Jack was showing me a funny TikTok on his phone, and Tabby had already started dishing about some drama at her school. I was so sure this dinner was going to go well, but now…
Seconds feel like an eternity as I blink and pull from my skills as an actress. I force a smile onto my face that’s polite and gracious but also vacant.
“Hi, Mr. Kingman,” I say, my voice pitched higher than normal. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
He gives this stiff nod, like his neck might snap if he moves too fast. “Hello, Solana... err, nice to meet you too.”
Rachel jumps in, oblivious to the weird energy swirling between us. “Oh, Solana… you can call us by our first names. No need to be so formal.”
“She doesn’t even have to call me Jack if that’s too confusing,” Silver adds quickly. “She can just call me Silver. Everybody else does.”
His ex-wife’s lips purse, a tiny shift in her expression that tightens her whole face. Her irritation is practically palpable as the two move forward to take their seats.
If I had to guess why, as the daughter, niece, and sister of men in the same motorcycle club, I’d say it’s because she resents him for it. It’s clearly a sore subject for them the way it always was for me with Dad before he passed and now with Unc and Moses.
We settle in for dinner—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and carrots. It smells amazing, way better than anything I’ve been eating lately, but my stomach’s so knotted I don’t know if I can swallow.
At first things carry on as awkward as the introduction between me and Silver, then his son Jack saves us all by launching into a breathless story about his softball team.
“We crushed the Wildcats, ten to three!” he boasts with a fleck of mashed potatoes on his chin. “Coach says if we beat the Thunderbirds next week, we’ve got a real shot at semifinals. Maybe even the championship!”
“Winning isn’t everything, sweetheart,” Rachel says, passing the green beans. “And wipe your mouth. That’s what your dinner napkin’s for.”
Silver reaches for the meatloaf, serving himself an end piece. His tone carries an edge as he says, “It might not be everything, but in sports, winning’s still important. Nothing wrong with wanting to be a champion.”
“I’d prefer if our son didn’t turn out to be a jock who prioritizes sports over everything else.”
“Being competitive isn’t a character flaw, Rachel.”
“I didn’t say it was, Jack.”
The way she emphasizes his real name feels like a small act of war. I focus on cutting my meatloaf into tiny, perfect squares, pretending I’m not sitting in the middle of their post-divorce battlefield.
Tabby breaks the tension with a snort. “Don’t worry, Mom. Jack’s not that good. He probably won’t even make the team once he gets to middle school.”
“Shut up!” Jack snaps, his face going red. “Or I’ll fart on your pillow and give you pinkeye!”
“Jack!” Rachel gasps, her fork clattering down. “We have company! And enough with the toilet humor.”
“But, Mom, she—”
“What have I said about questioning me?” she asks sternly. Then she whips around to Tabby. “And you—don’t be mean to your little brother. Especially since you’re the one currently pulling a D average.”
“Mom!” Tabby shrieks, her eyes darting at me for a mortified glance.
“I don’t want to hear any more protests. That goes for both of you.”
Both kids stew in stubborn silence for a couple minutes before eventually the table fractures into smaller, separate conversations.
Jack seeks reprieve with his father, as if he knows Silver will indulge his talk about his softball game. Tabby leans toward me, clearly desperate to change the subject from her grades.
“It must be so cool being in college,” she gushes. “I can’t wait to get there. High school is so lame.”
My mind flashes to everything I’ve been dealing with lately, from Shay and Yvette calling me blackout to Kel’s hands on me in the movie theater, and my stomach churns.
Saturday night still looms over me like a storm cloud, this mystery blank in time that follows me wherever I go.
“Yeah,” I mumble, pushing mashed potatoes around my plate. “Enjoy high school while you can, though. It doesn’t get easier.”
Tabby rolls her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me, like she thinks college will solve every problem she has.
I want to tell her it won’t. That she’ll feel just as lost and trapped. Maybe even more desperate to feel “seen” and “grown.”
That’s how I got into the mess I’m in—I started doing things I shouldn’t have been, using fake IDs and sneaking into bars and clubs underage.
Trying so hard to fit in with Shay and the others, all because I was lonely and overlooked everywhere else.
But I keep my smile going, nodding along as she starts talking about some boy she likes in her third period chemistry class.
I need this job. Badly.
It’s more important that I focus on impressing Rachel and the others so I can be hired and start earning money again.
When dinner finally winds down, Rachel rises from the table ready to issue orders.
“Jack, Tabby, clear the table please,” she says in a tone that doesn’t leave room for argument. “Then straight upstairs to start your homework.”
“Mom, why can’t I—” Jack starts.
“No buts. Math first, then you can have thirty minutes of video games.”
They grumble but start grabbing plates. I see my chance to make a good impression and jump up too fast, nearly knocking over my water glass.
“Let me help with the dishes,” I offer, stacking plates with enthusiasm. “I love washing dishes.”
Nobody loves washing dishes. Rachel knows it, I know it, but she smiles anyway.
“That’s sweet of you, Solana. Thank you.”
We head into the kitchen, arms full of plates and silverware, then Jack and Tabby thunder upstairs like a small herd of elephants. I’m mentally preparing dishwashing small talk when Rachel’s phone starts ringing on the counter.
The name Fred flashes on the screen in big letters. She lunges for it, but not before I see her whole face change, her expression softening. Almost making her look more youthful than she is.
“I should—this is—” she stammers.
“Go answer it,” Silver says from behind us. He’s carrying in the rest of the glasses, coming up the rear with his usual confident gait. “Solana and I can handle the dishes.”
Rachel hesitates, looking between us as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you sure?”
“It’s just dishes, Rachel.”
She nods, already lifting the phone to her ear as she heads down the hall. “Fred? Hey, sorry, I couldn’t...”
Her voice fades away, her tone noticeably brighter.
And then there were two—suddenly, it’s just me and Silver alone in the kitchen.
I inhale a shaky breath and force myself to focus on the task at hand, twisting on the sink faucet. I grab the dish soap and squirt a generous amount on the first dish while Silver takes up the space on my left.
“You wash, I dry?” he asks, picking up a dish towel. “Is that what we’re going with?”
I shrug, eyes set on the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and only on the dirty dishes in the sink. “Sure. Whatever.”
A couple seconds of silence pass between us as we find a work flow. The silence becomes so unbearable I can even hear my own heartbeat thumping inside my chest.
Silver seems to feel the same, because he clears his throat. “So… you’re babysitting my kids now.”
There’s a hint of accusation that makes me defensive.
“I didn’t know they were your kids. I mean, I didn’t know Rachel Roberts was your ex-wife,” I say honestly.
I scrub harder, focusing on a nonexistent spot.
“I saw the listing online and applied to, like, twenty different jobs because I’m broke and desperate.
Rachel responded within a couple hours, invited me for dinner, and it all happened so fast I didn’t even think to connect the dots. ”
His jaw squares, looking more angular than usual. I’m sure he’s about to tell me to leave. To get out of his ex-wife’s house and stay away from his kids. That it’s way too weird he was answering my crisis the other day and now I’m here with his family.
But then he releases a slow breath, shoulders dropping.
“Pulsboro’s a small town,” he drawls. “These things happen. Everybody crosses everybody eventually.”
The guilt sits heavy on me. He’s clearly uncomfortable, and I’m making his already complicated divorce situation worse just by being here.
“I can turn down the job,” I offer, finally glancing at him. “If it’s too weird, I mean. I don’t want to cause problems.”
He sets down the dish he’s toweling off, glancing toward the hallway where Rachel’s muffled voice carries, then he takes half a step closer. Close enough that I catch his woodsy cologne. Nothing like the aggressive body spray Kel drowns himself in.
I find myself turning toward him, my eyes flicking up to find his gaze already on me. His eyes are so intensely blue that, combined with his shock of silver hair and rugged face, it’s a lot to process all at once.
Silver’s the kind of man that renders you breathless without even trying.