Chapter 11 Solana #2
“Mudd still has him beat. He’s a ten for sure. He’s already taken off his shirt and started showing off his beer belly.”
Korine glances over to where he’s currently locked into an arm wrestling match with a biker whose name I don’t know. Both men have stripped off their shirt, seemingly to show off the muscles they don’t have.
“Remember last Fourth of July?” Sydney laughs. “He tried to ride his bike into the pool.”
“There’s no pool here,” I point out.
“Exactly why we’re giving him a ten.”
They snicker at their own joke, and I force a smile, trying to look like I belong here.
But I don’t. These women have history, inside jokes, shared experiences I’ll never understand. They’re old ladies. Friends themselves.
I’m none of those things. Just the niece, the sister that tags along…
Zoe stands up, shaking her head at something Ozzie’s just put on. “I love that man, but his taste in music is trash. Be right back.”
She marches over to the speakers, her long braids swinging. Within seconds she and Ozzie are playfully arguing about the playlist.
Sydney and Korine watch with smirks, then change the topic.
“How’s Mace handling Tom being back?” Korine asks, lowering her voice. “I notice he’s not here this afternoon.”
Sydney sighs. “You know how he is. He won’t talk about it. Just scowls and changes the subject.”
“Blake told me about him deciding not to go on the pickup trip.”
“He and Tom have barely said a word. Needless to say, it’s been awkward at the Cutler residence.”
Just like that, I’m invisible again. They’re deep in conversation about dynamics I don’t understand and histories I don’t know. It’s almost like Shay and Yvette all over again, even if I know deep down Sydney and Korine aren’t like that.
They’re the opposite, two women who actually look out for each other and others too.
But it doesn’t help when my mood’s already down. I’m not even sure how to pick myself up anymore. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this… despondent.
I let my eyes wander across the patio, taking in the scene. Moses is tossing a football with some of the younger guys. Uncle Eddie’s at a card table, cigar in his mouth, stack of chips in front of him.
Then there’s Silver.
He’s standing with Tito near the back fence, beer in hand but not really drinking. He looks tired, almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping well.
I can relate. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately either. But what could it be that’s troubling him?
As if he senses me watching, his head turns. Our eyes meet across the crowded patio. The only two people in a crowd of many who have tuned out the noise around us and zeroed in on each other.
It’s quickly become a superpower of ours—some strange, unexpected ability to peer at each other from afar and understand what the other’s thinking.
My pulse jumps like it’s been shocked. I can read the concern in his gaze. His genuine probing as he silently asks if I’m alright.
Because he cares. Because I’ve been on his mind.
Even after I pushed him away and told him to leave it—me—alone.
I look away fast, no longer able to bear the intensity of his piercing blue eyes. But as I do, I accidentally knock over my root beer in the process.
“Oops,” I murmur, grabbing a stack of napkins to wipe at the table. “Sorry. Guess I should pay more attention.”
“At least it didn’t get on your dress,” Korine says with a quick wink. “So no real harm done.”
“I’m, um… gonna grab another root beer,” I announce.
I leave the old ladies’ table and go check the coolers, but they’ve been picked clean of everything except Sprite and Diet Coke.
“Looking for something, sweetie?” Mick, the bartender, asks. He’s been on the drinks while some of the other guys handle the grill.
“Just root beer.”
“There’s more in the stock room if you want to grab some.”
Thank God. An excuse to escape.
I take the out immediately. The saloon’s dark and cool after the bright patio. My footsteps echo in the otherwise empty barroom.
Everyone’s enjoying the festivities outside. I head toward the stock room, the party noise fading to a dull murmur.
Finally some peace and quiet. Some space to breathe.
Being alone can be lonely at times, but at least I can be myself. I don’t have to perform for anyone or feel invisible when I don’t.
It’s so confusing, how I feel lately. For weeks I’ve been desperate for company, hating the empty house, the loneliness that sat on my chest like a weight. But now I’m surrounded by people and all I want is to disappear…
The stock room is crowded with cases of beer and liquor stacked against the walls. I spot the root beer, but before I can grab one for myself, the door opens behind me.
Silver steps inside, closing the door behind him. All of a sudden, the stock room feels even more cramped. More enclosed and intimate.
I’m instantly aware of how little air is in my lungs. I draw a breath, ignoring the flutter of nerves inside me.
“Hey,” he drawls in his thick, naturally hoarse tone. “I wanted to check on you. It’s been a few days. How’re you holding up?”
I fold my arms behind my back and struggle to maintain eye contact. Peering into Silver’s eyes is quickly becoming like staring at the sun.
Except it’s as if he can see right through me. He can spend a moment observing me then simply understand I’m not okay.
He hasn’t so much as said this… but I can read him too. I can pick up on his concern.
His brows are furrowed and his shoulders are tense. He edges closer like he wants to offer comfort but isn’t sure how.
…or what is or isn’t appropriate.
I’m not sure myself. Truthfully, things between us have become so special. I never expected to confide in my uncle’s coworker.
I didn’t ever think he’d become the person I reached out to in my hour of need. But even now as we stand a few feet apart in this room, stealing a private moment alone from the rest of the party, I don’t regret a thing.
He’s still the person I would call. Because he’s the one person who notices me.
That I do know.
A bittersweet smile teases the corner of my lips, and I glance down at our shoes. “I’m fine, Silver. But… but I appreciate you asking. Or even caring.”
I chance another glance at him and can’t help feeling drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Maybe that’s why I find it so difficult to look straight at him. He eyes me with such concern and care it’s almost overwhelming.
“Listen, I know it’s not what you wanted—you don’t want to cause any trouble. But for some situations it’s necessary. Have you thought about what I said?” he asks, stepping closer. Notes of his woodsy cologne travel toward me, quickly becoming a comfort smell. “Solana, you still have options.”
“I just want to put it behind me.”
Disappointment flickers across his face, though he nods. “Alright. So long as you’re prioritizing what feels right for you.”
“I’m… I’m doing my best,” I mumble.
“He won’t get away with it,” he says simply.
He’s taken another step toward me. Close enough that I see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes.
The same shade as his hair. His jaw tightens as I look up into his rugged, handsome face and realize what he means.
“I’m gonna make sure the guy who hurt you—”
“Did you find the root beer alright?” Mick asks brightly.
We’re standing so close, we stagger back the moment the door bangs open and the elderly bartender barges through.
We’re breathing hard, clearly startled. Clearly a little guilty and paranoid.
But Mick’s none the wiser as he chuckles and misses what he walked in on.
“Caught ya!” he exclaims. “Trying to raid the root beer supply, eh? Better than the whiskey, I suppose.”
My face burns. I quickly take a can of soda and mumble, “Thanks, Mick.”
I don’t dare look at Silver as I scurry out of the room.
Back at the patio table, I try to focus on Sydney and Korine’s conversation but my eyes keep finding Silver.
He’s returned as well, talking with Tom Cutler, but I catch him looking my way too. Each time our eyes meet, the pull gets stronger.
It’s confusing and wrong and probably some trauma response, but it’s also the only thing making me feel seen.
Reminding me someone notices. Someone cares.
My phone vibrates with another call from an unknown number. Probably Shay from another phone. I let it go to voicemail.
The notification pops up immediately. Against my better judgment, I sigh and push play, plugging my other ear against Ozzie’s trap music.
“Hello, Ms. Youngblood, this is Patricia from Pulsboro 24-Hour Clinic calling about your recent visit.”
My stomach drops. The tests came back negative.
What now? Was that a mistake?
“We’re reaching out to let you know about something additional the team found in your blood and urine samples.
It’s standard procedure to test for substances when we have patients who believe they’ve been sexually assaulted.
Your toxicology report showed traces of ketamine.
We thought you should know, as this explains the memory loss and disorientation you’ve said you experienced.
Please call us back at your earliest convenience to discuss this finding and your options moving forward. ”
The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering onto the table.
Ketamine?