Chapter 12 Silver #2
I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve got nobody to turn to. Nobody to confide in.
I’ve been living with the same feeling since the divorce. Going from seeing my family every day to seeing Jack and Tabby a couple times a month has been torture.
Having Rachel in my bed at night to suddenly having nobody to hold has been a mindfuck.
Rachel and I always had our problems, but I took pride in being a husband and a father. It was a vital part of my identity that’s been stripped away, leaving me to figure out what it’s like being a bachelor again.
Most would think I’ve adjusted just fine. But most aren’t there for the sigh I give coming home and the loud silence that greets me…
“I get that,” I say. “I’ve felt that. Things’re only gonna get more complicated with Tom back.”
“Because he’s the real president?”
“I’m fine with that part. Hell, I voted for him when we first made it official years ago. But things’ve changed. The club’s changed. I’ve changed.”
“Things always change,” she murmurs, propping her head up with her elbow on the table.
“Tom and I have different visions for the club now. I’m not sure there’s room for both of us.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks with genuine interest.
I take a bite of ice cream, buying time. “I don’t know. Wish I had an answer, but I don’t.”
“You know what’s funny? When I was a kid, I thought adults had all the answers. Like once you hit twenty, you’d just know everything. You have it all figured out.”
“And?” I prompt.
“And,” she sighs, “now I’m twenty, and I’ve never felt more lost. More clueless.”
I reach across the table without thinking, taking her hand. Her fingers are cold from the ice cream cup, slim and delicate in mine. The touch sends a cool shiver straight through me unlike anything I’ve felt in recent times. I ignore it and press on.
“Solana, you can tell me what’s bothering you. No pressure… but you can tell me, and you won’t have to worry about anybody else finding out.”
I say it, and I mean it.
This draw I feel toward her—it’s more than wanting to help Eddie’s niece or simply protecting somebody’s who’s been hurt.
There’s something about her that’s caught my attention like no other. She’s special, even if she can’t see it herself.
Conflict flashes across her face, then she sighs. “I just… I don’t know how to move forward. Maybe I should talk to someone like you said. A therapist.”
“That’s a good idea. That could really help.”
“The counselors at school are free. But what if…”
“I’m sure they’re required to keep things confidential,” I say. “And if that’s not enough. Then… we can always find you somebody not affiliated with the school.”
She thinks on it, considering as she spoons her melting ice cream. “Yeah… maybe…”
We fall into a brief silent interlude where she finally takes a real bite of her cookies and cream and I finish up the Neapolitan. Then, out of nowhere, she wrinkles her nose at me.
“Neapolitan is gross, by the way.”
Her comment catches me so off guard I laugh, the sound rough from lack of use. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”
“I have tried it. It’s nasty. Three flavors that don’t belong together.”
“You’re questioning my taste now?”
A small smirk tips her lips wider, the first real sign of life I’ve seen from her in a long time. “Let me guess—you’re one of those weirdos who puts pineapple on pizza too?”
“No. Anchovies.”
“You can’t be serious,” she says, making a gagging sound so horrified I can’t help grinning. “That’s even worse! What’s wrong with you?”
“Says the girl who thinks cookies and cream is the height of sophistication. Not sure you’re anybody to be judging me.”
“It’s a classic!”
“It’s boring.”
She throws her crumpled napkin at me, actually laughing now. I’m joining her, chuckling as I grab the napkin and toss it into her empty ice cream cup like I’m making a basketball shot. Suddenly the mood’s lighter, and I want nothing more than to keep making her laugh.
Keep watching her smile.
By the time we leave, she’s telling me about her upcoming audition for a play at the community center. Some production called Moonshine & Magnolia she’s been looking forward to and spending endless hours practicing for.
I listen attentively, secretly grateful she’s opening up in this way.
The sadness is still there underneath it all—whatever the phone call was about plaguing her—but our little ice cream date has eased her mind for the time being.
I won’t push her for more. I won’t press for details about what else is troubling her.
It’s the last thing she needs right now.
Right now, she just needs to be herself. She needs to know I’m here when she needs me.
As I drive her home, I catch myself watching her in my peripheral vision. The setting sun lights up her soft profile and she pushes a loc out of her face.
I’m forty-five years old, far too old to be noticing these things about a twenty-year-old girl.
But I notice anyway. Because I’ve come to pick up even the smallest details about her. Someone as special as Solana deserves to be noticed.
I pull up outside the Youngblood house to drop Solana off.
Big Ed’s in the driveway, half under his Harley with tools scattered around him.
He looks up as she hops out of my truck, oil streaking his hands, and juts his chin at me in that universal biker greeting that also asks “what’s going on here? ”
“Thanks for the ride,” Solana says quietly.
Big Eddie wipes his hands on a rag and wanders over to my truck, eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Why’s my niece riding with you?”
Solana pauses, glancing between us.
I keep my tone casual. “I left the party early to swing by Rachel’s. Then I saw her walking and figured I’d give her a ride home.”
“That so?” Eddie asks. He’s studying me, but not with suspicion. More like mild interest. “Heard she’s babysitting your boy now.”
“That’s right.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “About time she got outta the house. Girl’s been moping around for weeks, holed up in her room. Starting to worry she’d turn into a hermit.”
I catch Solana’s deflating sigh, her shoulders dropping as she turns and starts toward the house.
Her uncle has no idea what she’s been through. He hasn’t the faintest clue why she’s been “moping.”
The obliviousness would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
“Yeah,” I say more as filler. It’s all I can say considering I can’t exactly tell him his niece was assaulted. That she’s barely holding herself together.
“Anyway, good looking out,” Eddie says, already turning back to his bike. “Better you give her a ride than walking.”
“No problem.”
“You heading back to the party?”
“Nah. Going home.”
“Tom’s probably still giving speeches,” Eddie says with a knowing smirk. “Man loves the sound of his own voice. Glad I left when I did.”
“That he does.”
I’m ready to leave. Ready to get out of this conversation before I say something I shouldn’t.
“Good to have him back though,” Eddie says. “Should be interesting seeing where things go from here.”
“Yeah, should be. See you around, Ed.”
“Later, Prez.”
I drive off, watching Eddie go back to his bike in my rearview mirror. Solana’s already disappeared inside, probably to her room where she’ll sit alone with whatever that phone call told her.
I make it maybe three blocks when my phone suddenly pings with a new text message.
I wait ’til the next red light to check it.
thank you for this afternoon. for everything.
I stare at the words longer than I should. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, a dozen responses forming and disappearing.
You’re welcome.
Anytime you need me.
Are you okay?
What was the phone call about?
But I don’t type any of them. I set the phone down and keep driving.
This thing between us—whatever it is—it’s crossing lines.
She’s twenty years old. Eddie’s niece. My ex-wife’s babysitter. The victim of a crime I’m planning to avenge without her knowledge.
There’re a hundred reasons why I should keep my distance, why these private conversations and secret meetings need to stop.
But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit.
I’m in too deep already. I have been from the first moment she called me crying on that Sunday morning. Maybe even that night I gave her the first ride home from the Steel Saloon.
There’s something about Solana Youngblood that’s gotten under my skin, into my head, into my heart if I’m being honest.
I can’t stop being there for her. Don’t want to stop. Even if I should. Even if it’s wrong and it’ll only lead to trouble for us.
She needs somebody, and for whatever reason, I’m the somebody she chose.
I’m the one who will be whatever she needs and see her through this.