Chapter 34 Solana
SOLANA
“Ms. Youngblood?”
I look up to find a doctor approaching me, his expression grim. He’s an older man with graying temples and kind eyes that are heavy with sympathy.
The news I’ve been dreading for the past hour pits in my stomach.
I’ve been sitting in this emergency room drinking stale coffee from the vending machine and fidgeting the more I tried to sit still. My fingers have been picking at the wool peeling from the sweater I’m wearing, and my leg won’t stop bouncing.
Anxiety has been pounding fast inside my heart. All things brought on by the inevitable bad news to come.
I already sensed it once I got the call and rushed over.
As the doctor approaches, I jump to my feet and suck in a deep breath as if about to be plunged underwater.
“I’m Dr. Patterson,” he says gently, reaching out and shaking my hand. “I’ve been treating your uncle, Edward Youngblood.”
“Is he… is he okay?” I stutter. “Is… did he come out of surgery? Can I see him?”
Dr. Patterson hesitates, his brows pushing closer. “I’m afraid the gunshot wound to your uncle’s chest caused significant damage to his left ventricle and pulmonary artery. We did everything we could, but the internal hemorrhaging was too extensive.”
“No…” I murmur softly.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Youngblood. But he didn’t make it.”
I go quiet as the news I’ve been anticipating lands at my feet and I’m left to process how this could possibly happen.
Uncle Eddie is gone.
He’s gone. Forever.
I stand there, frozen, as the doctor’s words echo in my skull.
The bright room suddenly becomes dimmer and the sounds from the TV playing informercials quieter.
Dr. Patterson goes on to explain more details, including even mentioning putting my family in touch with mortuary services, but none of it really registers with me.
I’m way too shocked. Way too lost to even think about “next steps” as he calls them. All that keeps reverberating around and around inside my head is the fact Uncle Eddie’s not coming back.
He’s really dead—and Tom Cutler killed him.
The same Tom Cutler who used to come over for Sunday dinners way back when. The same Tom Cutler who called my uncle his brother but then tore the club apart once he returned from prison.
He shot my uncle in the chest and left him to die.
Dr. Patterson murmurs something about giving me a moment and then quietly walks away. I sink back down into the hard plastic chair, my legs unable to hold me anymore. My hands are shaking, the rest of my body oddly stiff and wooden.
I don’t know how long I sit staring at nothing but the wall with serene abstract paintings meant to soothe family and friends as they wait for their loved ones. It could be minutes or it could be another hour.
Time doesn’t feel real right now.
The emergency room doors burst open.
Moses rushes in, still wearing his cut, his eyes wide and sweeping as he scans the room. They land on me, the lone person in the waiting room, and he stops dead.
Our gazes have connected, and suddenly it clicks for him the way it did for me. My grim face says it all.
“No,” he chokes out. “No… FUCK!”
He spins around and kicks one of the waiting room chairs so hard it flips over, crashing against the wall. The sound is jarring and violent, plastic bouncing off plaster.
“FUCK!” he repeats even louder.
But he’s not the only one exploding with emotion—a rush of hot anger hits me as Moses curls his fists and looks like he’s about to rage some more.
“He died at the hands of Tom Cutler!” I yell, bouncing onto my feet. “The same Tom Cutler you’ve been following around like a loyal dog!”
Moses whirls to face me, his expression best described as a range of emotions. Everything from his own temper running free to confusion I’d blow up on him like this.
“Yeah, you want the truth, Moses?” I ask, refusing to back down. Instead, I take a step toward him. “Tom was working with the Road Rebels all along! He’s been sabotaging the club, working with Wheels, trying to destroy everything from the inside! And you—you chose his side!”
“Solana—”
“Don’t!” I scream. “Don’t you dare try to explain yourself!
Uncle Eddie is dead because of him! Because you followed the wrong man and chose the wrong side!
You had the face to judge me for dating Silver, but you were the one who was never there—you were never around and when you were, you were following the man trying to destroy us! ”
It’s as I’m finishing screaming at him that I realize we’re no longer alone. A nurse has stepped through the doors and froze up at the confrontation she’s stumbled on.
“Um...” She clears her throat, clutching her clipboard. “Ms. Youngblood? I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kingman is out of surgery. He’s stable and can see visitors now.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to rein myself in. “Oh… um, thanks. I’ll go see him.”
I shoot one last glare at my brother, then stride out of the waiting room without looking back.
I wipe at my eyes as I make my way down the hospital corridor. Tears keep slipping down my cheeks no matter how many times I brush them away.
It’s like losing Dad all over again. Unc was the closest thing to a father I’ve had since.
It’s just another wound that’s fresh and raw and bleeding inside me.
But as I come up to Silver’s room, I am able to draw a breath and remind myself he’s going to be okay. He’s survived, and I’m so beyond grateful that he has.
I hold onto that thought like a lifeline, letting it calm me as I gently tap at the door and then step inside.
Mason, Logan, and Sydney are already there, gathered around Silver’s bed in the middle of a conversation. They all look exhausted—the guys worn down by battle and Sydney by worry—but everyone’s in one piece.
It seems both Mason and Logan have a few minor injuries from the fight against the Road Rebels, bruises and bandages visible.
Everyone looks up as I enter.
Sydney’s expression softens with sympathy. “Hey. I heard about Eddie. I’m so sorry, Solana.”
I nod, unable to speak due to the lump of emotion stuck in my throat.
“How about we head to the cafeteria like we talked about? Finally grab some food?” Sydney asks the other two.
“Being in gunfights tends to work up an appetite,” Logan agrees.
The three of them file out, each offering me a small, sympathetic nod as they pass. Sydney pauses to touch my shoulder, and then she’s gone too, the door snicking shut behind her.
Now it’s just me and Silver and the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on the room.
I stay where I am for a couple seconds, fidgeting some more with the loose, woolly thread on my sweater.
Eyes wet and chest aching, it’s as if I’m incapable of doing anything but existing. Speaking, thinking, even moving feels like too much.
I’m way too torn between grief and relief.
Silver takes one look at me and reads me perfectly. His blue eyes flicker knowingly as if he gets it. He knows how difficult this is for me.
“Come here, baby.”
He sounds so rough and tired himself. So exhausted from what he’s gone through today.
But also warm—unmistakably warm and loving in a way reserved only for me.
I pad over slowly, though it’s about as fast as I can go right now. I’m drinking him in as I do, realizing even in a hospital bed and gown, Silver Kingman is as formidable and powerful as ever.
He’s still the same man who’s been leading the Steel Kings, broad-chested and shouldered with a shock of blue eyes and silver hair and a chiseled jawline unlike any other. He’s got plenty of tattoos inking his skin and lines of aging on his face that speak to his decades of experience.
That truly illustrate what a fine silver fox he is. How he’s the most comforting and safe person I’ve ever met.
I finally make it to him, and he pulls me up against his chest in a loving embrace, kissing my brow and running his fingers over my locs like he’s verifying the moment is real.
“You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he confesses, taking a deep inhale of me. “The first thing I asked about when I came from surgery.”
I want to tell him I feel the same about him—that he was on my mind nonstop from the moment he walked out of the Steel Saloon earlier, but my throat is so raw and sore that speaking’s still near impossible.
“How is he, baby?” he asks. “Did he…?”
As I start to pull away, Silver cups my cheek, holding me close. His thumb brushes against my skin, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
I slowly shake my head from side to side. It’s all I can bring myself to do.
He gets it anyway, understanding passing over his features. He pulls me into a tighter hug, squeezing me in comfort before we pull back a little again.
“You should know,” he says, “that Big Ed stood up to Tom in the end. He was shot challenging him. If Tom hadn’t been such a fucking coward, he would’ve faced Eddie like a man instead of doing what he did.”
I swallow hard, fresh tears watering my eyes.
“But Tom’s gone now,” Silver continues, his voice hardening. “I made sure of it.”
I nod, blinking rapidly. The tears spill over anyway, leaking down my cheeks.
There’s so much swirling inside me—grief for Uncle Eddie, relief that Silver survived, confusion about how to feel about Moses and what this means for our family and household.
It’s all tangled together, a complicated knot of emotion I don’t know how to unravel.
Silver reaches up and wipes my tears away with gentle fingers. “I know it’s difficult right now. I know things feel so messed up. But, baby, we’ll heal together. We’ll find a way, alright?”
I stare at him through the blur of my tears, a current of warmth filling me up.
I trust him.
More than I’ve ever trusted anybody in my life. More than with just with my safety or my secrets.
I trust Silver with my heart. All the broken, jagged pieces of me I’m still trying to put back together.
That he clearly gets and will help me do so; he’ll be by my side as we make it through this and do as he says.
Heal together.
Looking at him so wounded but alive, battered but unbroken, I realize what I should’ve already guessed a while ago.
I’m falling in love with him.
Despite the age gap and the judgment and the odds stacked against us from the start.
He’s the only thing that’s ever felt right. The only person who has ever seen me and understood.
I lean in and kiss him, tenderly brushing my lips to his. When I pull back, I manage a watery smile.
“I know,” I whisper hoarsely. “We will... together.”
Silver’s hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers slipping between my butterfly locs. He presses his forehead to mine, inhaling a deep breath at the same time I do.
“Together,” he echoes.