Chapter 19
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sol.” My cheeks strain as I paste a smile on my face. I clear my throat and try again, adding more inflection to the words. It takes me several more tries before I settle on something that sounds somewhat enthusiastic but not disingenuous.
If I had it my way, a “hi” and a handshake would suffice, but if these people are anything like Thorne, they’re probably huggers and the type to want to actually get to know you.
It’s not a bad thing, but it does make me more anxious.
The most unnerving part is that, despite the fact that I truly do believe that it would be best if I left, I want his friends to like me because they’re important to him.
They’re the people who have been here for him when I couldn’t be.
That’s worth putting in the effort for, despite my own discomfort. That’s what I need to focus on.
Taking a deep breath, I work up the courage to go downstairs.
Unlike the fictional scenarios I’d run through in my head, they’re not crowded around the staircase waiting for me, like some awkward debutante reveal.
Thankfully, I’m able to slip into the busy scene and observe for a minute, making a quick study of the energy and dynamics in the room.
Carefully attuned, I notice the moment Hawthorne’s attention shifts to me.
Across the room, our eyes meet like the beacon of a lighthouse in a storm. But he doesn’t wait for me to come to him; he crosses the room quickly, gracefully maneuvering around the busy group.
With him standing at my side, the floor stops moving beneath me, my center of gravity rights, and I feel a little less lost in this sea of unfamiliar people.
I used to feel guilty about my reliance on Thorne, like I was some kind of clingy burden, a dead weight. But he’s always treated me like an extension of himself, his acceptance effortless, intuitive.
The first time I admitted how much of a difference it makes to have him by my side, leading introductions and keeping conversations moving—often shifting them in directions he knows I can contribute to—he was understanding and eager to provide that accommodation for me.
It’s just one of the reasons I fell for him, even before I was ready to admit it to myself.
“Do you remember the old signal?” he whispers discreetly when he leans in and kisses my temple.
My heart swells at the reminder as he takes my hand in his.
Of course, I know what he means. Tapping the top of his hand with my thumb three times, I pull the unspoken code from memory.
“Come on,” he says as he tugs me toward Mendez.
It was clear he was big and tall when I saw his photo, but in person, he’s still an imposing figure.
“Ozzie, Sol. Sol, Ozzie,” he introduces us plainly, and I’m grateful for it.
“What happened to no names on investigations?” Ozzie nudges Hawthorne.
“Hate to break it to you, but it’s too late, dude. You’ve been here a bunch of times.”
Ozzie lets out a sigh and shakes his head but doesn’t argue the matter any further.
“Hi, Solaneen Gomez. Nice to meet you.” Touching strangers is always questionable for me, but I grit my teeth and comply with the necessity for polite social interactions, holding out my hand tentatively.
I’m nearly dragged forward with the firmness of his grip.
Even if Hawthorne hadn’t mentioned his business background, I could have guessed at it based on just that.
“Damn, Ozzie. Don’t break the woman’s hand.”
When he laughs, the tight tee he wears stretches across the broad expanse of his chest, the dark turquoise bringing out the orange undertones of his warm brown skin.
“Sorry about that. They always give me shit for it. I’m working on it.
” He gives a dimpled, apologetic smile, bright and perfectly straight, that instantly lightens his otherwise intimidating demeanor.
“Ozvaldo Mendez.” He shakes my hand, softer this time.
I can’t help but notice the same tattoo of bones protruding from a snake’s mouth that runs down his forearm to the fingers that grip mine.
“No harm done. It’s nice to meet you.”
“?Hablas espanol?” There it is, the recognition.
I both love and hate that I’m immediately identifiable to other Latinos.
Love because it’s one of the rare occasions that I feel belonging; hate because there’s always the stark realization that I’ll always be a bit of an outsider.
Along with all the trauma, the least my family could have done was give me a greater connection to our culture.
“Entiendo más de lo que hablo,” I laugh nervously, my insecurities flooding to the surface, and I scratch the back of my neck to try to alleviate some of my discomfort.
“Sorry, no sabo kid. Nobody taught me growing up, and no matter how many classes I took, it just didn’t stick.
” I’m hot, sweat accumulating at my hairline.
No matter how many times I have this conversation, it never gets less embarrassing.
Hawthorne slides his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a soft kiss on the top of my head. A simple but grounding reminder that he’s right here. That I can lean on him, literally and figuratively.
“You’re not alone in that, but I’m sorry nonetheless.” The genuine understanding that shimmers in his eyes dulls the burning heat of my shame to a low simmer.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, desperate to move on. “So, I hear you’re the brains of this operation?”
“Oh no. Please don’t go inflating his ego; we won’t be able to fit in the car with his big head.” A slim woman approaches with purple hair that complements the midnight tones of her skin. “Ozzie is way too full of himself already.”
Ozvaldo throws up a middle finger. “Don’t mind Hale. She thinks she’s the comedic relief.”
She shrugs and sticks her tongue out at him before turning her attention to me.
“Hale.” Her green eyes are assessing but friendly.
After a few tense seconds, her smile widens, and she nods toward the kitchen.
“Let’s go have a chat, yeah? I made us some coffee—with very strict instructions from Hawthorne, might I add. ”
“Thanks. And sorry, I know I can be difficult.”
“Not at all. This one is just very protective of you.” She bumps Thorne’s shoulder.
I glance up at him in a silent thank you, and he removes his arm from around my shoulders. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
I follow Hale into the kitchen, immediately greeted by hostile energy. I turn, partially expecting to see Ivan despite what Thorne told me, but instead I find Jayden staring at me over the glass of water he sips from.
“You all set, Dash?” Hale interrupts the awkward silence that’s fallen over the room. “If you just want to get it running, I’ll make sure to turn it off when I’m done.”
“Mendez said to film everything, so I’m going to film everything.”
She watches him for a moment, seemingly lost for words. “Okay…well, let’s get started then.” Taking a seat at the table, she gestures to the one across from her. It appears they all share the same forearm tattoo. I’ll have to ask Hawthorne about that some other time.
Jayden remains across the room, thankfully, busying himself with settings on the camera.
“Is that really necessary?” I can already feel my thoughts scattering under the added pressure.
“Sorry, I should have asked, but it’s super helpful for me to be able to watch back recordings.
It gives me a chance to pick up on things I might have missed.
It also means I don’t get distracted by taking overly tedious notes.
When that happens, I kind of forget to listen.
” The confident aura around her shakes a bit with the admission.
“Of course, yeah. I understand. So…”
“Don’t worry, we’re going to ease into it. Basically, I’m just going to ask some questions, get a feel for your relationship to the entity, and try to uncover the root of this attachment once and for all. Does that sound good?”
“Sure.” Having someone pry into my memories doesn’t exactly sound like my kind of a good time, but I know this is necessary. More than that, there’s hope that it could finally help me break free of all this, so I’ll just have to grin and bear it.
“Hawthorne tells me that you first encountered the entity here in his house.”
“As far as I can remember, yes.”
“Okay, tell me a little bit about your relationship during that time.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I buy myself a bit of time to figure out how to answer that question. “Well, we were just friends at the time.”
“Mmm,” Jayden mutters under his breath. The interruption distracts me for a number of reasons.
“If I need extra context, I’ll let you know,” Hale cuts him what can only be described as a ‘what-the-fuck look’ before waving me on to continue.
“Things were really bad for me at home. My mom and stepdad fought constantly and loudly. It was a lot, too much, if I’m being honest. I spent most days out of the house and a lot of nights.
Hawthorne was kind enough to let me crash here that summer, and it kind of just became the norm.
It was really just a safe place to lay my head down and get some decent sleep, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, isn’t really possible when people are screaming and breaking things at all hours.
Anyways…” Drinking my coffee, I try to dispel some of the unwanted emotion rising in my voice.
“That’s a trip down memory lane I don’t want to take. ”
Her eyes turn somber, but thankfully, she doesn’t try to comfort me. “So, you started spending most of your nights here. When did things go from platonic to romantic between you two?”
“Is that really relevant?” I hate the defensiveness in my voice, but I can feel Jayden’s eyes burning into me. The accusation is irritating when he’s the one who ended things with Hawthorne long before we ever got together.