But they hung between us like smoke, poisoning every conversation. As if I’d ever betray him. As if over thirty years of brotherhood meant nothing. I stuck by his side in the line of fire. Buried bodies for him.
Kept his club breathing while he served his time, and still he questions my loyalty.
My phone buzzes, Rachel’s name lighting up the screen.
“You available?” she asks without preamble. “The new babysitter’s here for dinner, and you should meet her.”
“Rachel, I’ve got club business?—”
“You always have club business,” she cuts in accusatorially. “But your children are important too, right, Jack? Didn’t you agree you’d help me sort this situation out?”
That’s not exactly how it went down.
I said I’d talk to Tabby, which I have. I never explicitly agreed to Jack having some new babysitter, but Rachel’s insisted.
Still, the guilt lands squarely on my chest, exactly what she hopes for. She’s got a gift for that, finding the soft spots and pressing ’til you fold.
“What time?”
“Now. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
The drive to Rachel’s gives me too much time to think. About Tom coming home. The Peñas possibly planning their next move. How I’m supposed to hold everything together when it’s pulling apart at the seams.
Rachel’s house—the house I once paid the mortgage on—sits in one of Pulsboro’s nicer neighborhoods. Not rich, but respectable and safe.
I bought it for that purpose. I always wanted my family far away from anything club related. For them to be able to exist like any other family, not surrounded by club culture at all times.
Rachel opens the door before I even knock, dressed in another long cardigan and skirt, her tangerine hair hanging over her shoulders.
“They’re in the dining room. Try to be pleasant.”
“I’m always pleasant.”
She gives me a look that says otherwise, but I let it slide.
Jack’s laughter tumbles out from the other room. Tabby’s voice joins in. At least they’re happy.
Whoever’s in there with them, it seems they like her.
“I thought having her over for dinner would be good,” Rachel says, leading me down the hallway. “You can get a feel for whether she’s the right fit. She seems very sweet and dependable, and god knows we need someone reliable with your schedule being what it is.”
“My schedule pays for?—”
“I’m not fighting about this now,” she cuts me off. “Just... try to make a good impression. The kids really need consistency.”
Another dig, another reminder I’m the reason our family fractured. I’m the one who filed for divorce, not her.
All while she conveniently ignores why I did in the first place.
I bite back the venomous response and save it for another time. The kids are within earshot, and I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t take her bait, at least not when they’re around.
“Jack, this is?—”
I stop dead in the doorway.
Seated at the dinner table with Jack and Tabby is none other than Solana.
