My grin spreads, chest warming at the question. Not because of what she’s asked, but the fact that she has. Solana always turns it around, always asks about my day. My problems.
Even though she shouldn’t bother. She’s dealing with so much shit she shouldn’t even be concerning herself with what I’ve got going on.
But she always does anyway. She always shows she gives a damn.
This twenty-year-old girl is one of the few people who actually asks how I’m doing and means it.
“I’m managing,” I say, keeping it vague. I always do as far as the club’s concerned.
“You should get to stay president,” she says firmly. “The guys like you better.”
I chuckle. “That’s not true.”
“It is though. I hear what Uncle Eddie and Moses say when they think I’m not listening. People are wary of Tom Cutler. They respect him, sure, but they’re nervous about what he’ll do. With you, they feel safe.”
“Listen to you, thinking you’re some expert on MC politics.”
“Just like you think you’re an acting coach?” she shoots back smartly. The smile can be heard in her voice.
“I’ve watched enough movies to know good acting when I?—”
“And suddenly now you’re a movie critic.”
We’re both laughing now, and it feels good. It feels easy and natural in a way that doesn’t necessarily make sense.
“I should go,” she says finally. “Early class tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I got an early morning with club stuff.”
“Goodnight, Silver.”
“Night.”
We hang up, but my phone buzzes only a couple seconds later. She’s sent me a meme—a bunch of grizzly bikers looking tough at a red light with the caption, “When you’re trying to look badass but the light won’t change.”
I bark out a laugh that catches me off guard. It isn’t the first time she’s sent me one of these, and some would say it’s silly and immature, but damn if it isn’t small moments of laughter like these that make me grin like an idiot. That give my day the little sparks they’ve been missing.
I find myself scrolling through my phone, looking for something funny to send back, then stop.
What am I doing?
We’ve become friends. Real friends. The kind where we talk every day, share stupid jokes, know each other’s schedules.She tells me about her classes, her auditions, her therapy appointments.
I tell her about the club, the tensions between me and Tom, Rachel and the kids, about everything except what I’m planning to do to Martin “Kel” Greene.
I check the date on my phone. He should be back this week if Spencer wasn’t lying. I’ve been counting the days, planning what I’ll do when I finally get my hands on him.
But Solana can never know. She’s too good, too pure-hearted. She’d probably try to stop me, claiming violence isn’t the answer and she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. I’d like to say she’s right, but she’s wrong.
Sometimes, for some things, violenceisnecessary.
People have to be held accountable. This is one of those times.
Besides, maybe it’ll help her sleep better at night knowing at least somebody fought for her. Knowing somebody thought she was worth fighting for.
…because she is all that and more.
My phone buzzes again. I quickly check it, my heart thumping in anticipation. I’m like an addict trying to get my fix even though we hung up not even five minutes ago.
