“Thank you.” He’s being so sweet, and it’s taking all my strength not to crawl in his lap and let him hold me. Instead, I take a small bite of the sandwich just as my stomach growls loudly. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” I say between bites. “This is really good.”
He smiles, but it’s bleak and worry lines crease his forehead. I polish off the rest of the sandwich in silence. I feel his gaze on me every few seconds, and the silence is just getting awkward.
Sol takes the plate and sets it on the table, then scoots closer, lifting my legs and resting them in his lap. Then he grabs his phone and headphones from the table and hands me one of the earbuds. He shoves the other one into his ear. Within seconds, hard rock music streams into my ear.
“Sweet,” I say, appreciating that he’s still not pushing me to talk. “Who’s this?”
“12 Stones.” He taps his screen a few more times, then sets his phone down between us. “This one is titled ‘World So Cold.’ They’ve gotten me through some very difficult times.”
I squeeze his hand in thanks, then stare at the ceiling, going over the conversation with my mom in my head. I can’t even begin to imagine what she went through, the moment . . . that moment when she felt trapped. God.
A shudder wracks through me. I try to push that memory from my mind and focus on the lyrics of the song playing.
“Why do people do bad things?” I ask rhetorically. “Why do some people hurt others?”
The couch dips as he shifts his weight, and I feel the intensity of his concern from his eyes on me. I turn to meet his gaze head-on.
Inhaling deeply, Sol entwines my fingers with his. “Sometimes I think it’s a cry for help. Maybe no one was there for them when they needed help the most. Maybe they needed some sort of guidance to set them on the right path. I don’t know. I wish I knew the answer, Grace.”
“Or maybe they were born evil.” My tone is dark and biting.
“No one is born evil.”
I mull over his words, when suddenly I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. What if I’m carrying that gene, and it’s transferred to my kids or something?
Oh my God.
Pulling my feet from his lap, I bolt upright and bury my face in my hands. God, please let this not be the case.
“What is it?” Sol asks from beside me.
I’m not sure I can face him right now or tell him what’s going on. I can’t bear seeing disgust or pity in his eyes.
“Talk to me, please.” He grasps my hands and gently tugs them down to reveal my tear-streaked face. “Tell me.”
Even though my vision is blurred with tears, I see the lines of worry on his face, and my resolution melts away.
“Today my mom opened up to me for the first time ever. I can’t remember how many times I’ve asked her who my father is, but now I wish I had never insisted on knowing.” The song ends and the next one starts, filling in the silence and giving me the time I need to collect my thoughts. I have no idea where to start telling him what happened to Mom. Will he look at me differently? I sure as hell feel different, dirty, guilty.
“She was eighteen when it happened. Eighteen, just like me.” I take a deep breath and slowly stumble through my words and tell him what happened eighteen years ago. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted and still angry. The thing is, I’m not even sure if I’m angry with my mom or the man who brought so much pain in her life.
Sol’s eyes are filled with pain, and he’s breathing hard. He reaches for me but freezes, watching me as if asking for permission. I nod and tug the earbud out of my ear and toss it next to the phone. He does the same with his and shifts closer. I fall into his arms, sinking into him as his arms wrap around me.
“I’m so sorry, Grace. So sorry.”
This time, I don’t cry. I don’t think there are any tears left in me. We stay like this for a little while longer, me soaking in his comfort and him holding me tight as if he’s trying to transfer all the pain from my body to his.
He pulls back but doesn’t drop his arms from around me. Then he shifts our bodies so he’s lying down on his back and I’m on top of him with my head on his chest.
“I know you’re hurting. Your mom is pretty special, you know. She didn’t give you up like someone else might have done. She loves you, Grace. So much.”
His words, the same words that have been filling my every thought, cut me deep and I feel like I’m bleeding from the inside out. At the same time, the truth settles in my chest, offering me the peace I’ve craved since I fled our apartment.
“She does,” I whisper. “Now I understand why she had me take self-defense classes at such a young age and put me on—” I slam my mouth shut before the words can come out.
“Put you on what?”
“Um, birth control pills.” The words pour out in a rush as heat fills my cheeks. “She took me to see her OB/GYN when I was fourteen. I thought she was just being overly conscious about that kind of stuff.”
Sol’s arms squeeze me a little, letting me know he’s following the conversation.
“Everything makes so much sense now, but . . . part of me wishes I was back to the times when it didn’t. Knowing hurts so much more than I ever thought it would.” Eventually, my eyes grow heavy with sleep, and with the steady beating of his heart against my ear, they fall shut.
I jolt awake, my heart racing inside my chest for no apparent reason. I glance around and find Sol sitting across from me, watching me.
“Hey,” he greets in a husky whisper.
“Hey.” I glance down my body, noticing the sheet covering me.
“You seemed exhausted. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I nod, throwing back the sheet. “What time is it?” I ask, sitting up on the bed.
He checks his watch. “Seven-fifteen in the evening.”
“Oh, gosh. You missed Mass because of me.”
“I’m staying with you for as long as you need me. I called Luke to tell him I won’t be attending today.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Sol. I should go home and talk to my mom.”
He stands up and stretches, his T-shirt riding up. I yank my gaze away because I have more pressing matters than drooling over his abs. “I’ll drop you whenever you’re ready.”
“Sol?”
He twists around to look at me, his tousled hair standing around his head. He pushes back the locks of hair on his forehead, and those piercing blue eyes come into view.
“Thank you for everything.”
At last, that crooked smile appears, and the world tips sideways. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now. “You’re welcome, Gracie.”
He leaves the room, returning moments later with my shoes. After I slip them on, I stand, wincing as pain shoots from my feet, then mask it with a cough when Sol turns to look at me.
“I’m ready.”
He heads to the front door, and I trail after him, not liking this strange tension between us one bit.
Once we’re on our way, he darts a gaze in my direction, then back to the road. His hands flex on the wheel.
“Listen. I know I’ve been MIA the past week or so. I—I’m not in the right headspace.”