Page 80 of Shades of Silver City

Hopefully I’ll find time to paint again soon, to relieve stress.

Lifting the worn, tired mattress an inch off the ground, I feel around with my other hand until I locate something hard. I pull out my dad’s journal, hugging it to my chest. The scent of paper, ink, and worn leather soothes me, reminding me dearly of my dad.

Even after all this time, this smell invokes the image of him. His soft blue eyes lined with wrinkles gifted from decades of smiles. His dark brown hair, speckled with hints of ashy grey.

He was my rock because my mother was so distant—mentally empty and emotionally cold. She always kept us at arm’s length, so he had to take on three roles, that of mother, father, and scientist.

Striding to my tiny window, I peer out into the night, clutching the journal as if I’m holding my dad close again.

A tear streaks down my cheek, so I squeeze my eyes together to fight against the onslaught. It’s no use. My eyes well up, and I clamp them shut, sliding to the floor as the tears fall.

Every few seconds, another memory of my dad passes through my mind. The tears fall harder and faster until I’m sobbing.

A minute later, I’m an ugly, snotty mess, but the release is cathartic.

The door bursts open with a bang, and I gasp. My head snaps up as I wipe at my cheeks.

Archer stands there, his chest rising and falling with vigor. In his black leather and biker boots, and with the ink lining his neck and fingers, he looks like danger. His messy hair and the menacing expression on his face tie it all together.

My stomach freefalls.

“Tasia?” he asks, gasping for breath. He shuts the door and moves to kneel beside me. “What happened?”

“What?” I sniffle, wiping the moisture from my cheeks.

“You’re crying.”

As he stares at me with a pained look, I smile through the tears. Despite his outer appearance, this man is so soft and sweet on the inside.

I grip my dad’s journal even tighter. “Bittersweet memories,” I say.

“I—” He hangs his head, running his hand through his hair, then exhales loudly. “You scared me. I thought something happened.”

“I’ve been up here for like five minutes… I thought we agreed on fifteen?” I say, chuckling at his overreaction.

“Yes, but I saw you crying, and—”

“Saw me?” My smile fades, and I squint. What the hell does that mean?

“Through the window,” he says sheepishly, lifting his head.

I glance at the window, frowning. We’re three stories up. I passed by the window briefly, but there’s no way he could have seen me from the parking lot.

As if he can sense my confusion, he says, “I have really good eyesight.”

For a second, we sit there in silence.

“Okay, weirdo,” I finally say. When he gives me an apologetic grin, I burst out laughing and playfully whack him with the journal. “I told you I’d be fine.”

He reaches up, cupping my cheek and using his thumb to wipe away a lingering tear. “I know,” he murmurs. “You can have someone care about you without it making you weak, you know. You’re still strong and independent, even when I check on you.”

My breath catches in my throat. I peer at him, processing his words. “You saying you care about me, gangster?” I whisper.

“I guess I am.”

He smirks, his eyes flicking to my lips. I’ve never had someone care about me like this. I’ve never felt worth it. But something about Archer makes me feel calm, safe, and…appreciated. He’s the first person to know about my ability—to know me—and even though he initially asked me to work for him, I think he cares for me beyond that.

He hasn’t once made me feel used. He’s barely even brought up my ability as a soul-seer. In fact, it was me who asked how I could use my ability to help him.

---