Page 5 of Silver Player

“Billy Harrington, as in William Forrest Harrington?” Sadie repeated his name with dignity and indecision, as if she hoped he was one and the same as much as she worried the names identified the same person. Sadie was smart, though, and within seconds, she’d put two and two together, or should I say, one and one which equaled her.

“How do you know that name?” I asked, holding my breath. Sadie rolled her eyes, admitting she’d heard the name before in reference to her unknown father, and I didn’t have the heart to continue the omission from her history. She’d been lied to long enough, but there had been so many hard truths lately, and she was only sixteen. For a moment, I wonder if this was another reason my sister chose me to become her guardian.

With Billy’s knowledge of Sadie, everything could change.

“Grace, I’m going to need another minute,” I call out after re-entering the shop and pointing at the ceiling, indicating the apartment above the store. Grace instantly understood. She’s a military widow and mother of five boys ranging from thirteen to five.

“Take your time.” She waves at me with a knowing smile, and I duck through the door labeled private, taking the staircase up to the second floor. My place is the entire length of the store from front to back. Narrow and tidy, it’s been an adjustment to have a teenager move in, and we’re still wading around one another. The bonus is I love my niece and have a special bond with her.

“Sadie.” I softly rap on her door before opening it. I remember being her age and want to respect her privacy, but it’s strange having a door closed in my apartment. The wooden barrier clearly tells me to stay out, but I enter anyway to find my struggling girl face down on her bed. Her room is smaller than mine, and I assume it had been the original dining room as it’s across from the kitchen and missing a closet. It has two large windows taking up most of one wall while her twin bed lines the opposite wall. Every day a new poster covers the plaster, along with angsty poems, inspirational one-liners, and questionable images, turning the wall space into a true teenager’s bedroom. The dark motif matches her mood and her clothing.

She’s a vision of black lately. Boots, jeans, T-shirt, hair and nails, and against her pale skin it looks dramatic, beautiful, and sad. She is sad. She’s done this to herself over the course of a few weeks, but I don’t fault her. There have been so many changes.

“He’s a pig,” she mutters into her pillow. There wasn’t much she could bring from her mother’s home in Atlanta. The yellow pillowcase and patchwork quilt contrast with her dark appearance.

“Sadie, honey,” I say as I lower to sit on the edge of her bed and rub a hand up her spine. I don’t hesitate to be affectionate with my niece although it certainly was easier to pull her in my lap when she was six. At sixteen, the lap-holding is hardly appropriate, but we’ve hugged everyday as I’m hoping to break through to her, hoping she’ll understand I’m here for her. My sister was more of a talker and planner while I am more affectionate and quiet. Most of all, I understand her pain.

I continue to stroke over Sadie’s back until she rotates to face me. She’s been resilient so far, but I’m waiting for a breakdown. It’s only been six weeks. Her eye makeup is currently smudged, but I can’t decide if she shed tears or if the smear is from pressing her face into her pillow. She continues to twist until her back hits the mattress, and she stares up at the ceiling. I glance up to find a pattern of glow-in-the-dark stars overhead. When did she put those there?

“What did he say?” I soften by tone as I question her, being reminded Billy never answered the same question from me.

“He hit on me.”

“What?!” I screech, expecting the stars above my head to peel off the ceiling and rain down on us. “Oh my fu….effing God.” I swallow back the curse, but Sadie’s black lips smirk.

“You can say fucking. It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.” I should admonish her directness. A mother would do that, but I’m not her mother.

“What did he do?” My hands tremble and my legs twitch, suggesting I stalk back to that god-awful pub and give Billy another what-for and then a swift kick in his wayward balls.

“He told me I was too young for him, and then I told him he disgusts me.”

Well, this sounds about right. Billy disgusts me, too, yet despite my opinion of him, I don’t honestly believe he’d stoop to hitting on a teenager. He’s definitely not hard up or hard on the eyes. As a known player in the community, I can’t think of any single women who haven’t had a night with him.

Oh wait, yes, I can. Me.

I seem to be the one woman in this town who repulses him. I dismiss the thought as I wouldn’t want his pole within ten feet of me, but Billy does have this look about him. Charismatic. Charming. Cheeky. Age agrees with him. Salty hair with specks of pepper and a midnight beard make him unique among men. I’d wager my vintage Jane Austen collection he dyes it black in order to look distinct. His best feature, though, are his eyes—a muted brown color—but he prides himself on his body. And Lord knows, he’s full of pride, all firm chest and solid legs and thick hands, not that I have any firsthand knowledge of these things.

Never touched him.

Never would.

Yes, you might. I quickly dismiss the cry between my thighs, and I fight with fist and hammer against any attraction to Billy Harrington.

“What did he say about being your father?”

“I didn’t give him a chance to respond.” Her eyes close, and she swallows hard. I can’t tell if she’s upset or concerned, as if she’s done something to him, like insulted him or set a fire in his bar. I go with option two first. It wouldn’t be unlike my niece to speak her mind or act out.

“What did you do?”

“I told him the only daddy issue I had was him being my dad.”

Goodness. I exhale because I couldn’t agree more, but then I reconsider. Is this a fair assessment? First of all, Billy didn’t know he was a dad until an hour ago. I can’t fault him for knowledge he didn’t have prior to today, unless he did know and never did anything to claim Sadie. If Theresa eventually hinted to Sadie about her father, did she finally break down and contact Billy? I doubt it. She’d have told me. Then again, she never mentioned having a discussion with Sadie about her father, and it’s a reminder that mother and daughter shared things that aunt and niece do not.

On the other hand, if I rule in favor of Billy’s ignorance—and let’s face it, I consider him ignorant—he definitely should understand condoms are only ninety-four percent effective. Maybe he should have never slept with Theresa in the first place. I understand why she was with him, and why he might have been with her. My sister was the outgoing one, the pretty one, the life of the party one back in high school.

Something wiggles to the forefront of my brain from our brusque conversation earlier.

“What happened to you? Your sister was so pretty.” Billy nipped at one of my deepest insecurities. I wasn’t pretty like my sister had been. All blonde hair, blue eyes, and trussed up, she looked like a beauty queen. On the other hand, I was heavier when we were younger, round and jovial with dull brown hair and these strange gray eyes. I lost almost seventy-five pounds before returning to Blue Ridge and opening my shop. I’m a healthy one hundred and fifty-five now for my height of five-six. My bone structure is bigger than my sister’s, and my wide hips are a sensitive issue for me along with the premature gray hair. Billy’s comment struck a nerve, and I don’t want to give him the energy of my anger. He isn’t worth it, but still—what he said, implying I’m not pretty—it stung.