Page 132 of Matlock
Simon didn’t say a word. He just stared out the window, his jaw tight, his hands clenched in his lap.
I wanted to reach over and touch him. Wanted to pull over and kiss him until he understood that I wasn’t going anywhere.
But I couldn’t.
Because the truth was, I still didn’t know if I could give him what he needed.
I didn’t know if I could be the man he deserved.
When we pulled into the diner’s parking lot, I could see my brothers’ bikes lined up near the entrance. The place was packed, the windows glowing with warm light.
I parked and killed the engine, but neither of us moved.
“Simon,” I said finally, my voice rough.
He didn’t look at me. “What?”
“I—” I stopped, the words catching in my throat.
I love you.
I’m sorry.
I don’t know how to do this.
But I didn’t say any of it.
Simon waited for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”
He opened the door and climbed out, slamming it shut behind him.
I sat there for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my chest tight.
Then I followed him inside, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me like a fucking avalanche.
Chapter Forty
Simon
The diner smelled like grease and coffee and celebration.
The moment I pushed through the door, the noise hit me—laughter, conversation, and the clatter of dishes and silverware. The place was packed wall-to-wall with people. Silver Shadows’ members occupied most of the booths along the windows, their leather cuts stark against the red vinyl. My parents sat at a corner table with Grace, who was glowing despite her exhaustion. King stood near the counter talking to Cash and Jingles, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, always watching.
People from town filled the remaining spaces. Beatrice Allen held court at a center table, her voice carrying over the din as she recounted her testimony with theatrical flair. A few people I didn’t know well lingered at the counter, their expressions curious, cautious.
Everyone was celebrating my freedom.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Tony’s presence at my back was a physical weight, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him but not touching. Never touching. Not here. Not where people could see.
My chest tightened.
“Simon!” Mom waved from the corner, her smile bright but her eyes concerned. She’d always been able to read me too well.
I forced a smile and started toward her, weaving through the crowd. Hands reached out to pat my shoulder, voices offering congratulations I barely heard over the roar in my head.
Free.
