I glance at him then, irritation flickering briefly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No,” he corrects quietly. “It isn’t. But I’d still do it.”
There’s no bravado in it.
No challenge.
Just fact.
That steadiness does something uncomfortable to my chest, pressing against a truth I’ve been circling for days without touching.
“I’m not worried about me,” I say after a moment. “I can deal with him.”
Sol’s brow lifts slightly. “Then what’s the problem?”
I look back toward the closed bathroom door, toward the sound of her voice filtering faintly through it, softer now but still there.
“She doesn’t deserve that,” I say, my voice quieter. “The fallout. The attention. Him.”
Sol doesn’t respond immediately.
When he does, it’s measured.
“She’s already in it,” he says. “All of it. You think staying back now protects her?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
Or maybe I do, and I just don’t like it.
“She’s asking for you,” he continues, still calm, still steady. “Not just what you can give her in pieces. All of it.”
I drag a hand over my face again, exhaling slowly. “I know.”
“Then stop pretending this is about protecting her,” Sol says, his voice still quiet but firmer now. “It’s about you not wanting to deal with what happens after.”
That hits closer than I’d like.
I don’t respond immediately, my gaze fixed on nothing as the weight of it settles properly.
He’s not wrong.
I’ve been framing it differently, telling myself I’m holding back for her sake, that I’m keeping her out of something she shouldn’t have to deal with. But the truth is less clean than that.
I don’t want to deal with my father.
I don’t want to bring him into this.
And marking her means I can’t keep those two things separate anymore.
Sol shifts slightly again, his expression unreadable but his presence solid beside me.
“She’s not fragile,” he says. “You know that.”
I huff a quiet breath. “No. She’s not.”
“She’ll handle it,” he continues. “With or without you.”