Chapter 29 - Oak
twenty nine-Oak
Sunday dinners at my parents’ house were always a spectacle.
My mother thrived on appearances—plating food like she was competing for a Michelin star.
Everything was always perfect. The house was a curated masterpiece of marble floors, chandeliers, and elaborate floral arrangements. This Sunday was no different.
My mother was in the kitchen, directing the staff with the authority of a general, her petite frame draped in a dress that probably cost as much as some people’s rent.
At sixty-five, she looked closer to forty-five, her olive skin smooth, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders.
She thrived on being a rich housewife and spoiling her sons.
It was the reason Marcus and I were the way we were.
We didn’t know boundaries. Not growing up in this house, where money solved every problem and love came without expectations because money buys everything, even success.
My father worked hard, took us out to do “manly stuff,” and never cheated.
He had been disappointed in me when he found out what I’d done to Jordin.
He said he didn’t think we were right for each other, but the look in his eyes the day he found out said he expected better from me.
I didn’t bother my mother. She was in her element; I’d talk to her eventually.
When I walked into the dining room, my father was already seated at the head of the table, scrolling through his phone.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually serious expression, he had the presence of a man who closed multimillion-dollar deals before breakfast. Finance was his world, and he ruled it with the same precision and control he applied to everything else.
We didn't always get along. My mother said it was because we were so much alike.
“Oak,” he said, looking up as I walked in. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” I muttered, taking my seat.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t push.
I was about to ask where Marcus was when I saw Valentina sitting in the corner, looking just as uncomfortable as I felt.
She spotted me and gave me a tight smile—more of a grimace, really. “Hey, Oak.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Val?” I glanced toward the kitchen, where my mother’s laughter drifted out, followed by a shrill counterpart.
Val waved me over. “That’s my mother in there laughing with yours,” she explained quietly, leaning in so my father wouldn't hear. “She and your mother… are apparently best friends now. Surprise.”
“Surprise,” I muttered. I wanted to leave.
She didn’t look like she wanted to be here any more than I did, judging by the way she was clutching her wine glass.
Just as I opened my mouth to respond, her best friend—but really her girlfriend—strolled in from the kitchen, carrying a platter of bruschetta.
Dani was tall—nearly six feet—her long frame swallowed by baggy clothes.
With her sharp cheekbones, pale ivory skin, and severe buzz cut, she looked intimidating.
Like a fucking vampire. I’d met her right after my date with Valentina.
“Your boyfriend finally showed up, Val?” she asked, her lips curling into a grin as she set the platter down. “Damn, y’all are gonna have the cutest little Italian babies.” She thought it was hilarious to mess with us about our mothers' expectations.
Valentina froze, and I watched both our mothers stick their heads out of the kitchen at the mention of grandkids.
I leaned down, my voice a low murmur in her ear. “You want to shut this down, or should I?”
She tilted her head toward me. “Let’s just play along. It’ll be easier.”
So that’s what we did. For the next two hours, we pretended to be a picture-perfect couple. I pulled out chairs, Valentina laughed at my half-assed jokes, and Dani fucked with us, her commentary a running stream about our “future kids” and how “blessed” the family would be.
“You both make such a cute couple,” she said, winking at Valentina across the table. “So very Italian. Oak all broody and macho. You all domesticated, Valentina.”
Valentina kicked her under the table, and Dani howled with laughter, completely unfazed.
When dinner finally ended, I was halfway to the door before Valentina caught up with me.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing my arm as I reached for the door handle. “What’s going on with you?”
I sighed, glancing behind her to make sure neither of our mothers were listening. “I talked to Jordin,” I said simply.
Her eyebrows shot up. “And?”
I hesitated. “She said she’d think about counseling.”
“That’s good,” Valentina nodded. “That’s something.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Really fucking something. She also said she doesn’t like me.”
Valentina sighed. “That’s hard. But, Oak, you can’t expect her to forget the past overnight. You fucked your secretary. From what you’ve told me about her, you’re lucky she didn’t hit you with something heavier.”
I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks for the pep talk, Val.”
She squeezed my arm. “I’m rooting for you, okay? She’s still communicating with you. That’s half the battle.”
“Yeah,” I said again. “Thanks.”
I watched her walk to her car with Dani, the two of them laughing about something I couldn’t hear—probably me. I slid into my car, sitting there for a long moment before starting the engine.
I was half a block away from my parents’ house, thinking about Jordin—the way she had looked at me in the restaurant—when it happened.
A blur of movement to my left—a chrome grille filled my window. There was no time to brake. The glare of headlights bleached everything white.
The impact was a deafening roar of tearing metal and exploding glass.
A white-hot spear of pain shot through my shoulder as the seatbelt locked, yanking me back with brutal force.
My head snapped forward and then whipped back, cracking against the headrest with a sickening thud.
For a single, disorienting second, the world was a violent, spinning carousel of noise and impact.
Then, an eerie, ringing silence descended, broken only by the ticking of the dying engine.
When my senses crawled back, the world was wrong.
My car was canted at a nauseating angle, the driver's side door pressed against the asphalt.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of deployed airbags and gasoline.
A million shards of glass glittered in my lap, on the dashboard, like a grotesque constellation.
I tried to breathe, but a searing, burning pain bloomed deep in my chest with every ragged inhale, a clear, terrifying signal that something inside was broken.
My head throbbed in a brutal, pounding rhythm, and a warm, sticky trickle of blood seeped from my hairline, blurring the vision in my right eye.
I was trapped, folded into a wrecked metal cage, and for the first time, the unshakable Oak Black felt a cold, primal fear clawing its way up his throat.
I heard footsteps—fast and frantic. Then, Valentina’s voice.
“Oak!” she screamed. I watched her red-bottom heels splash through a puddle as she ran toward me.
Her voice was the last thing I heard before the world went black.
But my last thought was a prayer for Jordin.
Let her be happy.
With or without me, just let her be happy.