Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
brOOKE
This place that Silas found for us this weekend is surreal. It’s called the Birdhouse because it’s nestled in the woods, tucked into the trees a few miles away from the falls. The small cabin is on stilts, giving us a full view of the Arbuckle Mountains. I’ve never seen anything like it.
There’s a king-size bed, a walk-in shower made of river rock, a huge garden tub, a tiny kitchen, and a dining table.
A small electric fireplace sits under the windows, and a couch faces that stunning view.
And it smells like pine and fresh air. Then outside, there is a round table on the deck, but it’s too chilly to sit out there now that the sun is setting.
The warmth of the cabin is soothing after a long day in the cold.
My legs ache from the miles we walked together, side by side.
My belly is sore from laughing too hard on steep switchbacks that I almost slid down.
My face is achy from smiling after every time he reached for me without looking whenever a trail got too narrow or steep.
Now we’re working together to make a quick dinner. I’m making the steaks we bought, and Silas cut up some vegetables and potatoes for roasting. As I’m finishing up, he sets the table and opens a bottle of red wine.
The soft lighting, the fading sun, the view … it’s really perfect.
“You want some water or something else with your wine?” Silas wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
“Water is good. But thank you for the wine. I don’t have to drink, you know? It’s not often that I do. And I know you can’t right now, with training, so I’m okay without it.” I rest my head on his shoulder.
“It won’t bother me. I don’t feel like I’m missing out or anything. I’m not a big drinker.” He places kisses up and down my neck.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. With the exception of a few times, I haven’t really seen you drink much.” I tilt my head, enjoying the feeling of his lips on my skin.
“Makes me feel kinda crappy the next day, so it’s just easier for me if I don’t.” He kisses my neck, then goes to the cabinet to get two glasses and fills them with water.
Silas walks back over to me at the stove, and he lays a hand on my hip. “Scoot over for a sec. Let me check on the food.”
I slide over enough for him to open the oven door. “It smells so good in here.” I peek in.
“Yeah, it does. We’re gonna have us a fine meal tonight, wife.” He pulls out the pan and sets it on the unused burners.
“Yes, we are, husband.” I move around him so I can turn the steaks.
He takes two plates and scoops some veggies and potatoes onto each one, then holds them out for me to set the steaks on. Then he leads me over to the table and sets our plates down, then pushes in my chair once I’m seated.
We eat and talk about our day. After the falls, we went to see the castle, and it was fun. Apparently, a professor from Walker built it in the early 1900s, and then it was abandoned and later became part of the park.
I’m enjoying doing things like this with Silas, because he’s just as fascinated as I am to learn and see new things. And he doesn’t tease me or make me feel like he knows more than I do.
“How’s the wine? Is it any good?” he asks as I take a sip.
“It’s good. I mean, I’m not a wine connoisseur or anything, but it tastes nice.” I smile over my glass. “I probably won’t have any more though. But we can take it home for Charlie and the girls.”
He nods, but looks like he has something on his mind. “You don’t drink much, and neither does your brother.”
I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t drink often.”
Something in my expression must shift because he pauses. Really looks at me. “Is there a particular reason why?”
My chest tightens—not enough for me to panic, but enough to warn me I’m close to something I usually keep sealed shut.
I don’t talk about my mom.
Not with friends. Not with family. Not with anyone except my therapist.
That’s how I’ve learned to stay functional. To keep myself steady when everything else feels like it might tip. Avoidance isn’t weakness; it’s how I survived. Someone had to stay calm and steady.
That someone became me.
But Silas is different.
From the moment I met him—even when we were just friends—there was something about him that quieted the noise in my head. Being around him felt easy. Calm. Like I didn’t have to brace myself for whatever came next.
And over the past few weeks, that feeling has only deepened.
He’s become my safe space. The person my body relaxes around before my brain can catch up. Someone I know I can talk to without being rushed or fixed or dismissed. He’s proven that over and over again—not with promises, but with the way he shows up. With patience. With consistency. With listening.
Somewhere along the way, my feelings caught on to what my nervous system already knew.
I trust him.
If we’re going to make a real go at this—at us—then he needs to understand what he’s stepping into. Because the truth is, my anxiety isn’t something I’ll ever completely outgrow. I just manage it better than most people realize.
I clear my throat, glancing at him. “Do you know anything about my family? Like, maybe overheard things?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. I remember hearing some murmuring about one of the games, but I wasn’t here yet, and I just didn’t think it was a good idea to ask.”
That only confirms it.
I inhale slowly, grounding myself the way I’ve practiced a hundred times. This isn’t spiraling. This is choosing.
“Beck definitely wouldn’t have talked to anyone on the team about it other than Casey and Coach, but, yeah, my mom showed up to one of his games unexpectedly.
” I suck in a deep breath. “It just so happens that Beck and I were born in Pennsylvania, where the game was. She had been in jail and was out on parole. She can’t leave the state to try to see us, and she’s not legally allowed within a certain distance from us. ”
“Can I ask what happened to cause her arrest, or do you not want to talk about it?” He places his hands on the table.
“It’s not something I usually talk about, but you should probably know.”
“We can talk about it later. I don’t want to upset you. I want us to have good memories from this weekend.” He reaches for my hand across the table.
I take a sip of my wine with my other hand, then take a deep breath. “I don’t remember a lot about her. Just images and faint memories. Most of what I do know comes from things I’ve heard in court or my dad and brother talking.”
“Did she hurt you guys?” He rubs his thumb along the back of my hand.
I nod. “Yes, she did. She was an alcoholic. And apparently, she didn’t start drinking heavily until after I was born.
My dad has never said anything to insinuate this, but I’ve kind of always felt like I was the reason she did the things she did to us.
She hurt Beck more than me really, but he would protect me, and unfortunately, he was the recipient of most of her abuse. ”
The words settle between us—heavy, vulnerable, real.
And for once, I don’t feel alone, carrying them.
“I’m so sorry, Brooke. You don’t have to say anything else about it.” He sits up enough to scoot his chair next to me.
“No, it’s okay. The things that happened to my brother are horrific, and honestly, I will spare you most of the details. But I do remember the day she was arrested.”
I look at Silas’s face. “I had been playing and trying to be quiet, but something I did must have set her off because, one minute, I was playing with my toys, and the next minute, she was yanking my hair and pulling me over to the stove. Beck was in the other room, working on homework or something, and came running in to see me being dragged across the floor. He fought with her until she let go of me, but then she was able to hold him long enough to put his hand in hot oil in a pan on the stove. I remember the smell of something burning, and I tugged on my mom’s legs to let him go. ”
“Jesus Christ, Brooke.” He places his hand on my arm.
“I think I must have blocked some of it out because most of it I heard in court, but my dad came in when she was hurting Beck, and that’s pretty much the story of how she got arrested.
She should have been in jail a lot sooner, but my dad traveled a lot for work back then and didn’t realize everything that was going on.
“After the trial, we moved to Oklahoma for a fresh start. It had been in the news, and since we were so young, my dad wanted us to get away from all of it. Lucky for us, we moved across the street from the Kings, and I think they helped us more than they probably know. Carol and Tim became like family, and the rest in that part of the story is history.” I smile, but it’s forced.
“I hate that this happened to you guys. But can I say something?” he asks cautiously.
I nod.
“Why do you feel like it’s your fault that she hurt you and your brother?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t think she wanted another baby, from what I’ve pieced together.
And because my dad was gone so much, I think it was too much for her to manage on her own.
My dad has never defended her to us, but he was aware of her mental illness when they got married.
He just thought she was on her medication, but she wasn’t. ”
“None of that is your fault though. You can’t carry the weight of that, Brooke. Have you considered going to therapy?”
“I’ve been in therapy since I was young, off and on. But after she showed up at Beck’s game a few years ago, I’ve been seeing someone regularly. I’m sorry. I probably should have told you all of this sooner. Does this change your mind about staying married to me?”
He takes my chin in his hand and kisses me softly. “Never in a million years would this change anything for me.”
The kindness and gentleness of his voice overwhelms me, and I can’t stop the tears that start to fall.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” He wraps me in his arms.