Chapter 3
Oakley Kate
Dark clouds hang low over the road as I ride shotgun in my brother’s girlfriend’s SUV. I hate this stupid weather. The asphalt is wet and slick from all the rain we’ve gotten today, and Georgians can only drive in optimal weather conditions.
We never have optimal weather.
Add in the heaviness in the air as humidity sets in, and the gross, post-hot-shower feeling becomes a living nightmare. Oh, yeah. And this stupid ankle boot that keeps bumping the glove box.
Maybe if I unbuckle, open the door, and jump out fast enough, Jett won’t notice.
My hand inches toward the door handle.
“Don’t you dare open that door, Oakley Slater. Your brother would have my head.”
I snort. “As if. And I wasn’t actually going to jump out of a moving car,” I add. “I was going to wait until we inevitably get stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic again and quietly roll out. Big difference.”
My not-sister-in-law shakes her head at me. Not in disbelief, because she most definitely believes I’d do it. One giant, living, intrusive thought. That’s me!
Honestly, I’d do anything to get away from here right now. Instead, I’m being carted back to home sweet home. Please note the sarcasm. Steele Valley, Georgia is the last place I want to be for a multitude of reasons.
“Intrusive thoughts aside”—see? She knows me—“can we not joke about bailing from a moving vehicle? I’m paranoid enough driving with all these idiots on the road.” Her fingers tense around the steering wheel as a sports car swaps lanes in front of us.
I bite my tongue, because she’s doing me a major solid.
“Your brother is going to kill me for not telling him about this. And for driving in these conditions. I could try turning it into a reminiscing-type moment since we met in weather like this, but that’d probably just solidify his very protective, very accurate reasoning.”
“You could push him down an elevator shaft and he’d still forgive you. He loves you in that ooey-gooey, mushy way.”
“You fractured your ankle, Oaks.”
“We don’t know how bad it is yet,” I grumble. I wish the headrest would swallow me up. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have the toe of your shoe grab on the teeth at the bottom of an escalator and face-plant in front of a couple hundred travelers?
“Save me from the escalator safety lecture that Mr. Elevator Mechanic will most definitely give me if he finds out, Jett. Please? For your best friend?”
The sigh that leaves her lips lets me know I’ve won, at least for now.
“I can get off at the next exit and head toward Havenwood. The loft next door is still open.”
“I’m not moving in with you guys. Or next door. Love y’all, but no thanks. I’ll take my chances staying with Mama. Maybe hit up a few open practices if the guys are at the home rink any time soon.”
Jett keeps her mouth shut, but her eyes cut to me. The strain of holding her thoughts back is visible.
“Go ahead. Say it.”
She winces. “Probably not something that should come out of my mouth.”
“Since when do you censor yourself around me?”
“Since it’s about your non-existent relationship with a certain hockey player who’s in town right now?”
I sink deeper into the seat but flinch as the movement sends a twinge up my leg. “Don’t know what you mean.” I totally do. “Silas and I are on good terms. Just because the life we wanted went up in flames doesn’t mean we don’t support each other. I’m his biggest fan.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” She laughs. “You literally have his jersey number tattooed on your hip.”
“Okay, no fair.” I half-laugh, half-cry. I forgot she knew about that one.
At least she doesn’t know about the one on my inner thigh.
As my mother’s house comes into view, I can’t stop the swirl of anxiety that bubbles up.
There’s no reason for it. Mama’s car is the only one in the driveway, so I’m safe from both brothers.
As Jett parks and gets out, pulling my crutches from the back seat, I struggle to a stand, trying to hide the wince as everything shifts.
Mama’s head pops around the garage door, a bright smile lighting her aged face before her gaze settles on my leg. She tosses her work gloves aside and plants her hands on her hips as she saunters over.
“Oakley Kate, what in the world did you do, honey?” She wraps her arms around me, her dark-brown curls tinged with gray hitting right at my chin.
“It’s no big deal, Mom.” I hug her back as she squeezes the life out of me, nearly knocking my crutches out from under my arms before turning to Jett and giving her the same treatment.
“My other baby. Y’all come on inside. Oakley, go sit that clumsy rear of yours on the couch and get that leg up. Jett, honey, are you staying for a bit?”
“No, ma’am. I need to get back to the shop and rescue Kelsey from any book customers. She’s still adjusting to the café’s expansion into a bookshop.”
Mama hums in acknowledgment. She’d rather all of her children move back home so she can care for us by hovering and feeding us. “Okay, but you and Noah need to come to dinner soon. And I don’t mean in a month. I mean soon. I miss my babies.”
Jett salutes her with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” Then she looks at me. “Oaks, if you change your mind, just call.”
“Thanks, chica.”
As she slips out and shuts the door, my mother refocuses her attention on me, and I feel myself curl inward under her scrutiny.
Don’t get me wrong. My mother is a wonderful person. But she’s where my oldest brother inherited his scary ability to read people. They see too much, especially when you want to hide it.
“Mama, don’t,” I plead.
“Oakley Kate, what on Earth am I going to do with you?”
“Feed me for the next several weeks?”
She huffs, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “You know I’ll always feed my baby. You still look like the wind could blow you away. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Tell Mama what happened.”
Slinging my head back against the leather couch cushions is all I can muster.
I can feel the burn at the backs of my eyes, the telltale sign that I’m about to lose it.
If anyone else asked, I’d blow them off or default to sarcasm and dry humor.
But when Mama asks what’s wrong, it’s like the end of the world, and I crumble.
Always in tune with her babies, Mama settles beside me and pulls me into her arms. “You staying here for a bit, sis?” At my nod, she squeezes me tighter.
“I’ll get the downstairs guest room set up.
Prop that leg up and watch something on TV while you unwind.
Then we’ll have a pizza and rom-com night. ”
“Love you, Mama.”
She kisses the top of my head before hopping up and hugging me one last time. “Love you, too, Oakley Kate.”
“Smells good in here,” I say as my mouth waters at the seasoning in the air. “Need any help with anything?”
“Goodness, no, sweetheart. Just sit down and relax. I’ll have this casserole finished in no time.”
I plop onto the nearest bar stool, carefully settling my ankle on the other seat. “I’ll go crazy if I’m trapped on that couch another minute, Mama. These last few days have been the worst.”
“You could always call an old friend and visit the ice rink.”
I give my mother a droll look. “I almost fell crutching down the hallway. The perfectly flat, perfectly straight hallway. What am I supposed to do, hop in a wheelchair? Don’t answer that,” I say, holding up a hand.
She bites her lip but smirks. “Fine,” she concedes before setting carrots, potatoes, knife, and bamboo board on the counter. “If you’re so miserable, you can help me chop the veggies.”
I set to my new task, trying not to cut off an appendage. Talk about being klutzy, and she hands me a weapon. No wonder I am the way I am.
Oblivious to my thoughts—which, let’s face it, is probably for the best—Mama asks about my follow-up appointment. “What day do you find out if you need more than rest?”
“Tuesday,” I mutter, suddenly fascinated by the golden baby potatoes, cutting them into perfectly symmetrical shapes.
“What were their initial thoughts? Now, I know how you feel about getting put under, but if it’s surgery you need, don’t put it off.”
I set the knife down, losing focus. “Can we not talk about that?”
She doesn’t push. Just takes what I’ve chopped and drops it into the big pot on the stove.
“Open practice at the rink tomorrow. Want to go watch hockey hunks battle it out with your mama?”
I pretend to gag. “Gross, Ma. Most of those guys are my age or younger.”
“Maybe I’m into that reverse age gap thing that you girls are always reading.”
Pushing the stool back, I start to get up. “Okay, on second thought, maybe I’m not really hungry. That’s about all I can take of this conversation.”
Her giggle turns into a full-belly laugh, and I can’t help the twitch of my lip.
It’s a miracle she can still let go after so many years of grief, but it’s been easier since Noah and Trace finally made peace.
Their shared grief over Dad’s death years ago set them against each other, but with therapy—and Jett—they actually call each other once a week now. I never thought I’d see the day.
Mama wipes her eyes with her shirtsleeve before waving her hand at me in apology. “Okay, okay. Enough of that. Sit back down.”
I make the sit-down dramatic, sighing and flopping as I go. “I guess I forgive you,” I mutter with a smile.
“I really do think you should go to the rink, Oakley. Seeing some friendly faces would do your heart some good.”
“Hmm. I don’t think those faces are all too friendly these days.”
“Oh, posh,” she says, slinging her dish towel at me. “Silas, Rooker, Thorn and his wife all adore you. They ask about you every time I see them.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “And how often are you seeing my ex-fiancé when neither I nor Noah is in town, Mama?”
“He checks up on me. Cuts my grass when he’s in town. Eats dinner with me sometimes. Besides, you guys still talk, unless I missed something?”
I sigh. “Not as much as we used to. Things have been…strained lately.”
Mama just hums in that noncommittal way. “You should get together while you’re healing. Could be good for the both of you.”
“Mama,” I groan. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker.”
“I will stay firmly out of it.”
“And why don’t I believe you?”
She pretends to zip her lips and toss the key in the trashcan.
Yeah, I don’t believe for a second that she won’t meddle while I’m home.