Chapter 26
Silas
She’s supposed to be resting. That was the deal. She stays here, I make sure she heals, and she doesn’t push herself. Easy enough, in theory.
Except it’s two a.m., and she is in the hallway balancing on one crutch, her bad foot hovering an inch off the ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Aubrey.
She freezes mid-hop, guilty as hell. “Bathroom,” she whispers. “I can’t hold it forever, Harrison.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting a smile. “You could’ve woken me up.”
“I’ve been waking you up for five days. You deserve sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I know you’re not one wobble away from face-planting into a wall.”
She huffs but lets me loop an arm under hers. I help her the last few steps into the bathroom and wait for her as she closes the door. When she comes back out, she mutters, “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
“Always have been.”
I get her back to bed and pull the covers up to her chin like I do for Aubrey. Once I tuck the blanket around her boot, I try to pull away, but she catches my wrist.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes half-lidded. “I know I drive you crazy.”
“You’ve been driving me crazy since you were ten, Katibug. This is nothing new.”
Her soft laugh follows me all the way back to my room. Not for the first time since Oakley Kate showed back up in Steele Valley, the house feels a little less quiet.
I pause at Aubrey’s door before stepping inside.
She’s sprawled diagonally across her bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, clutching the stuffed penguin Oakley sent her for Christmas last year.
The nightlight casts a soft blue glow over her face, highlighting the faint smudge of marker still on her cheek from her impromptu arts and crafts session earlier.
I crouch beside her bed, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead.
She stirs. “You help Oakley?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah, bug. She’s fine.”
“She shouldn’t be walking.”
“No, she shouldn’t.” I smile. “You gonna tell on her?”
A sleepy grin curves her mouth. “Maybe. Depends what the bribe is.”
I chuckle quietly. “You’re just like her. You know that?”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks, already drifting.
“No,” I say softly. “That’s the best thing.”
By the time I stand, she’s out again—breathing even, the kind of peace I wish I could bottle and keep for mornings when everything feels too damn heavy.
By the time sunlight filters through the kitchen window, Aubrey’s already at the table in her pajamas, hair a wild mess of tangles, legs swinging as she nurses a bowl of cereal big enough for two.
“You were up late,” she says without looking up. “I heard you.”
I pour coffee into a chipped mug and lean against the counter. “You hear everything.”
“Occupational hazard of being me.” She shrugs, spoon clinking. “Did Oakley really try to walk again?”
I raise a brow. “You spying now?”
Her grin is all teeth. “No. Just wasn’t sure if I dreamed it or not.”
“She did. Said she didn’t want to wake me.”
Aubrey snorts into her cereal. “That’s dumb. You literally never sleep.”
She’s not wrong.
I set the mug down and ruffle her hair, earning an exaggerated groan. “Go easy on her, bug. She’s trying.”
“I know,” she says, quieter this time. “I just don’t want her to find a reason to leave us again.”
Something in my chest pulls tight at that.
She doesn’t remember all the ins and outs of the year Oakley Kate left, but she remembers enough.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” I say. “You both are.”
Aubrey looks up at me then, blue eyes too old for nine. “You love her, right, Bubba?”
I cough into my coffee. “She’s family.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Eat your breakfast,” I mutter, earning a smug smile.
A moment later, the hallway creaks. Oakley’s soft steps, uneven but determined, echo down the wood floor. Aubrey perks up, like a light switching on.
“Morning,” Oakley says, leaning on one crutch, hair pulled into a lopsided ponytail. “Is that coffee I smell or heaven?”
“Both,” I say.
Aubrey slides off her chair and rushes over before Oakley can protest, grabbing her free hand to guide her to the table. “Sit. Doctor’s orders.”
Oakley laughs, tired but real. “Bossy.”
“Runs in the family,” I tell her.
Aubrey’s smile softens as she sets a mug in front of Oakley—extra sugar, the way she’s learned she likes it—as the three of us fall into an easy quiet, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.