Chapter 38
Silas
Traffic on Steele Valley Road is backed up worse than usual.
The wipers thump a steady rhythm. I glance at the dashboard clock, then force myself to stop checking the rearview mirror every thirty seconds. Car pickup lines are always the same drill—merge, inch forward, signal over, wait—and I'm getting better at not looking for threats that aren't there.
I'm picking Aubrey up from a youth hockey fun day that Rooker found for her, and judging by the text she sent an hour ago (three exclamation points and a hockey stick emoji), it went well.
She spots me through the front window and waves both arms like she's trying to flag down a helicopter. By the time I pull up and open the door, she's already halfway into the seat, breathless, her gear bag zipper tangled with what looks like friendship bracelets.
"Did you bring snacks?"
"Did you have fun?"
"The best time. Coach Kaylee is awesome and said I can drop in whenever someone can get me there. She emailed you the practice schedule." She pauses just long enough to catch her breath. "So...snacks?"
I laugh. Can't blame her for being hungry after a full day on the ice. "Fruit slices and oatmeal raisin cookies," I say, handing her the bag once she's buckled in. "What's the deal?"
"Fruit first or I'll eat all the cookies," she says, already pulling out an apple slice.
"Smart."
On the way out of the lot, my phone buzzes in the console.
My Girl: One more hour.
Silas: Want a ride, or you driving?
My Girl: I'm good. Meet at home.
Silas: Copy.
I feel myself relax at that simple exchange. It's stupid how much better a basic text can make me feel, but I'll take it. I focus on the road and try not to rear-end the minivan in front of me that's already decked out with reindeer antlers.
"Bubba?"
"Yeah?"
"They know it's only October, right?"
I laugh because I was literally just thinking the same thing. "It's never too early for Christmas spirit."
She snorts. "And y'all say I'm the dramatic one." Then, quieter: "Do you think Kate would take me to some practices when you can't?"
That hits me harder than I expect. She's been asking off and on, but I think today cemented how serious she is about hockey. "Yeah, little bit. We'll figure something out."
"Cool." She wipes cookie crumbs off her lip with the back of her hand. "Can we make cocoa tonight?"
"Obviously."
The security camera notification pops up on my phone as we pull into the driveway.
Everything's green and clear. My shoulders relax another notch.
Inside, I drop the backpack by the door and can't help smiling when Aubrey stores her gear bag the exact same way I store mine.
We build a couch fort with exactly one blanket—per the treaty we negotiated last week—and she curls up with her chapter book while I do a quick check of the house.
Lock, latch, sensor light blinking its steady red.
I manage not to do a second pass, which feels like progress.
When Oakley comes through the door an hour later, she smells like cold air and tempera paint.
Her cheeks are pink from the wind, hair pulled into a messy knot, craft supplies tucked under her arm.
She drops everything on the counter and leans over the back of the couch to kiss the top of Aubrey's head. "How's the fort?"
"Structural integrity: medium," Aubrey reports without looking up from her book. "Cocoa?"
I raise my hands. "Already on it."
While the milk warms on the stove, Oakley slides onto a barstool and rubs at her ankle. It's more habit than actual pain at this point, but I notice it anyway.
"How was her day?" she asks, keeping her voice low. "I'd ask her myself, but she looks pretty absorbed."
"She loved it. Already plotting how to get to more practices."
Oakley's mouth curves into a smile. "Wonder where she gets that."
"Rooks," I say without missing a beat, and her laugh is exactly what I was hoping for.
"The precinct called me," she adds, her voice dropping as she glances toward the couch. "They arrested your dad today. They were going to call you next, but I said I'd tell you. Didn't want the kiddo to overhear anything she didn't need to."
The heat under my sternum shifts from wildfire to something quieter. "Good."
"Good," she echoes, then tilts her head. "You going to practice tonight?"
"Optional skate. I'll go for an hour and run a couple drills." I watch her face, looking for any hesitation. "I'll be back before bedtime."
"Okay," she says, and I hear the difference. Not okay because she's afraid to say no, but okay because we're choosing this together. Four days ago, I would've read that wrong. Today, I decide to trust it.
We drink cocoa at the island. Aubrey narrates exactly one billion plot points about a dragon who's allergic to glitter. Oakley steals the mini marshmallows for herself, and I pretend not to see. The whole thing is so normal it makes my chest ache.
I leave for the rink as the sky turns pink. The guys are already on the ice, looking like chaos until you understand what they're actually doing. Rooks gives me hell for being late and then slips on a rogue puck, which is the kind of karma that keeps me believing in some sort of justice.
It would be easy to disappear into the drill and let the noise swallow me whole.
I don't. I find the space between pushing too hard and holding back, and I stay there.
When a rookie leans too hard into a crosscheck, I don't light him up.
I just push him off his edge and show him the line he almost crossed.
Between reps, I glance at my phone on the bench. After everything that's happened, no one argues about me keeping it there.
My Girl: Unicorn says she misses you.
Silas: Tell unicorn I’m practicing my bedtime voices.
My Girl: Oh no.
Silas: Oh yes.
I’m still smiling when Thorn glides over. “How’s the house?”
“Quieter.” I don’t look away from the sheet. “She’s working again. Aubs is…Aubs.”
“You?”
I roll my shoulders. “Trying to find that balance between overbearing and protective.”
He actually snorts. “Careful. You start listening and I’ll expect it all season.”
“Scary.”
He taps my shin pad with his stick and peels away. Two taps. Job to do.
By the time I hit the lot again, the sky’s gone dark. I check the cameras once then stick my phone back in my pocket before I start cycling through everything twice. I slide into the truck and sit there a second, just breathing.
At home, the porch light throws a dull glow on the steps. The door opens before I get to it, and a small, sleepy missile slams into my midsection.
“You’re late,” Aubrey says into my T-shirt.
“I’m three minutes early.”
“Same thing.”
Oakley appears behind her, socks sliding on hardwood, eyes soft. “She tried to power through her science vocab,” she says. “Made it to the fourth word before she knocked out.”
“Those science terms are brutal,” I mutter, lifting Aubs like she still weighs nothing even though she definitely doesn’t.
“Love you, Bubba,” she mumbles against my neck. She’s out cold by the time I lay her in bed and pull her blanket up. I wait a second, watching her chest rise and fall. Everything in me settles.
When I turn around, Oakley’s leaning in the doorway. Her mouth twitches like she’s trying to swallow three different emotions at once.
“Come here,” I say.
She steps in without hesitating. My hands go to her hips; hers slide up to my collarbone like she’s checking I’m really here. The kiss is slow and steady. Comfortable. Familiar. When she pulls back, her breath ghosts my lips.
“I like us like this,” she says.
“Me, too.”
I take Oakley’s hand and lead her to the table. There’s something I need to get done before I can call it a night.
“Alright, boss,” I say, sliding a notebook over. “Run the meeting.”
She raises a brow. “Didn’t bring my clipboard.”
“Good thing I brought mine,” I deadpan. She actually laughs—really laughs—and it hits something in my chest.
We start filling in the schedule. We talk through Aubrey wanting to try those drop-in youth league practices, my practice blocks, Kate’s new hours at the gym and the rink, my road games, the nights Noah can help out, and the mornings Hannah’s free.
By the time we finish, it looks less like a battle plan and more like a normal life. I can actually live with that.
When the grid is full, Oakley taps the box for next Saturday. “Little Volts Day,” she says. “They asked if you’d ref the snowball toss.”
“That sounds like an abuse of power.”
“Think of the chaos,” she counters.
I pretend to weigh it, then nod. “For my girls, I’ll risk it.”
Her expression softens at the words. She doesn’t question it anymore; she takes it the way I meant it and tucks it somewhere safe.
I check the locks with just my eyes. The sensors blink steady. Outside, a car rolls past, tires hissing over wet pavement.
“You coming?” Oakley calls from the hallway, her voice low and warm.
“Yeah.” I turn off the kitchen light, and the room settles into an easy darkness. “Right behind you.”
I follow her down the hall and think about what’s left for us to do: finish smoothing out the edges, say the things we mean, show up the way we promised, and keep doing it. None of it is complicated. It’s just the work that matters.
This is our house. Our family. And the rest is ours to build.