Chapter 9 Silas
Silas
Walking through the front door of the Slater house is as familiar as lacing up my skates.
The faint, familiar scent of citrus cleaner hits first. The low hum of the ceiling fan that’s probably been running since the early nineties pushes the smells throughout the house and open windows.
It’s the same as always, and yet, a slight tension hangs in the air.
Like even the walls of this house know Oakley Kate and I can’t avoid each other forever.
Noah abandons me the first chance he gets, sneaking into the kitchen to swipe whatever dessert smells so good. I catch myself scanning the kitchen and hallway for a flash of blonde hair with colored ends.
Instead, Mrs. Slater steps around the kitchen entrance. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you holding up without your shadow?” she asks softly.
Honestly, I hate that I’ve kept Aubrey a secret from Oakley, mostly because it isn’t fair to this saint of a woman who has helped in too many ways to count since this guardianship journey began.
“Hating every second of it,” I grumble. Apparently, I’m still frustrated. “She’s having fun with Hannah, though.”
“As much as you hate it as a parent, it’s good for her to get that interaction.
I remember how tough it was to let the kids out of my sight after we lost their daddy.
” She briefly squeezes my arm before stepping back.
Then, with a nod to the living room, she adds, “Try not to let the stress consume you. Oaks is in there.”
She disappears into the kitchen, and if the scolding that follows is any clue, Noah’s been caught red-handed in the cookie jar. I take a breath and brace myself for whatever comes next.
There is no preparing my heart for seeing her. She’s kicked back in the old recliner, looking equal parts nervous and happy.
“Hey, Kate.”
“Hey, yourself.” Her voice is soft, tentative, but I can tell she put effort into her appearance.
Her braid is a little messy at the ends, like she gave up halfway through, and the thin line of black along her lashes makes her eyes look brighter than before.
It’s nothing fancy—still just Oakley Kate—but it's everything to me.
The girl only gets “fixed up” if she wants someone to notice. The same girl who used to steal her brothers’ clothes because they were more comfortable, who always preferred dirt and sweat to makeup and hairspray. She only plaits her hair or adds eyeliner when she wants to be seen.
She’s silly for thinking she needs any of that. She’s too beautiful to miss.
“How’s the ankle?” I ask as I settle onto the couch closest to her, scanning her face for any sign of pain. A lifetime of high-level sports makes it second nature.
“How’s yours?” she fires back, a blonde eyebrow arched knowingly.
I tilt my head, thinking back to our encounter at the store. I’m almost positive I didn’t mention it to her. Her plump, pink lips tilt upward—half smirk, half challenge.
“Slight hobble in your stride when you walked away earlier gave it away. And you had most of your weight shifted to your right side instead of your usual balanced stance. Not bad enough to classify as a full-on sprain—you wouldn’t risk your coach’s wrath by walking on it—but bad enough you probably need a new tape job. ”
The four-letter curse is out of my mouth before I can stop it, but the soft giggle it elicits makes it worth it.
Damn. I forgot how sexy it is when she reads me like that. Although, right now I’d rather she didn’t.
Since, you know, we aren’t together.
“Foot,” she says, and there is no mistaking the command lacing the single word. She slides closer, rearranging her legs so her right one stays up. “Tape, kind sir,” she adds, patting her lap.
She doesn’t give me a chance to argue. Before I can react, she lifts my foot and discards my slide and sock to tenderly and expertly examine my ankle. Not surprising since she was one of the best in her class.
“You ever miss being an athletic trainer?”
“Yes and no,” she says without giving anything away. “How’s the rotation? Any joint pain?”
My pulse skyrockets, and I pray she can’t feel it in my foot. “Joint’s fine. Mostly just a little discomfort on the outside where it rolled,” I admit before handing over the roll of stretch tape.
As she peels the previous tape job off none-too-gently, I know she’s getting a kick out of my quiet discomfort. She always has had a dark sense of humor.
“Think you could leave some hair on my leg? ” I joke through the sting of more adhesive ripping away leg hairs—and maybe some skin as well.
Once she has all the old tape off and inspects the ankle again, she tears fresh strips as muscle memory takes over. When she places my heel in the center and folds strips up and around, pulling tight on a few, I realize it’s almost identical to how Liam wrapped it.
When she secures the last piece, she glances up, and I watch as she finally allows herself to look at me.
I find myself leaning forward slightly, my foot still in her lap. Her delicate hands seem tiny compared to my size-thirteen foot, but we always were a sight together, especially in my gear. Her five-foot-nine has nothing on my barefoot six-foot-four.
When her eyes settle on mine as her fingers trace lightly along my leg, it takes everything in me not to lean forward and breathe her in, taste her lips. I bet she still tastes like minted honey.
A clanking of dishes followed by Noah’s string of curses breaks the moment. Oakley Kate is the first to look away, a slight blush covering her cheeks, and I use the moment to adjust myself in my pants all the while praying she doesn’t notice.
She clears her throat twice before looking up at me through thick lashes. “Did you bring an ice wrap? There’s still a little heat.”
I should look away. Remove my foot from her lap. Something.
Instead, I let her continue to torture me. I’m a glutton for punishment. She could do anything to me if it means she’ll keep touching me.
Okay, maybe I am a little touch starved.
“Um, yeah. Noah brought it in.”
“Noah! Bring me the ice packs!”
“How do you ask?” he shoots back without coming this direction.
He’s lucky he can’t see the look on his sister’s face.
“Bring ice packs, now?”
Mrs. Slater’s snort of laughter at her oldest and youngest’s bickering covers Noah’s exasperated sigh. I hear the freezer door open and close before two ice wraps are flying overhead, nearly pelting us both.
“Damn, dude. Work on the aim,” I snap with more fire than intended. “Your sister can’t exactly beat your ass right now, but I can.”
“You’re both fine, you big pansy. A gel pack isn’t going to hurt if it hits you,” says the guy begging for a knock upside the head.
Oakley struggles to keep a straight face as she puts her hands on her hips. “Hey, I’m a delicate little flower.”
“You’re full of shit is what you are,” Noah shoots back.
Oakley sticks her tongue out at him, and for a second it feels like old times. Before life threw us every nightmare imaginable and everything fell apart.
“I’m a perfect little angel. Just ask Mama.”
This time, I can’t hold in the huff of laughter at her deadpan delivery. “Angel of mass destruction, maybe.”
“Wouldn’t that be weapon of mass destruction?”
“That, too. Especially during her time of the month.”
“Noah!”
“Oakley!”
Mrs. Slater finally steps in, dish cloth thrown over her shoulder.
“Okay, you two. Play nice or I’ll withhold the peach cobbler and send the rest home with Silas.
” She pretends to huff, but the joy on her face is undeniable.
“Swear you three are still ages twelve and sixteen, trying to drive me to the nut house.”
Both siblings mumble a yes ma’am before Oakley finishes with my ankle. As the other two return to the kitchen—and by the sounds of clattering utensils, start setting the table—the silence thickens.
As she reels her emotions back in, I can’t handle it any longer. With a nudge to her uninjured leg, I wait for her meet my eyes. She smiles, but it’s forced, and she looks away just as quickly.
“What’s going on, Kates?” I ask softly, careful not to alert the others. She clearly doesn’t want her brother to hear whatever it is.
Too bad for her, I’m a nosy bastard when it comes to her well-being.
“Nothing,” she says too quickly, too upbeat.
“You forget I know you better than anyone. What gives?”
Oakley holds her breath for a few moments before slowly letting it out and looking away. Her voice is a mere whisper as she says, “I quit my job.”
“You what?” I hiss before glancing around to make sure no one else heard. “I thought you loved flying.”
“I like…liked…it, I guess.”
“What changed?”
“I’m just done,” she says. “It was filling a void, but my heart was never truly in it.” Her inability to look at me as she says it sets off every protective instinct I’ve got. Something about her answer doesn’t sit right, but now isn’t the time to push.
“Who else knows?”
“Jett,” she whispers.
Hell. Poor Jett better be good at keeping secrets, or Noah might blow a gasket.
Feeling the need to change the subject, I decide it is time to bite the bullet. She told me her secret. It’s only fair I tell her mine…right?
“I have custody of Aubrey Lynn.”