Chapter 11 Oakley Kate
Oakley Kate
“The smell of absolute deliciousness in this little diner is enough to classify as a food-gasm, and you will never convince me otherwise,” I whisper louder than I should as Silas and I settle into a booth—our booth—at the back of the hole-in-the-wall diner.
He positions himself to have a view of both the entrance and the kitchen, something new I noticed last night, too.
Not that he stared at our front door, but that he was more aware of his surroundings.
I still don’t know if this is a good idea or a completely stupid one, but I’ll take what time I can get with him before he hits the ice tomorrow. With the home opener so close, his schedule will leave little time for chitchat.
“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite Steele Valley natives,” says the lifelong gossiper and owner of this little gem, Mrs. Sally Harper. She’s older, probably somewhere in her late-sixties, but she’s been a constant in our lives since we were old enough to sneak away from our parents.
“Hey, Mrs. Harper,” we say together, and I can already see the wheels turning. Everyone on this street is about to know we were spotted sharing a meal. They’ll keep it away from the nosy media types, but the ones who watched us grow up will know.
“You two don’t know how much good the sight of y’all sitting in this booth does for my old heart,” she says, a toothy grin filling her face as she pulls a pen from her apron and scribbles what looks like nonsense before tearing it off and laying it face down.
“Both of you done grown up and forgot about me, I reckon.”
“Never, ma’am,” Silas says, that cute up-to-no-good smirk present. “We love you too much to forget about you.”
“You big suck up. More like you love my food too much.”
“That, too.” He offers her a cheeky grin as she pretends to whack him on the head with her notepad.
“I’ll put in an order for the Ladybug Special. Food’ll be out soon.”
As she walks away, my ears burn. Why? Because Mrs. Harper just put in our specialty breakfast. When we were kids, I’d always order pancakes with strawberries and blueberries on top. Silas had a habit of preparing my food, even then.
“You know that isn’t on the menu,” I mumble.
“Of course, it isn’t. I made it up on one of those days where you were too sad to eat.
Said it was a ladybug because I didn’t know how to make my Katibug into a pancake picture.
” He snorts a laugh before fidgeting with the sugar rack.
I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me or just processing the fact that Mrs. Harper still remembers that order.
I finally get impatient with the silence. “So…how’s preseason going?”
Lame. So lame. What even was that?
He chuffs a laugh. “It’s not,” he says, still reorganizing the sugar and Splenda packets. “Thorn’s probably going to move me to a different line this season since I can’t seem to get my shit together.”
“He won’t risk moving you. You are that team. I watched every game last season, and they’re nothing without you and Rooker on the ice.”
“Not with how I’ve been practicing lately. Be grateful you’ve missed the last several practices. My reaction times have been slower than last spring, and I’ve given up the puck more this training camp season than I did the entire regular season last year.” He flicks a sugar packet back and forth.
Without thinking, I reach out and slap it to the table, drawing Silas’s attention back to me. Forcing him to actually look at me instead of hiding behind distractions.
It takes a moment for him to glance up, and I use the time to study him, taking in the dark puffiness under his eyes, the stress lines that weren’t there the last time I saw him in person, and the overwhelming weight of exhaustion that clings to him.
My heart breaks at the realization that he’s been trying to do this all on his own.
“Silas, baby.” My voice waivers, the endearment slipping out on its own. As my hand grasps his over the sugar packet, he clears his throat and glances toward the kitchen area, his head already shaking at me. I lean in to keep his eyes on mine. “What can I do to help?”
The sigh he releases holds so much weight. How has no one stepped in yet?
How did I not notice?
I want to smack myself for that thought. I didn’t notice because I’ve distanced myself. Sure, I cheer him on and I talk to Aubrey when I can, but I don’t talk to him…not really. My heart couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I didn’t bring you to breakfast to ask for your help, Kates,” he grumbles, still avoiding my eyes.
“What do you mean? I thought the point was to talk about Aubrey? You need help when the season starts. That’s what Noah implied.”
“Course he did.” He shakes his head. “I’ve got it handled, Kates. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t give me a straight answer last night. Don’t try to tell me everything is fine. Something more is going on. Something you haven’t told them yet.”
Damn him for being able to read me so well.
One of the waitresses appears with our plates, and the sight of a pancake with strawberries and blueberries positioned to look like a ladybug takes me back to a simpler time.
Back before pro hockey contracts and miscarriages and talks of weddings and big fenced yards with wraparound porches and a hammock swing off the corner to watch both the sunrise and the sunset.
As the waitress steps away, Silas drizzles syrup over my plate and cuts the pancake into bite-sized strips.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I ask, giggling softly at his obsessive need to take care of me.
You don’t just turn off a lifetime of memories and love when you break up with the love of your life. It doesn’t work that way. Might be easier if it did.
“Why’d you quit, Oakley?” he asks as he slides my plate back and hands me the utensils.
“Ah, the government name comes out. Must be serious, yeah?”
Maybe I take a tiny bit of pride in the exasperated look on his face.
Just a smidge.
He places one of his giant hands over mine as I go to take a bite. It looks so yummy.
The food, not his hand.
Well…maybe both.
“I’m worried about you.”
And just like that, the fantasy building in my head shatters as irritation bubbles up.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Baggy Eyes.”
He lifts a brow as he fights the smirk tugging at his lips. “Mr. Baggy Eyes?”
“Shut it,” I mumble.
“Clearly, we’re both terrible at this.”
“What, life?” I snap my eyes up to his as my ears turn hot. “Oops. Sorry. Just me on that one.”
“God, I missed your sass,” Silas says.
I sigh, sinking into the booth as I finally take a bite of syrupy, fruity goodness, nearly moaning as the maple, buttermilk, and berries explode on my tongue.
I realize too late my eyes have closed and those sounds actually escaped.
When I blink, Silas is staring at my lips, his gaze tracking the tip of my tongue as I lick away the excess syrup and strawberry from the fork.
When I do the whole thing again, he finally glances away, shifting in his seat. “You’re fanning the flame, Kates,” he says. “And trying to change the subject.”
“I’m fine.”
“Worst four-letter word in the world.”
“I quit. So, what?”
“So, what?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly as frustration seeps out. He glances around before softening his tone. “You have a bum ankle, you quit your job, and you didn’t tell your overprotective brothers. What are you hiding from?”
It’s my turn to look away.
I don’t want to talk about it. About how I allowed some jerk to get the upper hand.
“It just…I needed a change.”
His gray eyes study me, searching for a crack in my armor. “Is it wrong that I want you to be honest with me, even though I have no right to ask?”
“Silas.” I damn near whimper his name, unable to handle the weight of his gaze. How many times can I beat myself up before it actually sticks?
“I can’t bear to see you hurting.”
“Ditto.”
He shakes his head, those dirty blond curls ruffling in the process. “Did you get hurt before or after you quit? Workman’s comp?”
Sinking against the back of the booth again, I shake my head. Suddenly, food doesn’t sound as appetizing. “Got hurt roughly seven minutes after I told my boss where he could stick it. Then the escalator tried to eat my toe. Heard the pop before I felt it, then called Jett.”
“Explains why you didn’t tell Noah. Does it need surgery?”
“God, I hope not. I have an appointment with an ortho on Tuesday.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ll get our team ortho’s info from Liam. His group is the best of the best.”
“No handouts, Silas. Seriously,” I say. “I’m good with the one urgent care referred me to.” Am I lying through my teeth? You bet your ass I am. Based on the arched brow from the swoony athlete across from me, he knows it, too.
I’m saved by the bell—or ring, I guess—as his phone lights up with Aubrey’s smiling face.
I snag it off the table before he can grab it and swipe my thumb across the screen to accept the video call.
When her face appears, some of the worry that’s been building since finding out they’ve been struggling eases.
“Hey, baby girl,” I say, making sure the only emotion she can see is my joy.
“Kates!” The view on the screen tumbles, and a thump sounds before her round, rosy face appears again. “What are you doing with Bubba’s phone? You’re here?”
It takes everything in me not to glance at the hulking man across from me, but I can feel his eyes on me.
“If by here, you mean Steele Valley, then yeah, hon. I’m here. Coming with your brother to pick you up in just a little bit and everything. How’s that sound?”
“This weekend just gets better and better,” she squeals, and both Silas and I laugh along with her excited giggles.
I glance up, expecting Silas’s eyes to be on the screen.
Instead, his eyes are locked on me, some terrifyingly beautiful emotion on his face.
My views on parenthood are skewed—I get that—but the look on Silas’s face as he watches me talk to his little sister, his kid, like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen?
Oof. There goes my heart skipping another beat.
“Your head is doing that funny tilt thing it does when you’re staring at Bubba, Kate. Are you giving him googly eyes again?”
Yep. That shatters the moment. Silas snorts into his glass of water before slipping the phone out of my hand and turning it away from me to study the screen.
“Are you still with Hannah, or did you go to the rink with Thorn? I can’t tell where you are,” he says.
“At the rink. Can I hit the ice for a little while? My pivots still need work if I’m going to go pro in a few years.”
Were either of us this sure of ourselves when we were nine? I know I wasn’t.
Silas huffs a laugh while rubbing at the spot between his brows then shakes his head. “You’re nine, Aubrey.”
“I know. I need to go ahead and make a name for myself. Prove girls can rule the ice, too.”
My eyes water at the sheer conviction in her tone.
Silas owes me the full story of what’s going on, because this girl deserves the world and more.
Unless that woman is doing jail time for something, she’s going to meet my fist. Or at least an open palm.
Maybe some hair pulling? Something. I’ll figure out what later.
Silas must note the murderous intent in my eyes and decides it’s best to keep it away from Aubrey, because he pulls the phone further away from me.
“You can skate if the team isn’t practicing. You know I don’t like you on the ice when pucks are flying.”
A male voice drifts through the speaker, and I recognize Thorn Cason’s deep timber. “It’s just speed drills, Harrison.”
Silas rolls his eyes, which causes another giggle from the little one. “Pads and helmet. Have Thorn double-check your laces,” he warns.
“Ugh. You’re so overprotective.”
“I’ve got her, man. We all do.” At Thorn’s confirmation, Silas finally exhales, some of the tension releasing from his shoulders.
“We’ll be there after we finish up here. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, Bubba. Love you, Kate.”
When he ends the call, he settles back into his seat, hands clasped in his lap. “Are you okay to hang out for a little while? How’s your pain level?”
“It’s fine,” I start then laugh at the look forming on his face. “Honestly, I’m good. I’d love to watch her skate for a bit if it doesn’t mess up your plans.”
“You mean sitting on the couch while Aubrey paints my nails or tries to braid my hair again?”
“Is it wrong I’m imagining that now?”
“Yes, yes, it is.”
“Might be sexy.”
“Might be embarrassing,” he shoots back, cheeks going pink.
“Awe. I bet if she asked, you’d let her and wear it to the rink.”
He nods while stacking all of our trash and dishes on top of each other.
“I would. She’s got me wrapped around her finger, and she knows it.
” His voice softens, almost proud. “She’s been begging to join the local youth team, but it’s hard getting her to practices and games during our season.
The guys help keep her involved when we’re home. ”
Pressing to my feet and grabbing my crutches, I start for the door. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go watch our girl out skate some pros.”