Chapter 15 Silas #2
Aubrey’s mom? She had no business raising a child.
I bite my tongue at the awful things I’d like to say, refusing to tarnish the woman to her daughter, and pull Aubrey close.
“Your mom has some issues, but she loves you. In her own way.” At least, I think she does.
Her mom never planned to have kids. Never wanted them.
Then she got pregnant with Aubrey, and our dad bailed on her just like he did on my mom.
Oakley Kate and I did our best to keep her when I was home, but collegiate hockey consumed most of my life.
She’s right, though. Oakley was the one who kept her when I couldn’t. They would have “sleepy parties.” I would come back to our apartment to find them inside a makeshift fort, snuggled in blankets with snacks everywhere and a princess movie on the television.
God, I miss those days. Heartbreak was right around the corner, and I never saw it coming.
Aubrey grunts and grumbles under her breath about annoying big brothers and crummy moms but keeps her thoughts mostly to herself as she starts to spoon chicken into the shells.
“Do you want white cheese or orange cheese tonight?” she asks as she busies herself with building the tacos.
“Orange, please. Can you shred the block, or do you want me to do it?”
“I got it.” She sets about pulling the food processor from under the counter, flipping the disc blade to shred, and letting the machine do all the heavy lifting. “It’s so fluffy when we shred it like this.”
“It’s because there are no anti-clumping agents in the block like there are in the pre-shredded bags at the store. Tastes better, too.”
She shrugs as she pinches a wad of shredded cheese from the container and drops it into her mouth. “What? It’s cheese.”
I chuckle at her cuteness, and we take our plates to the back porch. I turn the fan on as she grabs drinks from the outside fridge.
She tells me about her afternoon with Mrs. Slater and how Oakley bought the bracelet kits just for her.
“Did you see what mine says? It says ‘little bit’ just like you call me.” She holds her wrist close to my face, so much so that I have to lean back to actually read the tiny white-and-black beads.
The letters are woven into red, black, and white threads tied securely around her wrist. There is barely room for extra thread, because her wrist is so tiny.
“I love it, Aubs. You did a great job on it.”
“I can make you one, too.” She suddenly turns bashful, almost timid, as she adds, “If you want one, I mean. It could match your team colors like mine, maybe.”
It’s times like this that the struggle of transitioning into our new normal still shines through.
When we first started on this journey, it was constant shyness, unwilling to tell me what she wanted or what she thought and just agreeing with everything.
Over the last several months, our communication has vastly improved.
But sometimes she’ll ask for something then try to backtrack to avoid being shut down or belittled.
Covering her hand with mine where it rests on the patio table, I try to send all my encouragement into her. “I’d be honored if you made me a bracelet. I can even tuck it into my gear during practices.”
Her eyes light up, and some of her earlier enthusiasm returns to her baby blues, almost the same shade as Kate’s. “I can do it without the beads so they don’t hurt your arm. Kate showed me how to braid the threads into a cool color pattern.”
“I will love whatever you make for me.”
She nods as if my statement is enough, then her thoughts change course. “Is tomorrow another early morning?” she asks as she toys with the taco-saurus.
“Yeah, little bit. Rooker will be here early, but we should be done by lunch.” I watch as her chin drops to her chest, dejected. “Do you want to tag along?”
Relief flashes through her eyes, and I once again question if I’m doing the best thing for her. She’s a good kid. A great one, really. But I hate the idea of her being stuck at rinks and gyms all the time.
“Go ahead and make sure your bookbag and gear bags are ready to go and by the front door.”
“On it!” she says before bolting from her chair and into the kitchen.
I take a sip of my sports drink and wait the few seconds it takes for her to reappear.
“Sorry,” she mumbles as she grabs her plate and takes it inside.
See? Great kid.
“Charge your tablet,” I holler after her as she bounces through the house.
I almost have the mess in the kitchen cleaned up and everything put away when my phone buzzes. Kate’s picture flashes across the screen, and I nearly knock it to the floor in my attempt to answer it.
“Hey, baby girl. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Um, so maybe I don’t really know how to do this whole close proximity friendship thing, but I’m trying to not be impulsive and I could really use one of your hugs.”
She’s obsessing over her doctor’s visit. About the possibility of surgery. I knew it was coming, what with the talk of anesthesia and whatnot, but I honestly expected her to call literally anyone else.
“It’s crashing down on you, huh?”
“Is this karma for quitting a toxic job?” she asks. “I mean, I literally stepped wrong off the escalator minutes after quitting and injured myself bad enough to need surgery.”
The hitch in her voice nearly has me loading Aubrey up and driving back over to the Slater residence.
“Hey, hey. Don’t let this drag you down.”
“That’s—”
“—easier said than done. I know,” I say. “But you are too tough to let this drag you down.”
“I don’t believe you,” she whispers.
“I’ll believe it enough for both of us, then.”
When she remains silent, I kill the lights in each room as I make my way to the bedroom.
I peek in on Aubrey as I pass to make sure she’s out.
It’s nearly nine, and she doesn’t usually stay up late.
She’s snoozing soundly, her squishy pillows in the shapes of awkward-looking animals tucked around her.
I close my bedroom door behind me, leaving it slightly ajar in case Aubrey needs me, and settle against the edge of my king-size bed and listen to Oakley’s panicked breathing.
“Oakley Kate, I want you to listen to me, yeah?”
“Hmm.”
“You will get through this. It’s scary and means you have to depend on others for a while, but you have one of the best support systems I’ve ever seen.”
“It just feels so heavy.”
I sigh quietly into the phone as another hiccup travels down the line, feeling her need to get more than this off her chest.
Oakley Kate has always been a private person, never letting others see her struggle. She is the friend everyone goes to for a laugh, a hug, a pick-me-up, but she has one of the softest hearts and it often gets damaged before she thinks to protect herself.
“Talk to me, Kates. What’s going on behind those baby blues?” I ask softly.
It takes her a minute to respond.
“Can you just…stay on the phone for a bit?”
I grip my lip between my teeth to keep from pressuring her to talk, instead slipping out of my jeans and settling against the headboard in my boxer briefs and henley.
I want to beg her to open up, to tell me what’s eating at her, but that isn’t what she needs right now. “I’m here, Kates. Get some rest.”
I lie awake for far too long, long after her breathing settles. Even when I know she’s fallen asleep, I can’t seem to find it in me to press that red button. Sure, she’ll see the five-hour time stamp if she checks her call log, but that doesn’t faze me.
What does faze me is the two hours of sleep I manage before my alarm goes off at four forty-five. Coach is going to kill me.