Chapter 19
Silas
Istruggle with the need to wipe out every imbecile who made my girl cry.
Damn it, Silas. Not your girl.
My heart is still pounding at my unintentional admission of love. I still can’t get that deer in the headlights look out of my head or the way the air shifted as soon as the words left my mouth. I try not to think too hard about why I said them.
The why is understandable, at least to me. We were both drowning in unearned guilt and grief. The ice became my therapy as I pushed to become unstoppable, but hearing Oakley Kate admit how she felt all those years ago cracks something in my chest.
She still came to my games back then, but she wouldn’t sit with the other WAGs. Didn’t hang out with the team. I thought the distance was normal, just her way of coping. Finally hearing what was really going through her head, I can’t believe how blind I was.
Unable to keep that protective streak buried, I carefully slide her into my lap and wrap my arms around her, tucking her head under my chin. The instinct to keep her safe is now driving the bus. If I can just hold her, maybe all the bad will disappear.
Her breath stutters before evening out as I kiss the top of her head again. She sniffles once before whispering, “Stop being so nice.”
“As opposed to what, exactly?”
“A few days ago, we couldn’t have a normal conversation without getting weirded out. Now, I’m literally in your lap in a dark room talking about our feelings. That isn’t odd to you?”
I shrug but keep a steady hold on her. “Maybe it should be, but it isn’t. This has always been us when we don’t fight it, Kates. It’s why we worked so well back then,” I whisper, the words coming out more intimately than I intend.
I never stopped loving her. I never stopped wanting to protect her. Never stopped keeping tabs on her whereabouts.
Maybe that’s why I don’t push her away when she tilts her chin up and kisses the stubble along my jaw. Maybe it’s the desperation in her eyes, or maybe it’s mine. Or maybe it’s the simple truth that I’ve always belonged to her.
I lose myself in her gentle touch, her fingers trailing over my shoulders and down my chest. My hips instinctively rock up into her as she kisses me again, lingering this time.
I groan when that soft whimper escapes her, my hands sliding to her hips, to the curve of her ass, the familiar weight fitting perfectly in my palms. She shifts, rocking against me, and I swear I forget how to breathe. “You’re playing a dangerous game right now, Kates.”
“Who says I’m playing,” she whispers against my throat.
The words hit like a puck to the ribs as reality crashes back in.
“Kates. Kates. Oakley. We can’t do this right now,” I manage, trying to keep my voice even as I ease her back. And the second the words are out, I know I’ve screwed up. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
Too late. The walls slam back into place behind her eyes. She’s already pulling away.
“Oakley Kate,” I plead.
“No!” she snaps before drawing a shaky breath, her shoulders nearly up to her ears. “You’re right. We can’t do this,” she whispers as she motions between the two of us without looking my way. “I’m sorry I let it go that far.”
It takes everything in me not to reach for her as she stands. Not to pull her close and beg her to stay. But the rigid set of her jaw and the way her hands flex on the crutches say she’s seconds from either swinging at me or bolting.
She hobbles toward the door, struggling with every uneven step, and it reignites the anger simmering in my chest—at her boss, at her pain, at the whole damn world for letting her hurt.
“Let me get Rooks back over here so I can drive you,” I say as I follow her to the porch.
She shakes her head as she nearly stumbles down the front steps. “It’s two streets over. I’ve got it.”
That is where my patience dies.
My hand slams against the screen door before it can close. “Damn it, Oakley Kate. Quit being so damn stubborn for two minutes!”
Her feet stop for just a moment, but much like the last time she walked away from me, the girl of my dreams doesn’t look back as she leaves.
The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is deafening. I press my palms to the counter, staring at the dark reflection in the glass.
Frustration and worry claw their way up my neck as I glance between the upstairs hallway where my baby sister is nestled into her pile of stuffies and the front door where the girl of my dreams just walked out.
If I could turn off my protective instincts, now would be the ideal time. As much as I want to shut out the last ten minutes, I need to know that my girl gets home safe. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I dial Rooks and pray he is still in the area.
He answers with a deep-bellied chuckle. “I was sure you guys would be too busy to miss me, man.”
“You still in the area?” I ask without preamble.
Rooker’s laughter cuts quick, replaced by the quiet efficiency that makes him so dangerous on the ice. “She left?”
“Yeah.”
I hear his directional click a few times before he says, “I’ll be there in five. Want me to come sit with Aubs or follow your girl?”
Voltage fans over the years have labeled Rooker as the goofy one, the trickster, but they don’t get to see the best friend, the leader he is on and off the ice. I might wear the C, but he wears the A for the same reason.
“As much as I’d like to go after Oakley, I know she’d be more likely to take her chances sprinting on a bum ankle than to get in a vehicle with me,” I say.
“I’ll text you when I drop her off.”
“Thanks, brother.”
The call ends, and I’m left wondering if shutting down whatever happened in the theater room was worth the outcome.
A squeaky step and my sister’s sleepy voice draw my attention back to the stairs.
“Bubba?” Aubrey peers around the banister, her hair a tangled mess and tear stains on her cheeks.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say gently, already knowing which nightmare pulled her from sleep.
She avoids my eyes, her bottom lip trembling.
“Same one?” I ask as she lets me guide her back to her room. She nods when I pull the blankets back. I tuck her in and lean against the headboard while she curls into my side, a glittery unicorn with ice skates hiding her face and the tears she doesn’t want me to see.
A shaky breath slips through her lips before she sniffs and peeks up at me through long lashes. “This time, you’re the one who left me,” she whispers.
My hand cups her head against my chest while the other rubs soothing circles along her back. Whether I’m doing it to soothe her or myself, I don’t know.
This is why I told Oakley we couldn’t do anything. I knew it was only a matter of time before Aubrey crawled into my bed to hide or pulled me to guard her bed. Hopefully, she will give me a chance to explain once she cools off.
Aubrey’s nightmares have lessened over the last several months, but this one—the one where her mother drops her off at my door, hands her my spare key, and tells her to “stay put until your brother gets home” before driving away—hits her at least once a week.
Voltage was playing a road series in New York.
Aubrey was left to fend for herself for more than forty-eight hours before I came home and found her under my bed with a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of water.
Since then, I have installed every ounce of security that I can, including video doorbells and cameras on every corner of the house.
There are even a few inside, hitting any blind spots a friend of mine who specializes in security found.
Is it overkill? Maybe. But if I’d had any of it installed back then, I would have been able to do something sooner. Instead, I spend most nights consoling a little girl with a heart too big for this world.
“I will never leave you, little one. I love you more than you know.”
She peeks up at me. “Even more than hockey?”
“So much more than hockey,” I say honestly. And as her breathing evens out again, I stare at the ceiling, the weight of that truth pressing down. I love the game—the rush, the brotherhood, the ice. But this?
This is family, and the more nights like this we have, the harder it is to pretend that the hockey alone can give my life meaning.