Chapter 25
Silas
Oakley sleeps the entire trip back to my house.
We’d planned to move her in once she could get around better, but the second she went under anesthesia, something in me snapped. My instincts had been roaring that I needed her closer, where I could keep an eye on her.
Noah and Mrs. Slater had agreed. My house’s open layout made more sense than hers for recovery. Especially since she’d be moving in soon, anyway.
Now, here’s hoping she doesn’t hate me for doing it without asking.
Noah puts his truck in park and glances at me over the console. “You sure about this, man? You’ll have both of us in your space, and you know Mom and Jett will be dropping by.”
I don’t know if it’s the memory of her last procedure nine years ago or just the sight of her pale and still in that hospital bed, but the thought of her being out of reach again makes my chest feel like it’s caving in.
“I need her here,” I say simply.
He nods, understanding more than I’m saying, and climbs out.
As he grabs Oakley’s bag from the back seat, I unbuckle her and lift her gently against my chest. Her hands fist into the front of my shirt, her face pressed into the curve of my neck.
But she doesn’t wake—not even as I carry her through the front door and into my room.
I prop her foot on the decorative pillows that interior designers swear by, knowing she’ll hate that detail when she wakes up. And I know immediately I’ve made a mistake, because seeing her in my bed wrecks me. She looks right here. Like she belongs here.
I start to back away quietly, but she stirs with a soft groan, her hand patting the sheets like she’s searching for something. When she doesn’t find it, her eyes fly open, wild with panic.
I’m there in a heartbeat, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “You’re fine, Oakley. Just a dream.”
“Never just a dream,” she mumbles, voice thick.
“Maybe not,” I whisper, “but you’re safe. Surgery went well. Your mom and Aubrey are making chicken noodle soup. They’ll bring it later tonight. Just rest, okay?”
She burrows deeper into the comforter—my comforter—and I swear she sniffs it before pulling it tighter around herself.
When I head back to the kitchen, Noah’s already organizing her meds and discharge papers on the counter. He shoots me a look.
“What?”
“You really think this is a good idea?”
“You’re the one who set it up for me to ask her to help,” I remind him.
“I told you to ask her to nanny. Not move in post-surgery so you can play Doctor Daddy.”
“I cannot believe I’m discussing this with you,” I mutter, pulling meal-prep containers from the freezer and double-checking that all the ice packs are ready to rotate.
“You know she needs control,” he says, leaning on the counter. “You just took that away. You think she’s gonna take it lying down?”
I start slicing chicken for a stir-fry, trying to keep my voice calm. “If she’s really pissed, I’ll take her back to your mom’s.”
His smirk is pure brotherly taunt. “Those overprotective alpha instincts gonna allow that?”
“If she’s not comfortable here,” I say evenly, “then yes.”
Noah nods, accepting that for now. “You think you’ll actually get her to eat this healthy crap?”
I huff out a laugh. “Aubrey loves it. I tweak the seasoning, add flavor. Your sister needs less sugar and caffeine in her bloodstream.”
“Good luck convincing her of that.”
“The trick is dicing all the healthy pieces into tiny bits and mixing them in with the parts she likes,” I say as I continue to work.
Noah chuckles. “Well, if you’ve got things under control, I’m gonna check on Mom before heading back for Jett and Sadie. We’ll bring Oakley’s car tomorrow. Jett plans to hang around a bit, too.”
I grunt in acknowledgment as he heads out then turn back to the counter, cleaning up the cutting board. The quiet settles heavy again until a distinct thunk and a frustrated yell echoes from down the hall.
I grab one of the ice packs and her crutches, already knowing exactly who’s trying—and failing—to escape.
When I step into the bedroom, Oakley’s glaring at me from the middle of my bed, messy hair, eyes blazing, a literal vision of fury and beauty.
“Why am I here?” she snaps, eyes darting around the room until the realization hits. “This isn’t the guest room.”
“My room’s closer to the living area,” I explain, keeping my tone careful. “Bathroom’s one door over. Easier to move around.”
“Why am I at your house instead of my mom’s, Silas?”
Her voice cuts, sharp but shaking at the edges. For half a second, I almost soften it with a lie, but there’s something fragile in her eyes that deserves honesty.
I sit on the far edge of the bed and start gently icing her ankle, keeping my focus there instead of on her face.
“After the way you sounded on the phone, and then seeing you in that recovery room, I couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else.
I know it doesn’t make sense. If you want to go to your mom’s, I’ll drive you. ”
She studies me for a long moment, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Where are you gonna sleep?”
“I’ll take the guest room next to Aubrey’s.”
Her lashes lift, and for just a second, that stubborn mask slips. “I’ll stay.”
“Yeah?”
She nods once, quiet and certain.
I let out a slow breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Good.”
My fingers brush hers as I adjust the ice pack, and her pulse jumps under my touch.
What could go wrong?