Chapter 34
Oakley Kate
The house is quiet hours after dinner, but the storm that’s been building tension in Silas's shoulders has only gotten worse.
He’s pretending it hasn't, pacing from room to room, checking locks that don’t need checking.
When he finally disappears upstairs, I wait a few minutes before following.
Aubrey’s door is half-open, the soft glow of her night-light spilling across the hall. She’s sprawled sideways on the bed, one leg hanging off, her unicorn clutched tight against her chest.
Peaceful. Completely unaware that someone out there wants to ruin it.
I settle onto the floor outside her room, back to the wall, my good leg stretched, the boot kicked to the side. From here, I can still see her breathing, still remind myself she’s safe.
My phone buzzes quietly with a text from Silas.
Hotshot: You still up?
Oakley: Sitting guard duty. She’s fine. You should sleep.
A pause, then:
Hotshot: Can’t. I keep seeing him in my head.
Oakley: Then let me see him first. I’ll handle it.
He doesn’t reply, but I picture his half smile—the one that’s equal parts gratitude and disbelief.
I rest my head against the wall and whisper into the dark, “He’s not taking her, Si. Not now. Not ever.”
For a long moment, the house hums with the steady rhythm of Aubrey’s breathing and the faint creak of Silas’s footsteps down the hall.
This is the family we built from the wreckage.
And I’ll burn the world to keep it safe.
The morning starts quiet. Silas left before dawn for a two-game road series in Jacksonville, his gear bag slung over one shoulder, his goodbye pressed soft against my hair.
I pretended to still be half-asleep so I wouldn’t ask him to stay.
He wouldn’t have anyway—not with the team short-benched—but the words would’ve made leaving harder for both of us.
Now the house hums differently. No clatter of his mug against the counter. No low voice humming along to the radio while he braids Aubrey’s hair. Just the creak of the floorboards and the hum of the fridge, steady and indifferent.
I pour coffee and stare out the window. Frost clings to the edges of the porch, melting in slow rivulets down the railing. The sky looks thin, washed in that winter gray that makes everything feel too still.
Aubrey’s still in pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the floor with crayons spread across the rug. She hums under her breath, a tune that might be from one of the team’s goal songs.
“Eat before the crayons,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “Cereal again?”
“It’s Saturday,” I remind her. “Cereal is tradition.”
“Tradition is boring.”
“Then I guess we’re boring.”
She grins. “You’re boring. I’m awesome.”
I laugh quietly. “Can’t argue with that.”
It feels almost normal. But normal doesn’t sit right anymore. It’s like living in a house where someone keeps knocking after you barricade the door. You tell yourself it’s the wind or just a coincidence, but deep down, you know better.
After breakfast, we start our version of hide and seek.
It’s like the normal version, except our version is about safety, about teaching her what to do if something ever goes wrong.
It was never meant to be needed, but Silas wanted an easy way to make sure he could get Aubrey away from her mother if he ever needed to.
“Best three out of five?” she asks, eyes sparkling.
“Deal,” I say, even though she always wins.
She darts off down the hall, socked feet barely making a sound.
I count slow, just loud enough for her to hear. “One…two…three…”
The air shifts on four. A faint metallic click sounds near the door. It could be the gate or the scrape of something against the porch.
I freeze, listening.
Nothing.
“Five…six…” My pulse stutters. “Seven,” I whisper, quieter now.
It’s probably just the wind. Maybe the old latch on the porch railing is sticking again. That’s all.
“Nine…ten.” I move through the living room, calling softly, “Ready or not…”
Silence answers. Usually, she giggles. This time, nothing.
“Aubs?”
A floorboard groans in the hallway. I follow the sound, my hand brushing the wall for balance.
Then the doorbell rings once, twice.
I frown, my gut officially feeling justified in its panic. The mail already came today, and we don’t have any deliveries scheduled. I peek through the window beside the door, praying to see the neighbor’s kid selling fundraiser candy or something.
But it isn’t.
Brian Harrison stands on the other side of the door like he owns the place.
For a heartbeat, I don’t move. My brain refuses to process the shape of him here, the way the morning light cuts along his jaw, the slicked-back hair, the calm tilt of his mouth that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He smiles as he sees me through the window, slow and deliberate. “Hey, little lady.”
My throat goes dry. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“That’s not how you say hello to family.”
“You’re not family.” I keep my voice low, steady. My hand hovers over the lock, making sure it’s engaged.
“Come on now.” His tone is too sweet, like he isn’t accustomed to being civil. “Just wanted to talk since it didn’t seem like my calls were getting the point across.”
“Because there’s nothing to say.”
“Funny. I think there’s plenty. Like how my daughter’s been living with a woman who has no legal right to her.”
My pulse roars in my ears. “You don’t either.”
Behind me, the hallway creaks, and I barely catch it—the faintest glint of motion as Aubrey peeks from her hiding spot near Silas’s room.
Our game. She remembers. I don’t turn my head. Don’t give her away.
“Leave,” I say quietly. “Before I call the police.”
“Police?” His smile twists. “You think I’m scared of that small town badge club you call a department?”
“I think you should be.”
He steps closer, hand resting on the doorframe. “I’m just trying to make sure she’s safe,” he says. “The world’s dangerous, miss. You never know what kind of people you’re bringing around a kid.”
“Like you?”
His eyes flash. “Watch it.”
I plant my hand on the edge of the door, the one barrier still between us. “You don’t get to talk about safety. You lost that privilege when you walked out on your first kid.”
He sighs, all mock patience. “You think you’re protecting her. But you’re not. You’re teaching her to hide. To be afraid. That’s on you.”
Every word hits where he wants, but I know his game. Men like him—men like my old boss—make others doubt themselves, make them feel small, and twist their fear into guilt until they can’t tell the difference.
But men like him don’t deserve to win.
“Get off my porch, Brian.”
He tilts his head. “Silas isn’t here, is he? Saw the team post online. Two-game road trip.”
My stomach drops. He’s been watching.
“How long have you been following us?”
He smiles again, soft and cruel. “Long enough to know that little girl really likes glitter.”
That’s what breaks me. Not the threat, not the manipulation—that. He shouldn’t know that. His voice seeps through the closed door as I drag the entryway table in front of it.
“You think this ends with you closing a door?”
I grab my phone with shaking hands. Thorn’s contact sits at the top of my recent calls. I hit it knowing Silas is probably on the ice.
He answers on the first ring. “Kates?”
“He’s here.”
“Lock yourself in a room. Now.”
I barely hear him over the pounding in my ears.
From the hall—another creak. Aubrey.
“Hide and seek,” I whisper, forcing air into my lungs. “Remember the rules, baby. Don’t come out until someone says the word.”
Her small voice trembles from down the hall. “Kate?”
“Shh.” I press my back to the door. “You’re doing perfect.”
Brian’s voice outside grows sharper. “You’re making a mistake. You can’t keep her from me forever.”
I don’t answer. I don’t move. The sound of his boots on the porch boards feels like thunder in my chest.
Then—silence.
A long, terrible silence. And then the sound of retreating footsteps fading toward the drive.
I stay frozen until I hear the distant wail of sirens.
Only then do my legs give out. I sink against the counter, breath coming in ragged gasps that burn my throat.
Flashing red and blue spill across the walls.
When the knock comes again, I flinch but try to pull myself together as I push the table out of the way.
Two officers step inside, their voices calm as they scan the room.
But all I can think about is getting to the other side of the room and pulling my little girl into my arms and never letting go.