Chapter 36
Oakley Kate
It’s been several days since the flashing lights faded from our street, since Lieutenant Reid Cason walked me through the statement line by line while Silas stood behind me like a wall that might finally crumble if anyone so much as looked at me wrong.
And yet here I am, standing in the kitchen without the boot, without crutches, balancing on my own two feet. My ankle protests, a dull ache more stubborn than sharp, but it’s mine again. The freedom of it feels foreign, almost fragile.
The house hums around me: dishwasher running, furnace clicking on because I’m cold-natured and can’t stand when it drops below seventy degrees, the low thump of a hockey game on the living room television.
Aubrey’s laughter spills over the couch every few minutes, high and bright as she and Jett discuss what drinks they should add to The Write Brew’s holiday drink list, and I cling to that sound like proof it is. We survived something real.
Silas is in his element—half in, half out of the house. One second, he’s checking the camera feeds on his phone; the next, he’s at the porch replacing batteries in the sensor lights. I can hear him muttering under his breath about voltage and coverage angles.
He hasn’t really stopped moving since the night it happened.
I pour coffee and step carefully toward the door, bracing one hand on the counter as I test my balance. “You know,” I call, “most people install one security camera, not an entire Fort Knox package.”
He glances up from the steps, sunlight catching in his hair. “Most people don’t have my father showing up uninvited.”
Point for him. Still.
“You’re allowed to breathe, Si.”
“I am breathing.”
“Uh-huh.” I sip my coffee. “Is that what you call sprinting between door sensors?”
He gives me that tight half-smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re supposed to stay off your feet.”
I lift my heel an inch, testing the stretch. “Doctor cleared me for light walking. This counts.”
“You’re pushing it.”
“And you’re hovering.”
The air between us tightens—not sharp, but thick—heavy with everything we haven’t said since the police left.
He wipes his hands on his sweatshirt and leans against the post. “I’m just trying to keep you both safe.”
“I know.” My voice softens before I can stop it. “But safe and sealed off aren’t the same thing.”
By afternoon, the tension settles over the house like one of those weighted blankets, and the quiet makes the walls feel too open.
Silas is on the phone in the office, talking to a lawyer. I hear pieces of his conversation—restraining order, documented incident, pending court date. Each phrase is a piece of the puzzle in getting back to normal. Necessary but still claustrophobic.
I start folding laundry in the living room just to fill the silence. Shirts. Socks. The tiny Voltage-colored hoodie Aubrey wore to the game. It’s something to keep my hands busy.
When Silas hangs up, he doesn’t come out right away. The conversation must’ve gone long; I hear the chair creak, the exhale he tries to hide.
“You okay?” I ask when he finally appears.
He nods, but his jaw is still locked. “The plus side of living in a town where everyone knows everyone else is they’ve already issued a warrant for his arrest thanks to the camera recordings. Lieutenant Cason will go in with the warrant squad to him in person.”
I fold one more towel before looking up. “Good.”
“Yeah.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I still don’t like you being here alone while I’m at practice.”
“I’m not alone. Your entire team drives by several times a day, and the neighbors watch from their window like it’s the town’s new TV channel.”
He doesn’t laugh. “Not the point.”
“It kind of is.” I step closer, slow, careful on my leg. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since coming home, it’s that we can’t stop living just to avoid danger. It’s like calling a game misconduct for minor tripping.”
His eyes lift to mine, gray and storm-tired. “You think I’m overreacting.”
I step closer now, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I think you’re trying not to lose us by holding too tight.”
He exhales, the sound rougher than a sigh. “You get your therapist license overnight?”
“It came free with my crutch rental.”
That earns me a half-second of a grin before it fades.
“I just—” he starts, then stops, like the words jam somewhere between his chest and his throat.
“When Thorn called me to the bench, it felt like my body forgot how to move. I was halfway through a drill while we had the ice, and suddenly nothing mattered but getting home. I keep seeing it, Oakley. Him on our porch. You on the other side of that door.”
I reach out and rest my hand on his chest, right over the spot that never seems to unclench. “He’s not here now.”
“I know.”
“Then let’s start living like it.”
He looks at me for a long time. “You’re really walking without the boot?”
“Mostly. Not far.”
“Show me.”
So I do—two steps, three—awkward but steady. His eyes follow every shift of weight like each one’s a minor miracle. When I stop, he’s close enough that I can smell the soap on his skin, the faint bite of coffee on his breath.
“You’re sure you should be—”
“Silas,” I warn.
He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay.” Then quieter: “It’s just good to see you standing.”
“I was standing before,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but this time you’re not shaking.”
I could argue, but the truth is there in my ankle, solid and sure for the first time in weeks.
That evening, the three of us eat on the porch. Aubrey insisted, said she wanted to “relax under the stars.” The air is crisp, the light fading to that soft gold that makes even the battered porch rails look beautiful.
Aubrey hums while she lines up her chicken nuggets like constellations. Silas keeps scanning the tree line between bites. I watch him instead of the sky.
When Aubrey darts inside for ketchup, I speak low. “You ever get tired of waiting for something bad to happen?”
His fork stills. “Every minute.”
“Then stop waiting.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. We both can. We survived him, Si. He doesn’t get the next chapter.”
He studies me for a long time. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Give me your hands.”
I do as he says, curious as to where this is going, but nearly quit breathing when he slips the ring—his ring—off my right index finger and slides it onto my left ring finger.
“Let’s stop waiting,” he says, his blue eyes boring into mine. He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “This is me renewing my promise to you, Katibug.”
“You’re gonna make me cry,” I say as, sure enough, tears well in the corners of my eyes. “Yes. Whenever you decide to ask for real. The answer is yes.”
Silas lets out a breath as he leans forward and captures my lips with his. The sound of a polaroid camera clicks at the same moment, and I gasp, jumping away. Aubrey is standing a few feet away with her instant film camera, waving the picture between us. “Yay! Now you’re stuck with us!”
I look between the two of them, shocked that he roped her into this. “You sneaky little fox.” Her giggle is precious as I pull her into the space between me and Silas and hug her close.
“Now all we need is an Australian Shepherd puppy like Noah has. Family complete.”
Silas huffs out a laugh, quiet but real. “You’re impossible.”
“You love that about me.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Later, after Aubrey’s in bed, I find him outside again. He’s sitting on the steps, phone dark beside him, staring at the empty street. The air’s colder now, the kind that bites through sweatshirts. I pull my blanket tighter and sit beside him.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I keep waiting for the sensors to blink.”
“They’re supposed to blink.”
“Not the red ones.”
I follow his gaze to the porch light, the spot where his father stood. My chest tightens—but this time, not from fear. From anger. From reclaiming something he tried to take.
I reach down and rest my hand over his. “You know, every time I walk out this door now, I hear your voice in my head.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“It’s not.” I glance sideways at him. “It’s the only thing that keeps me from looking over my shoulder.”
He looks back, eyes softer than I’ve seen in days. “What’s it saying?”
“‘You’re safe. I’ve got you.’”
He squeezes my hand. “You are. I do.”
“I know.”
Silence drifts between us, full but not heavy. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks once then settles.
I shift my weight carefully, testing the ankle. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Probably.” I stand, slow but steady. “That it’s time I go back to work.”
His head snaps up. “Oakley—”
“Not for the airline,” I say, realizing too late how my words came across. “I want to finish my degree in Athletic Training. I only had a few courses left, and I already talked with Liam and Dr. Bradley. They put in recommendations with some of their contacts.”
He stares at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. For a second, I think he’ll argue. Then he exhales through his nose and nods once. “That mean what I think it means?”
“Means I’m staying if you’ll have me.”
“Yeah?”
I smile. “Yeah, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”