Chapter 20
chapter twenty
“Well,” Christine said, voice rough, “I feel like shit.”
Oakland laughed once. It sounded broken. “Welcome to the Pratt family,” she muttered. “Want to get married?”
Christine shook her head, blinking back the sting behind her eyes. “I didn’t know it would be like that. I didn’t know it would feel like suffocating with a smile on.”
Oakland stared down the tracks as they reached the platform. Her breath hitched.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have brought you. I don’t know why I did.”
Christine reached for her, just brushing her sleeve. “Don’t apologize for them. I’m glad you did.”
Oakland turned toward her, eyes glassy. “Do you think I’m pathetic?”
The question made Christine’s stomach drop.
“No,” she said, fierce and immediate. “I think you’re surviving a war no one even sees. And you’re still standing.”
Oakland’s jaw trembled. “Barely.”
Christine stepped closer, her voice low and trembling with hope and heartbreak. She reached up and brushed featherlight fingers across Oakland’s cheek, just enough to feel the warmth beneath the surface, the tension thrumming under her skin.
“You don’t have to keep standing alone,” she whispered. “Let me in.”
Oakland didn’t move.
So Christine stepped closer, slow and steady, until they were barely a breath apart. Her hand slid up to cup Oakland’s face, thumb grazing her jawline.
“Please,” she whispered. “I want to understand. I want to know you. Really know you.”
Oakland’s breath hitched.
She leaned forward just a little. Her forehead rested against Christine’s. Their noses brushed.
Every inch of her wanted this.
Every fiber of her body was screaming yes.
And then, her voice, raw and trembling: “I want to. I do. But if I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to lie to myself anymore.”
Christine pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Then don’t.”
Oakland let out a soft, wrecked laugh, eyes glistening. “I’m not ready.”
The words landed like a blow. Christine blinked hard, but nodded, her thumb still resting on Oakland’s cheek.
“You don’t have to be,” she whispered.
They stood there a moment longer, forehead to forehead, suspended between want and restraint.
The train’s arrival light blinked in the distance, casting a soft red glow across the platform.
Christine stepped back, opening space between them and easing the tension. “Come on. We need to do something fun after this fucked-up night.”
Oakland finally turned, lips parting slightly like she might protest.
Christine raised an eyebrow. “Let’s go back to mine. No funny business, I promise.”
Oakland let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because you’re known for your restraint.”
“Hey, I can be a perfect gentleman.”
Oakland huffed, playing along. “Guess I could be convinced.”
Christine grinned, warm and easy, like she didn’t just witness Oakland’s entire family dynamic implode over a dinner table. Before Oakland could dwell on that, Christine’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She groaned, fishing it out.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She answered the call, rolling her eyes.
Christine answered. “I swear to God, if this is about the delivery schedule again?—”
A tinny voice snapped back on the other end, too muffled for Oakland to catch the words.
Christine groaned. “We already went over this! The new kegs were supposed to be at the taproom by noon. If they’re not there, it’s because someone…
” She cut herself off, listening. “No, Silver, I did tell you. You just didn’t—” She exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Okay, fine. Just handle it, please? I can’t deal with this right now. ”
Silver.
The name rattled in Oakland’s skull like a marble in a glass jar.
Christine’s business partner.
The woman who kissed Oakland at Birkenbrew like it was nothing.
Why didn’t she put this together sooner?
Christine was still grumbling into the phone. “I don’t care what they said. We run the damn place. They can’t just—Silver. Silver. I love you, but please, for the love of God, handle it.”
The words barely registered. Oakland was too busy piecing together every tiny detail she’d overlooked. Silver—the Silver—she wasn’t random. She was Christine’s Silver.
Oakland’s face burned despite the cold.
Christine sighed. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
She hung up, shoving her phone back into her pocket before turning to Oakland with an exhausted groan. “You’d think we were running a corporate empire instead of a little brewery.”
Oakland made a sound that was supposed to be acknowledgment but came out more like strangled air.
Christine didn’t notice. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, movie. My couch. Yes?”
“So Silver,” Oakland hesitated. “She’s your…”
“Best friend,” Christine confirmed. “Business partner, roommate, fellow gay. Basically, my platonic wife. You’ll love her.”
Oakland’s pulse was still off rhythm. Her mind was stuck somewhere back at the dinner table. She couldn’t do this yet—the unpacking, the feelings, the honesty it would all demand. She just needed a little space to breathe.
“Hey,” she said, trying to be casual, “would you maybe want to come to my place instead?”
Christine raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Oakland shrugged, eyes flicking away. “I left the heater on. My place doesn’t run on the city grid.”
Christine blinked. “Seriously?”
“I live in a shoebox. If I don’t turn it off, my kitchen becomes a sauna, and my plants start looking accusatory.”
Christine tilted her head, not entirely buying it.
Oakland added quickly, “Plus… I don’t know. I think I’d sleep better if I were home tonight. But I want you there.”
That landed. Christine’s expression softened. “Okay. But if you have one of those weird beds that fold out of a wall, I’m walking.”
Oakland’s smile softened. “It folds into the wall. Get it right.”
* * *
Later, Christine sprawled across Oakland’s couch, one arm tucked behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.
The apartment was small and plain. The only furniture besides the sofa was a battered wooden cabinet, on top of which sat an old flat-screen TV from the 2030s with some kind of antenna attached.
It buzzed faintly like it was whispering in some ancient electronic language.
“Do you want to pick a movie?” Oakland called from her bedroom.
Christine rolled off the couch, peeling her sister’s Gopher jersey off and laying it across the armrest. “Sure,” she replied, adjusting her tank top to give her boobs a little boost.
“My collection’s in the second drawer,” Oakland said, gesturing to her dresser.
Christine pulled it open and snorted. “Your collection? What, like a treasure trove of cinematic masterpieces? A vault of only the finest films known to man?” She flipped through the stack, then gasped. “Oh damn, Shrek 2 on DVD.”
Oakland smirked. “It’s the best of the Shreks, I think.”
“I haven’t even seen a DVD since I was like three.
” Christine continued poking around. “Jesus. It’s like a time capsule in here.
” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yes! Mean Girls! This movie is my mom’s holy grail.
” She grabbed the case and turned toward the DVD player, poking at the buttons.
“You know, there are easier ways to watch movies, right?”
“Just wait until you see my vinyl collection.” Oakland settled onto the couch, tugging a blanket over her lap before peeling off her sweater. Beneath it, a plain white tee hugged her frame, thin, soft, and doing nothing to hide how she moved.
Christine dropped onto the couch beside her, eyes immediately catching on to how the fabric clung. She swallowed. Have mercy.
She gave Oakland a look: slow, amused, a little too interested. “So… do you wear the underpants?”
Oakland blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
Christine leaned in slightly, faux-serious. “You know. The sacred ones. The holiness-hugging booty briefs. I did research.”
Oakland raised a very skeptical brow. “What kind of research?”
Christine smirked. “Extensive. Let’s just say I’ve gone down some… very informative rabbit holes.”
Oakland groaned. “God. No, not today. I’m currently freeballing for the Lord.”
Christine choked on a laugh. “Is that allowed?”
Oakland shrugged. “Only if I repent by lunch.”
Christine grinned. “So you do wear them sometimes?”
“Not answering that,” Oakland said, grabbing a throw pillow for self-defense. “This is a trap.”
Christine leaned in, her voice low, teasing. “Honestly? You could be wearing three layers of Mormon underclothes and a prairie dress, and I’d still think you’re hot.”
Oakland burst out laughing. “Wow. That’s… aggressively detailed for someone who didn’t grow up in the fold.”
Christine smirked. “I did a lot of research.”
Oakland snorted. “You’re gonna get smote.”
“Totally worth it.”
Oakland turned a particular shade of pink and yanked the blanket up to her chin. “Movie’s starting now,” she announced, refusing to meet Christine’s gaze.
Christine leaned back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, settling her head in Oakland’s lap.
Oakland didn’t hesitate, her fingers skimming lightly along Christine’s collarbone, tracing absent patterns against her skin.
The touch was barely there but sent a steady warmth curling through Christine’s body.
Oakland’s fingertips dipped just below Christine’s neckline, featherlight and unhurried. Christine’s breath caught, heat blooming beneath her skin.
Oakland swallowed, trying to focus. “So, Derek looked like he was going to shit his pants today.”
“Yeah,” Christine murmured, her voice softer now. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Oh yeah. He’s a master at living a double life.” Oakland murmured, eyes moving to Christine’s lips, then away.
Christine tried to smirk, but it was getting harder to think with Oakland touching her like that. She shifted slightly, feeling a slow, steady heat coil in her belly. “I don’t get it. How has he avoided being caught?”
Oakland hesitated. “He’s a great liar. Also, his dad isn’t all up in his business like mine is.” She paused, her fingers stilling against Christine’s skin.