Chapter 25 #3
“Because let me tell you, that never works. I’ve been with girls like you—hell, probably ones you know from your little church.”
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost pitying. “Christine isn’t built for that. And if you think she is, you don’t know her at all.”
The words struck something deep inside Oakland, something raw and exposed.
Because that was exactly what she was doing, wasn’t it?
Keeping Christine in this limbo, taking pieces of her but never offering anything in return.
And what was the plan? Did she even have one?
She spent so long bending the rules, finding loopholes, convincing herself she could have a little bit of both—her faith and Christine, her old life and her new one.
But that was a lie.
She couldn’t have both.
And she knew, standing in this kitchen, staring at the sharp glint of Silver’s eyes, that she would need to make a choice.
Not just for herself.
For Christine.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “I just… don’t have an answer.”
Silver held her gaze, the silence stretching between them—long, excruciating.
Then, with a sharp flick of her wrist, she tossed her spoon into the sink, the loud clang slicing through the tension, making Oakland flinch.
“Then figure it out.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She just turned and walked out, her point landing harder than the sound of metal on porcelain.
Silence filled the space Silver had occupied.
And just as the weight of that conversation began to settle into Oakland’s chest, she heard a small, sleepy boof from the doorway.
She turned, and there was Gruit, blinking up at her with sleep-mussed curls, his tail thumping lazily against the floor.
Despite the tightness in her throat, Oakland let out a soft chuckle. “Hey there, smarty.”
Gruit perked up immediately, but his attention quickly shifted to the abandoned bowl in the sink.
Oakland laughed again, ruffling his fur as he leaned into her. But the moment he saw his opening, he lunged.
“Hey, down, boy,” Oakland said, nudging him away from the sink. “We’re not doing that.”
“Oh, he is doing that,” Christine’s voice cut in from the doorway.
Oakland turned, and—God—there she was, leaning against the doorframe, her dark eyes warm, the loose collar of her shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder.
And in an instant, the breath was stolen from Oakland’s chest again. Her mind raced as it repeated everything that happened just hours before.
Christine walked over, wrapping her in a hug, lingering for just a second too long.
“Last night was kind of amazing,” she murmured, thumb brushing along Oakland’s jaw.
Oakland’s body reacted before she could stop it, her pulse kicking up, her lips parting.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Gruit’s tail smacked relentlessly against the counter before a sharp boof shattered the moment.
Christine sighed dramatically. “I should feed him before he tosses the trash can across the room.”
Oakland smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Christine’s mouth.
As Christine scooped kibble into the bowl, she spoke, her voice light, but the question's weight was unmistakable.
“So… was last night a repeatable event or just a one-time lapse in judgment?”
Oakland let out a slow breath, her chest tight.
“It was incredible,” she started, the words coming easier than they should. “But it was… blurring some lines. I think I need…”
“It’s okay,” Christine interjected, stilling for half a second before continuing to pour the kibble, her face unreadable. “You don’t have to explain.”
Oakland’s mind screamed at her to make a choice. Either walk away or close the distance and let herself sink into the inevitable.
But her fingers curled into fists, her breath caught in her throat, and still—she couldn’t force the words out.
“I just need to think,” she said instead.
Christine nodded slowly, pushing the bowl toward Gruit, watching as he immediately dug in.
“Do what you need to do.”
It was so simple. No argument, no pleading, no expectation.
And somehow, that made it hurt worse.
After last night, something between them was different now—deep, unspoken, permanent.
They didn’t have sex, but it didn’t matter. They shared something that rewired them, something they couldn’t take back.
Oakland stood there for a beat too long, her fingers curling against her ski jacket. She searched for something more to say.
But Christine already turned away, focusing on Gruit, rubbing his head absentmindedly as if Oakland wasn’t even in the room anymore.
And maybe she shouldn't be.
She grabbed her coat, slipping it on carefully, feeling the weight of everything settle over her like a second skin.
Christine’s voice cut through the silence as she reached for the door.
“Oakland?”
Her fingers paused against the doorknob. “Yeah?”
Christine’s gaze was steady, unreadable.
“Whatever you’re trying to outrun… it’ll still be there when you stop.”
Oakland turned slightly, expecting sharpness. But there wasn’t any—just quiet resignation.
Christine wasn’t going to argue. This was Oakland’s battle—hers alone.
Oakland swallowed down the lump in her throat.
“I know.”
And then she stepped outside, into the quiet, into the unraveling.
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