Chapter 27
chapter twenty-seven
Stupid Silver, with her stupid tattoos, smirk, and stupid, infuriatingly perfect body.
Silver admitted it fast. No hesitation, no buildup, just a casual, almost offhanded, “Yeah. I kissed her. But it was before you two became a thing or whatever.”
Christine didn’t ask how, why, or if it meant anything—because it didn’t matter.
Of course, Silver did it. Not to be cruel or keep it as a weapon, but because Silver never thought things through. She just did whatever felt right in the moment, whatever seemed fun, whatever impulse tugged her forward before she ever considered where she’d land.
And now, here they were.
Christine glared at her, pulse hammering, thoughts a tangled mess of emotions she didn’t want to name.
She didn’t yell. Didn’t demand an explanation.
She just clipped Gruit’s leash onto his harness, grabbed her hoodie, opened the door, and walked out.
Bitter and sharp wind sliced through the city, but Christine barely felt it. Gruit trotted beside her, his nails clicking against the pavement, his leash tugging slightly like he could feel the tension vibrating through her body.
She wasn’t even mad at Silver. Not really.
What cut the deepest was that Oakland let Silver kiss her.
After everything—the late-night talks, the careful, hesitant way they’d been orbiting each other. The way Christine held back because she wanted to do this right—and this whole time, Oakland and Silver had already kissed.
And they kept it from her.
Christine could’ve handled the truth. Could’ve handled a conversation, a stupid mistake, even a misread moment.
But this?
This felt like something breaking.
* * *
Back in the loft, Silver sat at the kitchen table, her fingers curled around her coffee cup, staring down at the thin, brown film that settled on top. It was lukewarm now, and the sight of floating coffee grounds made her stomach turn.
Across from her, Spencer was scrolling through her phone, jaw tight, looking way too composed for someone who just spent the night drunk and possibly high.
Silver sighed, shifting on her stool. The silence felt thick, pressing in on her ears, stretching the air between them. It was apparent Spencer wasn’t going to be the first to speak, so Silver decided to break it.
“You should have talked to me before telling Chris,” she said, voice deceptively light. “I could have explained better.”
Spencer’s head snapped up. She rested her phone on the table, green eyes locking onto Silver’s with a sharpness that made her spine stiffen. “How about you explain why you can’t control yourself?”
Silver scoffed. “Control myself? Jesus, Spence, dramatic much? I didn’t even know who she was.”
Spencer leaned forward. “Did you honestly think Christine wouldn’t find out?”
Silver rubbed a thumb along the ceramic edge of her cup. “I figured she would eventually.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think Christine would care.”
“Then why hide it?” Spencer’s voice was sharp, flat, unforgiving. “You’re such a fucking liar.”
The words hit Silver square in the chest.
She wasn’t used to Spencer looking at her like that—Christine’s glare, sure. She could handle that. They quarreled all the time. But Spencer? Spencer was always the one rolling her eyes at the drama, always the one to let shit slide.
Not today.
“I didn’t lie to her,” Silver said slowly, her tone measured.
She stood, moving to the sink, dumping the rest of her coffee without hesitation.
Instead of making a new cup, she filled it with tap water, took a long sip, then finally turned back around. “I figured it was Oakland’s thing to tell.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
Silver tilted her head, watching her. “You know, if you didn’t have such a big mouth, your sister might actually be happy right now. This one’s on you.”
Spencer’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood.
Silver barely had time to register it before Spencer’s voice cut through the room, sharp enough to slice.
“Excuse me?”
Silver stiffened, instinctively bracing like she was about to get hit. Not physically, but verbally? Oh yeah.
“Why can’t you ever admit you did something wrong?” Spencer’s voice rose, sharp and unyielding, every word clipped and precise.
“You are so unbearably full of yourself.” Spencer scoffed, throwing up her hands. “Oh, look at me, I’m Silver. The irresistible heartbreaker. The effortless player. Every girl wants me. No one can resist me. Blah, blah, blah.”
She leveled Silver with a glare. “News Flash! You’re not nearly as charming as you think.”
“So you’re saying you think I’m a little charming?” Silver let out a dry chuckle, eyes twinkling.
But Spencer wasn’t in the mood. Not even close.
Her jaw tightened, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Are you serious right now?”
Silver’s smirk barely settled before Spencer snapped.
But this wasn’t just about Christine—Silver knew that much. There was tension between her and Spencer. It had been building between them for weeks, months, maybe even longer. And if Spencer wouldn’t acknowledge it, Silver would.
She stepped in, closing the space between them, hands settling lightly on Spencer’s shoulders. Steadying her. Testing her.
“Why are you so concerned with what I’m doing? Who I’m sleeping with?” Silver’s voice was low, teasing—sharp at the edges—a push.
Her grip tightened slightly.
“If you wanted to get lucky with me, Spence, you could just say so.” Silver’s voice was too playful, too smooth, her grip firm—just enough to make Spencer notice.
She leaned in slightly, smirking. “Then I can turn you down, put you out of your misery, and we can finally move on.”
She expected Spencer to flinch, to step back, to react.
She didn’t.
Instead, Spencer held her gaze and smirked.
Something in Silver’s stomach tightened.
“I think it’s the opposite,” Spencer said, her voice dipping into something dangerous. “I think you have a thing for me—because you can’t have me.”
Silver blinked.
Before she could respond, Spencer stepped forward, unhurried, measured, like she had all the time in the world to dismantle Silver piece by piece.
“I think you’re dying to slam me against this counter and fuck me senseless right now.”
Silver’s breath hitched.
What did she just say?
Something shifted—sudden, electric, impossible to ignore.
For the first time, at least consciously, Silver saw Spencer differently. The way she moved, the quiet confidence in her stance, the way she existed in her own skin with no effort, no performance—just certainty.
And now that Silver noticed, she couldn’t unsee it.
Spencer leaned in just enough for Silver to feel the heat of her breath. “In fact,” she murmured, her tone almost mocking, “I bet you think about it all the time.” A tilt of her head, considering. “Maybe even when you’re with other girls.”
The words lit something hot and unfamiliar inside her. Not reckless. Not fun. Something deeper. Something dangerous.It was dangerous.
Spencer smirked, watching her like she already knew—like she was waiting for Silver to catch up.
And then, with zero hesitation, she closed more distance.
Silver barely had time to process before her back hit the counter. Her fingers curled around the edges instinctively, breath stuck in her throat.
Spencer was right there. Too close.
She didn’t move in further. Didn’t kiss her. Just stood there, letting the moment stretch, letting Silver feel every inch of it.
And then, finally, Spencer leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of Silver’s ear, leaving heat and shivers in its wake.
“If we ever hooked up, which we won’t, you’d be the lucky one. Not me.”
Silver felt that sentence down to her bones.
Spencer pulled back slowly, green eyes sharp, knowing—like she just won something Silver didn’t even realize they were playing for. “And just so we’re clear, I will never be interested in you—so you can stop trying to bait me.”
Silver swallowed hard, pulse thrumming, head still spinning.
And then Spencer stepped back like nothing happened, like she didn’t just wreck Silver’s entire world in under sixty seconds. She grabbed her coat, slipping it on casually.
“You’re just leaving now?” Silver asked, hating how unsteady her voice sounded.
“Yeah,” Spencer said, tossing her bag over her shoulder. “I have a hockey game. Playoffs. You’d know that if you ever cared about anyone but yourself.”
And with that, she was gone.
Silver stayed where she was, gripping the counter, pulse still hammering.
She was still processing, still trying to shove her brain back into place, when a sudden clatter nearly ended her.
She jumped, gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this dimension, and spun around just in time to see Dax casually peering at her from behind the open cabinet door.
“Jesus fuck, Dax!” she gasped, heart slamming against her ribs. “How long have you been standing there?”
Dax, completely unbothered, scratched his head and yawned. “Dunno. A minute?”
Silver stared at him, eyes narrowing. “A minute?”
He shrugged, taking a seat at the kitchen table like he didn’t just witness one of the craziest moments of Silver’s fucking existence. “Any coffee left?”
Silver pressed a hand to her chest just to verify that her heart was still beating.
* * *
Christine didn’t just need a drink—she needed something strong.
Beer wasn’t going to cut it tonight.
She should’ve gone home. Should’ve buried herself under blankets, ignored the gnawing in her chest, and slept off the sick, angry haze clinging to her.
But home meant thinking. Home meant sitting in silence with her thoughts, replaying the image of Silver and Oakland pressed together like it was burned onto the backs of her eyelids.
She needed answers.
More than that, she needed to know if Oakland even wanted to explain.
So, instead of home, she walked into Jeffys, a sports bar a few blocks away. It wasn’t her usual spot, but it had two things she needed right now: strong drinks and no one she knew.
Christine slid onto a barstool and tapped her order into the digital menu display embedded in the counter. A few seconds later, a stocky and mildly annoyed bartender dropped a whiskey neat in front of her. No pleasantries. Just a nod.
The first sip burned, and she welcomed it.
She let the bar's noise settle around her.
The low murmur of conversation layered over the rhythmic clink of glasses against the bar, the hollow thunk of pool balls ricocheting, the subtle vibration of a pinball console flashing its neon tally.
Overhead, the Wild game played across a curved 13K display, so crisp it felt like the rink was right there, every detail sharp enough to touch.
The commentary blended seamlessly into the background while real-time player stats flickered subtly along the side, easy to ignore but always within reach.
Christine let herself pretend, for just a second, that she could turn her brain off.
Then she heard a low and amused voice from a few seats down.
“Damn, it’s getting a little fruity in here.”
Christine didn’t have to turn around to know what he was talking about.
She glanced toward the back anyway. A group of guys, four, maybe mid-twenties, sat at a corner table, laughing, leaning in close, sharing space in a way that made it obvious they were comfortable with each other.
Except now, there was a shift. The one with glasses pulled his hands off the table. The one in the blue hoodie tensed slightly, beer hovering shy of his lips. The broad-shouldered one, probably the group's de facto leader, kept his expression neutral, but Christine could see how his jaw flexed.
Then came a giggle.
Christine turned slightly, catching a glimpse of a guy in a red baseball cap.
“Who let the fairies in?” he snickered, nudging his buddy, who smirked into his beer.
It was so casual. So easy. Like this was just something people said in a place like this, and everyone else would just go along with it.
A year ago, things were different. Maybe it would’ve been just a glance, an eyebrow raise, or something you felt more than you heard.
But things were changing. What used to be a muttered comment, a passive dig, a micro-aggression was now out in the open. Now, it was said with confidence.
And for it to happen in this district. Her district.
Like they had permission.
Like they already knew no one was going to stop them.
Christine’s pulse throttled, fingers pressing against her glass.
The bartender got there first.
“Drink your beer,” he said flatly, not looking up from where he was rinsing a glass.
The men didn’t argue, but the smirk lingered. The tension didn’t quite break.
Christine turned back to her drink, jaw clenched.
Because that was the worst part, wasn’t it?
She knew she could step in, and she wanted to, but she also knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
Because guys like that never heard anyone.
The group at the table tried to return to normal, but Christine could see the slight edge in their posture and the unspoken question: Are we safe here?
And she hated that she understood it so well.
Christine finished the last sip of her whiskey, then tapped the bar, signaling for another.
Her thoughts drifted, then circled back, unwilling to let go.
She tried pushing them away all night, refusing to let them settle, to take shape.
But it clawed its way in anyway.
Maybe Oakland liked it.
Maybe she wanted it.
Maybe Silver was too tempting, too hard to resist, while Christine was… easier.
Easier for her to control herself around.
The thought festered, heavy and unwelcome.
Why didn’t Oakland just tell her?
After everything. The brewery. The politics. The bullshit Christine waded through just to exist in her orbit. Why would Oakland keep this a secret?
Unless…
The idea landed like a punch to the gut.
Maybe she enjoyed kissing Silver.
Maybe it wasn’t some mistake or lapse in judgment. Maybe it was something she wanted so badly that she couldn’t resist it.
Christine’s stomach twisted.
If that was true, if Oakland wanted Silver’s boyish charm, her effortless swagger, then Christine had already lost.
She couldn’t let this sit.
She threw back the rest of her drink, nodded to the bartender, and slid off her stool without a word.
She was going to find Oakland.
Tonight.
?