“Want help with the shoe?”
“Please,” I say, a small smile playing on my lips. God, I love my mama.
Steele Valley, Georgia, is a little town. Not near as rural as Havenwood. We at least have traffic lights and a hospital. So it’s more of a small city—paved two-lane roads, office buildings, and big-chain grocery stores—but it’s still smaller than Athens. We love all our red-and-black sports, but around here, hockey is number one. If anyone ever questioned it, all they’d have to do is look at the billboards. There might be one or two for football, but the majority are for Steele Valley Voltage.
As we get further from Mom’s gated community—okay, so maybe Steele Valley isn’t such a little town—more and more signs pop up.Let’s Go Voltsposters and window paint line most shops. The season is upon us already, and I can’t decide if the nerves or the excitement is stronger. This’ll be my first season home since I left five years ago.
As I slip out of Mama’s car and crutch toward the door, she grabs a shopping cart and pulls out the list she jotted down on an old envelope.
“Didn’t your children just buy you a fancy shopping list and to-do list pad?”
“Oh, hush, you. Old habits die hard. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with recycling. At least I get a little joy out of those stupid bills coming in the mail.”
I follow along as she heads for the baking aisle.
“Shona asked if I could make some of those s’mores cookies you loved so much as a kid. The girls she tutors might be more obsessed with them than you were.”
The thought of those ooey chocolate chip cookies with marshmallows added in has me salivating. “Better make it a triple batch, Mama. I’m going to search for my protein powder. Can you believe they want seven dollars to ship a twelve-dollar container?”
“How dare they,” she huffs with an eye roll. “I’ll find you when I’m done. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Nodding at her, I crutch off toward the health aisle. They’ve rearranged since the last time I was here, and I swear nothing is where it was. Why can’t stores just leave things alone? At least it’s fairly empty for a Saturday morning. Maybe I can make it through this errand without running into—
“What happened to you?” a growl of a voice says. Damn. There go my insides getting all melty, too. The familiar voice sends a mix of chills down my spine. That kissing in the rain on top of Brasstown Bald in summer mixed with a dash of heartache because you know the beauty of it will never last.
I steady myself and turn to face the man I ran from—Silas Harrison.
Instead of answering his question, I use that fancy defense mechanism of mine: masking. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Star Center, in the flesh. Shouldn’t you be at the rink or going over tapes right about now?”
He shakes his head, those gray eyes filled with emotions I refuse to unpack. Sadly, having been my boyfriend and fiancé for a spell, he knows my tricks and doesn’t take the bait. “What’d you do, Kates? Why’re you in a boot?”
My chest aches at the nickname only he has ever called me, but I roll my shoulders and stand tall. “Nohey, old friend. How’s it hanging?Okay, noted.”
“Don’t make it weird, Oakley Kate.”
“I’m not making it weird. You are.”
He just lifts a thick brow, as if that’ll make his point. It does, damn it. I huff out a breath and wobble a few steps forward. When he opens his arms, I ease into them. As much as my head knows it’s a bad idea, my heart wins out. Not because I don’t want his hug, but because I know how dangerous his hugs can be.
We talk on the phone and video chat. An ongoing text chain. But I haven’t seen Silas in person in months. Haven’t been wrapped in the strength coiled under his skin, ready to strike at anyone who hurts what or who he deems his. The warmth and security of being held against his chest is nearly enough to undo me, the steadiness of his heart beating under my ear.
“When’d you get into town?” he asks against my hair.
“Wednesday.”
His arms tense around me. “No call or text?”
I shrug, unable to look up at the man I was never able to replace. Unable to handle the disappointment I hear in his voice.
His fingers thread through the loose hairs at the nape of my neck and gently pull down, effectively forcing my eyes up to his.
“I figured you’d be busy with preseason craziness if you were even in town.”
The roughness of his calloused palm against my cheek does something to me that I refuse to acknowledge.
I made the choice to end us. Now, I have to live with it. No matter how satisfying it is to be wrapped in his arms again.
As those thoughts consume me, I step out of his hold. To his credit, he doesn’t fight me on it, but the look on his face is almost—almost—enough to make me step back into his chest.
