“That obvious to you, too, huh?”
“They have their reasons.” He nods toward the door, where he’s set my crutches. “I’ll give you five minutes before I come back and carry you out.”
When I resurface from my mini meltdown, the intervention is already underway. Mom and Noah sit on one side of the table with Silas across from Noah. The fourth plate is next to Silas. I can either act childish—which, trust me, I’m great at—or I can sit next to him.
My heart squeezes as I lower myself beside him, his words still looping in my head.
No, it most definitely would not be bad to find our way back together.
But now isn’t the time.
Silas spoons mashed potatoes onto my plate, pressing a valley into the top and adding gravy before adding some to his own plate. He continues with all of my favorites, just like he used to. I bite my tongue to keep from calling him out on it, because it’s sweet.
And no matter how much easier it would be to deny it, I love that he still wants to take care of me.
“Sorry for dumping that on you,” he whispers.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to help.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the look he gives me shuts me up. He’s right. I’d have found a way to get to Aubrey. I love that little girl and had the pleasure of watching her grow from infant to four whenever Silas could steal her away. She came into the world at the best—and worst—possible time.
“We can talk later.”
Nodding, I glance toward Noah and Mom. They definitely heard every word, but both pretend to be engrossed in their own conversation about why Noah didn’t bring Jett or their dog Sadie. Mom loves that dog almost as much as she loves us.
Somehow, we make it through dinner without more than surface-level interrogation. But when Silas stands to help Mom clear the table, I know it’s only a matter of time before Noah corners me.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend to annoy?” I ask when he drops onto the couch beside me.
“Yep. But I annoy her daily. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Making up for lost time.”
“Noah,” I groan, drawing out his name.
He nudges my side before tossing an arm over the back of the couch. “Guessing he told you,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And, what?”
He leans closer, voice low. “He won’t accept help, Oaks. Not from me or Mom, not from his team, no one.”
“But you think he’d accept it from me.”
He shrugs. “You’re not one to take no for an answer.”
He’s not wrong. I’m stubborn as a mule. Or a pro hockey player. And if it helps the man who I know would risk everything for me, I’ll do whatever it takes.
Heart be damned.
“I’ll talk to him,” I concede. “But I won’t force him. The last thing I want is his resentment.”
“Love you, sis.”
“Uh huh. Love you, too,” I say, snuggling into my brother’s side.
