“Still not the best look for the Voltage captain to instigate a slander campaign against his ex’s boss.” I giggle, thankful for the break in tension. “Besides, I needed to quit.”
So many reasons come to mind, ones I could share but choose not to. I’m burnt out. My mental health is wrecked, and I haven’t slept more than three hours at a time in months.
I rub the ever-present sting of exhaustion from my eyes. “Something’s been tugging at my heart, telling me to come home. Whether it’s all made up or it has to do with mom, or you and Aubrey, I don’t know. But I’ve been trying to find a reason to come home since March. It feels like a weight has been lifted, even if I have my own clumsiness to thank for it.”
Silas hums quietly, his hand drawing slow, soothing lines along my arm. The movie’s credits fade into silence, and the only sound left is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. For the first time in a long time, I stop fighting the calm. Maybe coming home wasn’t a mistake after all.
Chapter 19
Silas
Istruggle with the need to wipe out every imbecile who made my girl cry.
Damn it, Silas. Not your girl.
My heart is still pounding at my unintentional admission of love. I still can’t get that deer in the headlights look out of my head or the way the air shifted as soon as the words left my mouth. I try not to think too hard about why I said them.
The why is understandable, at least to me. We were both drowning in unearned guilt and grief. The ice became my therapy as I pushed to become unstoppable, but hearing Oakley Kate admit how she felt all those years ago cracks something in my chest.
She still came to my games back then, but she wouldn’t sit with the other WAGs. Didn’t hang out with the team. I thought the distance was normal, just her way of coping. Finally hearing what was really going through her head, I can’t believe how blind I was.
Unable to keep that protective streak buried, I carefully slide her into my lap and wrap my arms around her, tucking her headunder my chin. The instinct to keep her safe is now driving the bus. If I can just hold her, maybe all the bad will disappear.
Her breath stutters before evening out as I kiss the top of her head again. She sniffles once before whispering, “Stop being so nice.”
“As opposed to what, exactly?”
“A few days ago, we couldn’t have a normal conversation without getting weirded out. Now, I’m literally in your lap in a dark room talking about our feelings. That isn’t odd to you?”
I shrug but keep a steady hold on her. “Maybe it should be, but it isn’t. This has always been us when we don’t fight it, Kates. It’s why we worked so well back then,” I whisper, the words coming out more intimately than I intend.
I never stopped loving her. I never stopped wanting to protect her. Never stopped keeping tabs on her whereabouts.
Maybe that’s why I don’t push her away when she tilts her chin up and kisses the stubble along my jaw. Maybe it’s the desperation in her eyes, or maybe it’s mine. Or maybe it’s the simple truth that I’ve always belonged to her.
I lose myself in her gentle touch, her fingers trailing over my shoulders and down my chest. My hips instinctively rock up into her as she kisses me again, lingering this time.
I groan when that soft whimper escapes her, my hands sliding to her hips, to the curve of her ass, the familiar weight fitting perfectly in my palms. She shifts, rocking against me, and I swear I forget how to breathe. “You’re playing a dangerous game right now, Kates.”
“Who says I’m playing,” she whispers against my throat.
The words hit like a puck to the ribs as reality crashes back in.
“Kates. Kates. Oakley. We can’t do this right now,” I manage, trying to keep my voice even as I ease her back. And the second the words are out, I know I’ve screwed up. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
Too late. The walls slam back into place behind her eyes. She’s already pulling away.
“Oakley Kate,” I plead.
“No!” she snaps before drawing a shaky breath, her shoulders nearly up to her ears. “You’re right. We can’t do this,” she whispers as she motions between the two of us without looking my way. “I’m sorry I let it go that far.”
It takes everything in me not to reach for her as she stands. Not to pull her close and beg her to stay. But the rigid set of her jaw and the way her hands flex on the crutches say she’s seconds from either swinging at me or bolting.
She hobbles toward the door, struggling with every uneven step, and it reignites the anger simmering in my chest—at her boss, at her pain, at the whole damn world for letting her hurt.
“Let me get Rooks back over here so I can drive you,” I say as I follow her to the porch.
She shakes her head as she nearly stumbles down the front steps. “It’s two streets over. I’ve got it.”
