That is where my patience dies.
My hand slams against the screen door before it can close. “Damn it, Oakley Kate. Quit being so damn stubborn for two minutes!”
Her feet stop for just a moment, but much like the last time she walked away from me, the girl of my dreams doesn’t look back as she leaves.
The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is deafening. I press my palms to the counter, staring at the dark reflection in the glass.
Frustration and worry claw their way up my neck as I glance between the upstairs hallway where my baby sister is nestled into her pile of stuffies and the front door where the girl of my dreams just walked out.
If I could turn off my protective instincts, now would be the ideal time. As much as I want to shut out the last ten minutes, I need to know that my girl gets home safe. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I dial Rooks and pray he is still in the area.
He answers with a deep-bellied chuckle. “I was sure you guys would be too busy to miss me, man.”
“You still in the area?” I ask without preamble.
Rooker’s laughter cuts quick, replaced by the quiet efficiency that makes him so dangerous on the ice. “She left?”
“Yeah.”
I hear his directional click a few times before he says, “I’ll be there in five. Want me to come sit with Aubs or follow your girl?”
Voltage fans over the years have labeled Rooker as the goofy one, the trickster, but they don’t get to see the best friend, the leader he is on and off the ice. I might wear the C, but he wears the A for the same reason.
“As much as I’d like to go after Oakley, I know she’d be more likely to take her chances sprinting on a bum ankle than to get in a vehicle with me,” I say.
“I’ll text you when I drop her off.”
“Thanks, brother.”
The call ends, and I’m left wondering if shutting down whatever happened in the theater room was worth the outcome.
A squeaky step and my sister’s sleepy voice draw my attention back to the stairs.
“Bubba?” Aubrey peers around the banister, her hair a tangled mess and tear stains on her cheeks.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say gently, already knowing which nightmare pulled her from sleep.
She avoids my eyes, her bottom lip trembling.
“Same one?” I ask as she lets me guide her back to her room. She nods when I pull the blankets back. I tuck her in and lean against the headboard while she curls into my side, a glitteryunicorn with ice skates hiding her face and the tears she doesn’t want me to see.
A shaky breath slips through her lips before she sniffs and peeks up at me through long lashes. “This time, you’re the one who left me,” she whispers.
My hand cups her head against my chest while the other rubs soothing circles along her back. Whether I’m doing it to soothe her or myself, I don’t know.
This is why I told Oakley we couldn’t do anything. I knew it was only a matter of time before Aubrey crawled into my bed to hide or pulled me to guard her bed. Hopefully, she will give me a chance to explain once she cools off.
Aubrey’s nightmares have lessened over the last several months, but this one—the one where her mother drops her off at my door, hands her my spare key, and tells her to “stay put until your brother gets home” before driving away—hits her at least once a week.
Voltage was playing a road series in New York. Aubrey was left to fend for herself for more than forty-eight hours before I came home and found her under my bed with a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of water. Since then, I have installed every ounce of security that I can, including video doorbells and cameras on every corner of the house. There are even a few inside, hitting any blind spots a friend of mine who specializes in security found.
Is it overkill? Maybe. But if I’d had any of it installed back then, I would have been able to do something sooner. Instead, I spend most nights consoling a little girl with a heart too big for this world.
“I will never leave you, little one. I love you more than you know.”
She peeks up at me. “Even more than hockey?”
“So much more than hockey,” I say honestly. And as her breathing evens out again, I stare at the ceiling, the weight of that truth pressing down. I love the game—the rush, the brotherhood, the ice. But this?
