Her soft laugh follows me all the way back to my room. Not for the first time since Oakley Kate showed back up in Steele Valley, the house feels a little less quiet.
I pause at Aubrey’s door before stepping inside. She’s sprawled diagonally across her bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, clutching the stuffed penguin Oakley sent her for Christmas last year. The nightlight casts a soft blue glow over her face, highlighting the faint smudge of marker still on her cheek from her impromptu arts and crafts session earlier.
I crouch beside her bed, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead.
She stirs. “You help Oakley?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah, bug. She’s fine.”
“She shouldn’t be walking.”
“No, she shouldn’t.” I smile. “You gonna tell on her?”
A sleepy grin curves her mouth. “Maybe. Depends what the bribe is.”
I chuckle quietly. “You’re just like her. You know that?”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks, already drifting.
“No,” I say softly. “That’s the best thing.”
By the time I stand, she’s out again—breathing even, the kind of peace I wish I could bottle and keep for mornings when everything feels too damn heavy.
By the time sunlight filters through the kitchen window, Aubrey’s already at the table in her pajamas, hair a wild mess of tangles, legs swinging as she nurses a bowl of cereal big enough for two.
“You were up late,” she says without looking up. “I heard you.”
I pour coffee into a chipped mug and lean against the counter. “You hear everything.”
“Occupational hazard of being me.” She shrugs, spoon clinking. “Did Oakley really try to walk again?”
I raise a brow. “You spying now?”
Her grin is all teeth. “No. Just wasn’t sure if I dreamed it or not.”
“She did. Said she didn’t want to wake me.”
Aubrey snorts into her cereal. “That’s dumb. You literally never sleep.”
She’s not wrong.
I set the mug down and ruffle her hair, earning an exaggerated groan. “Go easy on her, bug. She’s trying.”
“I know,” she says, quieter this time. “I just don’t want her to find a reason to leave us again.”
Something in my chest pulls tight at that.
She doesn’t remember all the ins and outs of the year Oakley Kate left, but she remembers enough.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” I say. “You both are.”
Aubrey looks up at me then, blue eyes too old for nine. “You love her, right, Bubba?”
I cough into my coffee. “She’s family.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Eat your breakfast,” I mutter, earning a smug smile.
