Chapter 30
Silas
Ishould have slept like a log last night. Instead, I kept checking my phone and texting Thorn for updates on Aubrey. The storm that was raging in my head finally settled sometime between her sighs and the sound of her heartbeat against my chest.
Oakley is still asleep, curled toward me with one hand fisted in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I should move. Should get up, make coffee, pretend this is easy. But I can’t make myself let go. Her hair is a mess, her cheek pressed against the spot over my heart, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe.
I trace lazy circles down her back, careful of the bruises my hands might’ve left, and remind myself what this means.
It’s not a fix. It’s not the answer. But it’s real.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and whisper, “I missed you, Katibug.”
She hums in her sleep, barely audible, but it’s enough to wreck me all over again.
Because now that I’ve had her back in my arms, I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to let her go again.
Eventually, the need for coffee wins out.
Slowly, I ease out from under her, making sure the blanket stays tucked around her shoulders. She murmurs something but doesn’t wake. Good. She needs the rest.
The hallway floor creaks under my weight as I make my way to the kitchen. The house still smells faintly like her shampoo, like rose and vanilla tangled with cinnamon and coffee. The kind of scent that settles in and makes a place feel like home.
I start the coffee maker and lean against the counter, rubbing the back of my neck while the machine sputters to life. My phone buzzes, and I expect it to be another update from Thorn. Instead, it’s another missed call from an unknown number, no voicemail.
“Could be spam,” I mutter under my breath. Still, something about it twists in my gut.
The next buzz comes before I can talk myself down. Same number.
“Persistent bastard.” I silence the call before sliding my phone further away. I pour the coffee and stare out the window, watching the fog roll over the field behind the house. A sense of false peacefulness, because what’s coming will be anything but.
Oakley’s soft footsteps shuffle down the hall a few minutes later. She’s wearing one of my old Voltage shirts, the hem brushing her thighs and her hair a riot of tangles. And just like that, the weight on my chest lightens.
“Morning,” she mumbles, voice still edged with sleep.
“Morning, Katibug.”
She squints at the clock. “It’s not even seven. You trying to win an award for most functional adult before sunrise?”
“Coffee’s my trophy,” I say, handing her the mug.
She takes it, wrapping both hands around the ceramic like it’s a lifeline.
For a few minutes, it’s quiet. Comfortable in a way I haven’t felt in years. She leans against the counter beside me, hip brushing mine. We don’t talk about what happened last night. We don’t talk about what it means, but the silence hums with something that feels a lot like hope.
Then my phone buzzes again. It’s that same unknown Georgia number.
Oakley glances at me. “You gonna get that?”
I hesitate. “Yeah,” I say finally, but the word feels like a lie.
Some part of me already knows the voice on the other end of that line is about to shatter the small amount of peace we’ve managed to rebuild.
The phone buzzes again before I can talk myself out of it.
Same damn number.
Oakley tilts her head, curiosity flickering across her face. “Maybe it’s one of the guys?”
