Silas flips a pancake so high it almost hits the vent hood. “And apparently for the art critic who said my slapshot was ‘kinda rude.’”
I bite back a smile, leaning against the doorframe. “I stand by that review. You embarrassed that poor goalie in front of his whole family.”
He smirks, eyes flicking up to mine. “You sound real sorry about it.”
I’m not. Seeing him on the ice—focused, alive—was the first time I’d seen him look like himself in weeks.
Aubrey points the spatula toward me like a gavel. “You’re the taste tester.”
“Pretty sure that’s the chef’s job.”
She gasps, scandalized. “You can’t taste your own cooking! That’s bad luck.”
Silas hands her a plate, patient as ever. “That’s birthdays, bug.”
“Breakfast, too,” she insists, serious.
He glances at me over her head, a silentsee what I deal with, and I can’t help but laugh. This is what I used to picture when the world felt too sharp—coffee, happiness, being part of something safe.
If these last few days have proven anything, it’s that finding and maintaining safety can be tricky. And when you think you’ve found it, you forget how fast everything can shift.
By the time we sit down to eat, sunlight spills through the window, glinting off the glitter still stuck to my knuckles from last night’s sign-making marathon. The stuff really is eternal. Aubrey talks with her mouth full about the “epic battle” between Silas and a defenseman twice his size.
Silas listens, smiling faintly, but I see the twitch in his jaw every time his phone buzzes on the counter. He doesn’t reach for it, but he hears it. Every time.
“You should get out of the house today,” I say quietly when Aubrey runs to grab her gear bag. We’re still trying to keep things normal for her sake, so she’s spending the day at the rink with Hannah and the dog so she can sort Thorn’s paperwork for him.
His gaze flicks to mine. “You trying to get rid of me already?”
“Trying to keep you from pacing holes in the floor.”
He’s quiet for a beat then says softly, “You should get out, too.”
“Planning on it.” I nudge the crutch with my toe. “If I can manage stairs, I can manage a coffee run.”
Something like pride flashes across his face. “You sure?”
“Doctor’s orders. Sort of.” I don’t mention that it’s mostly stubbornness and caffeine withdrawal. “I’ll drop Aubs with Hannah then stop by the market.”
He nods, but his eyes linger, like he wants to argue and knows better. “Text me when you get there.”
“I will.”
“And when you leave.”
“Silas.”
His mouth lifts, barely. “Humor me.”
I nod, because I know what that need for control costs him.
The world looks different from behind the wheel. Autumn sunlight hits the windshield. How have I been in Steele Valley for nearly two months already? Aubrey chatters in the passenger seat, telling me all about her latest art project idea—pumpkins made of cotton balls and glitter. She’s the only kid I know who can make glitter sound like a weapon.
When I pull up to the Casons’ house, she unbuckles and leans forward to hug me. “Don’t have too much fun without me!”
“Wouldn’t dare it.”
She nods, satisfied, then pauses with her hand on the door. “You’ll keep an eye on Silas, right? He’s been really jumpy lately.”
