She doesn’t push. Just takes what I’ve chopped and drops it into the big pot on the stove.
“Open practice at the rink tomorrow. Want to go watch hockey hunks battle it out with your mama?”
I pretend to gag. “Gross, Ma. Most of those guys are my age or younger.”
“Maybe I’m into that reverse age gap thing that you girls are always reading.”
Pushing the stool back, I start to get up. “Okay, on second thought, maybe I’m not really hungry. That’s about all I can take of this conversation.”
Her giggle turns into a full-belly laugh, and I can’t help the twitch of my lip. It’s a miracle she can still let go after so many years of grief, but it’s been easier since Noah and Trace finally made peace. Their shared grief over Dad’s death years ago set them against each other, but with therapy—and Jett—theyactually call each other once a week now. I never thought I’d see the day.
Mama wipes her eyes with her shirtsleeve before waving her hand at me in apology. “Okay, okay. Enough of that. Sit back down.”
I make the sit-down dramatic, sighing and flopping as I go. “I guess I forgive you,” I mutter with a smile.
“I really do think you should go to the rink, Oakley. Seeing some friendly faces would do your heart some good.”
“Hmm. I don’t think those faces are all too friendly these days.”
“Oh, posh,” she says, slinging her dish towel at me. “Silas, Rooker, Thorn and his wife all adore you. They ask about you every time I see them.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “And how often are you seeing my ex-fiancé when neither I nor Noah is in town, Mama?”
“He checks up on me. Cuts my grass when he’s in town. Eats dinner with me sometimes. Besides, you guys still talk, unless I missed something?”
I sigh. “Not as much as we used to. Things have been…strained lately.”
Mama just hums in that noncommittal way. “You should get together while you’re healing. Could be good for the both of you.”
“Mama,” I groan. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker.”
“I will stay firmly out of it.”
“And why don’t I believe you?”
She pretends to zip her lips and toss the key in the trashcan.
Yeah, I don’t believe for a second that she won’t meddle while I’m home.
Chapter 4
Silas
“Damn it, Harrison. Sit your ass down and let me take a look at it.” Liam, our team’s head athletic trainer, is more than ready to knock me out.
“It was just a mild roll,” I mutter as I settle onto the bench by my locker. He didn’t even let me rinse off the sweat from our morning skate before cornering me after I gracefully somersaulted into the boards. Another reason for Coach to shift the lines.
Liam palms his face, the frustration evident in his voice. “Your ankle rolled out from under you, and you needed Colt to help you up. At least let me take a look at it before you head out.”
“I’m fine, Liam. Laces were too loose. I tightened them. Problem fixed.”
“Problem not fixed. Twenty bucks says that ankle swells the minute that skate comes off. Come find me when you need it taped.” He slings a black hand towel over his shoulder before stalking off to find another unsuspecting victim. I don’t have time to feel bad before another grumbly voice sounds from over my shoulder.
Shit. Of course, he witnessed that.
I don’t need to look up from stripping my pads to know Coach Thorn Cason is ready to tear me a new one for multiple careless mistakes.
“The hell’s wrong with you, boy?”
