"Cool." She wipes cookie crumbs off her lip with the back of her hand. "Can we make cocoa tonight?"
"Obviously."
The security camera notification pops up on my phone as we pull into the driveway. Everything's green and clear. My shoulders relax another notch. Inside, I drop the backpack by the door and can't help smiling when Aubrey stores her gear bag the exact same way I store mine. We build a couch fort with exactly one blanket—per the treaty we negotiated last week—and she curls up with her chapter book while I do a quick check of the house. Lock, latch, sensor light blinking its steady red. I manage not to do a second pass, which feels like progress.
When Oakley comes through the door an hour later, she smells like cold air and tempera paint. Her cheeks are pink from the wind, hair pulled into a messy knot, craft supplies tucked under her arm. She drops everything on the counter and leans over the back of the couch to kiss the top of Aubrey's head. "How's the fort?"
"Structural integrity: medium," Aubrey reports without looking up from her book. "Cocoa?"
I raise my hands. "Already on it."
While the milk warms on the stove, Oakley slides onto a barstool and rubs at her ankle. It's more habit than actual pain at this point, but I notice it anyway.
"How was her day?" she asks, keeping her voice low. "I'd ask her myself, but she looks pretty absorbed."
"She loved it. Already plotting how to get to more practices."
Oakley's mouth curves into a smile. "Wonder where she gets that."
"Rooks," I say without missing a beat, and her laugh is exactly what I was hoping for.
"The precinct called me," she adds, her voice dropping as she glances toward the couch. "They arrested your dad today. Theywere going to call you next, but I said I'd tell you. Didn't want the kiddo to overhear anything she didn't need to."
The heat under my sternum shifts from wildfire to something quieter. "Good."
"Good," she echoes, then tilts her head. "You going to practice tonight?"
"Optional skate. I'll go for an hour and run a couple drills." I watch her face, looking for any hesitation. "I'll be back before bedtime."
"Okay," she says, and I hear the difference. Not okay because she's afraid to say no, but okay because we're choosing this together. Four days ago, I would've read that wrong. Today, I decide to trust it.
We drink cocoa at the island. Aubrey narrates exactly one billion plot points about a dragon who's allergic to glitter. Oakley steals the mini marshmallows for herself, and I pretend not to see. The whole thing is so normal it makes my chest ache.
I leave for the rink as the sky turns pink. The guys are already on the ice, looking like chaos until you understand what they're actually doing. Rooks gives me hell for being late and then slips on a rogue puck, which is the kind of karma that keeps me believing in some sort of justice.
It would be easy to disappear into the drill and let the noise swallow me whole. I don't. I find the space between pushing too hard and holding back, and I stay there. When a rookie leans too hard into a crosscheck, I don't light him up. I just push him off his edge and show him the line he almost crossed.
Between reps, I glance at my phone on the bench. After everything that's happened, no one argues about me keeping it there.
My Girl: Unicorn says she misses you.
Silas: Tell unicorn I’m practicing my bedtime voices.
My Girl: Oh no.
Silas: Oh yes.
I’m still smiling when Thorn glides over. “How’s the house?”
“Quieter.” I don’t look away from the sheet. “She’s working again. Aubs is…Aubs.”
“You?”
I roll my shoulders. “Trying to find that balance between overbearing and protective.”
He actually snorts. “Careful. You start listening and I’ll expect it all season.”
“Scary.”
