Three Pucking Wedding Dates (Hockey Harems #1)

51. Oakley

51

OAKLEY

T heo and I pull up the gravel driveway, the crunch of rocks beneath our tires feeling like a familiar embrace. My heart races with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, knowing that walking through these doors will bring back memories both sweet and bitter.

“Ready?” Theo asks, his deep voice pulling me from my reverie.

“More than ever,” I reply, forcing a smile that I hope hides my inner turmoil.

We step out of the car, and I’m immediately struck by the absence of Tina’s ostentatious convertible and Georgia’s sleek sports car. Relief washes over me like cool water on a hot day. With them gone, the atmosphere surrounding the house feels lighter, more intimate. It’s as if the air itself has taken a deep breath and exhaled all the tension they bring.

“Looks like it’s just us and your dad tonight,” Theo notes, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine.

“Thank God,” I say, unable to suppress a genuine grin. “I could use a break from their drama.”

Theo chuckles softly, and for a moment, we share a look of understanding. Our shared history, including that intimate moment on my eighteenth birthday, adds layers of complexity to our relationship. But with Tina and Georgia away, maybe we can finally catch our breath and simply enjoy each other’s company.

The door swings open, and my father stands in the entryway, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection as he greets us. “Oakley! Theo!” he exclaims, wrapping his strong arms around me in a hearty hug that feels like home.

“Hi, Dad,” I breathe into his shoulder, soaking in the comfort of his embrace.

“Hey, Mr. Price,” Theo says, extending a hand for a firm shake. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has, son. You’re always welcome here.” My dad’s smile is warm and inviting.

“Thanks, sir.” Theo returns the smile, and I can tell they’re both happy to reconnect.

“Come on in.” My dad beckons, stepping aside to let us pass. “I thought we could make some banana pudding together tonight. It’s been ages since we’ve done that, Oakley.”

“Sounds perfect,” I agree, my heart swelling at the prospect of reliving this cherished family tradition. We follow him into the cozy kitchen, which already smells faintly of vanilla and ripe bananas.

“Alright,” Dad begins, donning an apron and tying it snugly around his waist. “First, we need to slice the bananas. Thin, even slices are key.” He demonstrates with practiced ease, his knife gliding through the fruit. I mimic his movements, finding a familiar rhythm in the simple task.

“Next, we’ll layer the sliced bananas with Nilla wafers.” Dad’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides us through each step. “Make sure to cover the entire bottom of the dish, but don’t overlap too much. That’ll prevent any sogginess.”

“Got it.” Theo nods, carefully arranging the cookies in a neat pattern. His attention to detail is endearing, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him work.

“Once that’s done, we’ll pour the pudding mixture over the layers,” Dad continues, stirring a pot on the stovetop. “Now, the secret to perfect banana pudding is all in the consistency.”

“Really?” I ask, intrigued by this nugget of wisdom.

“Absolutely,” Dad confirms, his eyes twinkling. “You want it thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, but not so thick that it turns into a gloopy mess.” He demonstrates by lifting a spoon from the pot, allowing the silky vanilla pudding to coat it evenly.

“Wow, I never knew there was so much to it,” I admit, feeling a newfound appreciation for the dessert we’re creating together.

“Hey, Theo,” Dad says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel, “I was thinking about that time we all went camping when you were kids. Remember how Oakley here almost caught a fish with her bare hands?”

Theo chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he recalls the memory. “Yeah, she was always so fearless, even back then.”

“Still am,” I interject with a grin, basking in the nostalgia of our shared past.

“Of course, who could forget the look on her face when she fell in the river?” Theo teases, and I playfully swat his arm, feigning annoyance.

“Hey, I was just trying to prove a point!”

Dad laughs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “You certainly did, sweetheart, and we’ve been proud of your determination ever since.”

As they continue to reminisce, I find myself listening intently, absorbing every word and anecdote. These stories bridge the gap between years, connecting us and deepening our bonds. It feels like coming home after a long journey, finding solace and comfort in the familiar.

“Remember the time we tried to teach Oakley how to skate?” Theo asks, grinning at the memory. “She was so stubborn, refusing any help and insisting she could do it on her own. She must have fallen a dozen times before finally accepting my hand.”

My cheeks heat up at the reminder of my bruised ego, but I can’t deny the truth in his words. “I’ve always been a bit of a perfectionist,” I admit sheepishly.

“Which is why you’re so good at everything you do,” Dad says, giving me an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You put your heart and soul into it, and that’s something to be proud of.”

“Thanks, Dad.” My voice is thick with emotion as I wrap my arms around him, grateful for his unwavering support. In this moment, surrounded by love and laughter, I feel truly blessed.

We take our seats, the familiar clatter of silverware and glasses as we serve ourselves a comforting reminder of dinners past. It’s been far too long since we’ve had moments like these, just the three of us sharing a meal, talking, and laughing together.

As we eat, I listen intently to the conversation between Theo and my dad. They reminisce about old hockey games, joke about embarrassing moments, and discuss their hopes for the future. It’s a rare glimpse into the friendship they once shared, and I feel a pang of envy at the bond they’ve rekindled so effortlessly.

“Your cooking has definitely improved since the last time I was here,” Theo comments, grinning at me as he takes another bite of chicken.

“Practice makes perfect,” I retort playfully, feeling my heart swell with happiness at his compliment.

“Speaking of practice,” my dad interjects, “I remember when Oakley first tried to make this dish. She was so determined to get it right that she spent hours in the kitchen, refusing any help or advice.”

“Sounds about right,” Theo chuckles, shooting me a knowing look that sends warmth spreading through my chest.

“Hey, I learned from the best,” I say, nodding at my dad. “Besides, I think it’s safe to say I’ve mastered it now.”

“Absolutely,” Theo agrees, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary.

All too soon, dinner comes to an end, and we find ourselves clearing the table and washing dishes in companionable silence. The weight of the day catches up with me, and I stifle a yawn as I dry the last plate.

“Getting sleepy?” Dad asks, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe a little,” I admit, another yawn escaping me despite my best efforts.

“Alright, you two,” he says, gesturing toward the hallway. “I’ve made up the guest room for you, Theo. Oakley, you know where your old room is.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble, exhaustion creeping into my voice. “Good night.”

“Good night, Oakley,” Theo says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Night, Dad,” I add, giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs.

As I enter my old bedroom, a sense of nostalgia washes over me. It’s been years since I’ve slept here, and though some things have changed, others remain comfortingly familiar. I change into my pajamas and crawl under the covers, allowing the softness of the sheets to lull me into a much-needed slumber.

“Ugh,” I groan under my breath, trying to shove my pillow into a more comfortable shape. But it’s no use; sleep remains elusive.

I close my eyes, attempting to focus on something other than the chaos inside my head. The lingering scent of banana pudding fills the air, bringing back memories of simpler times when my biggest worry was whether or not I’d be allowed to lick the spoon after mixing the ingredients.

But just as my thoughts threaten to spiral out of control again, there’s a soft, familiar knock on my door. My heartbeat quickens, and I sit up in bed, pulling the covers closer around me.

“Who is it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden surge of hope that it might be Theo seeking solace in my company.

“Oakley, it’s me,” Theo’s voice comes through the door, gentle and reassuring.

The door creaks open, and his silhouette fills the dimly lit entrance. His broad shoulders seem to hold back the darkness as he slips into my room, closing the door behind him. The air shifts, charged with an electric current that buzzes under my skin.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough and tender at the same time, like the scrape of sandpaper against velvet.

“Hey,” I respond, my voice barely audible. My heart skips a beat, relieved by his presence yet anxious about what comes next.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, kneeling by my bedside. He reaches for my hand, his touch warm and grounding.

“Too many thoughts,” I admit, my eyes locked on our entwined fingers.

“Same here,” he confesses, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. It’s in this simple gesture that I find solace, knowing I’m not alone in my restlessness.

“Can you stay for a while?” I ask, biting my lip, hesitant but hopeful.

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He stands up, shedding his jacket before slipping under the covers beside me.

The mattress dips beneath his weight, and I shift toward him, cautiously resting my head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes my frayed nerves, and I relax into the warmth of his body.

“Is this okay?” Theo murmurs, his breath tickling my forehead.

“More than okay,” I answer, snuggling closer to him. His strong arm wraps around me, pulling me tighter against him, as if shielding me from the turmoil outside these four walls.

The warmth of Theo’s body against mine is like a balm to my soul, and I can’t help but sink deeper into his embrace. Our breaths mingle in the darkness, creating an intimate cocoon that shelters us from the world outside.