39. Oakley

Chapter 39

Oakley

I t's been a few days since Mr. Bryant attacked me, and no one has said a word about anything to me. I don't know who Mr. Blackwood has on his payroll, but it's been nothing but ‘This is currently under investigation, but no foul play is indicated'.

I'm at Jeremiah's game, and I've barely taken my eyes off of him the entire time I've been here. I feel like it'll be this way in forty years. It'll be hard to pull my gaze from him because he's the only thing I see. The roar of the crowd fades into white noise as my eyes lock onto a figure standing just beyond the bleachers, leaning against one of the many pillars that make up campus. He looks utterly detached from all of the chaos around him. Royce. My heart skips a beat, not out of affection but shock. Two years. Two agonizing years without a word besides that one pocket dial, and here my brother is, like some ghost risen from the dead.

"Oakley?" Lincoln's girlfriend's voice cuts through the din, her eyes assessing and questioning.

"Give me a minute," I manage, my eyes not leaving Royce while asking for understanding. I don't know how much she knows about the situation with my brother and Jeremiah, but I'd suspect she knows at least a bit. Lincoln likes to pretend that he stays out of everyone's business and that he couldn't be bothered to get involved, but I've seen the way he is with Iris. He tells her every little thing, just like Jeremiah does with me.

Without another moment spared, I rise from my seat and stride purposefully toward Royce, each step fueled by anger and curiosity. I know Jeremiah is watching me, even from the game. I'm safe as long as his eyes are on me. I can feel Iris' gaze burning into my back, also. Watching, waiting and willing to jump in if I need her. A girls' girl, well, at least to me. I appreciate it more than she'll ever know.

As I close the distance, his frame comes into sharper focus: taller, more muscular, and that scar. It slices across his neck, raw and jagged. A reminder that I have no idea what it's from because he cut me out of his life without a word. It stands out starkly against his rugged exterior. It's impossible to look away.

"Royce," I say, my voice barely a whisper yet surprisingly steady. His name tastes bitter on my tongue, memories of betrayal flooding back. He looks up, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine. For a moment, it's like looking at the brother who was always there for me until he wasn't. Then I realize that they're colder, harder, and darker than before.

"I should have known I'd find you here, little sister," he replies, his tone as rough as the scar that marks him. If he's not here for me, then he must be here for Jeremiah. Suddenly, I feel very protective. If he's here to start their feud up again, I won't be bulldozed this time. I have enough of a voice to tell him exactly where he can go .

"Two years," I start, the words catching in my throat.

Emotions too volatile to contain flood through my entire body. "Where the hell have you been?" My question hangs in the air. My fingers itch to reach out to touch my big brother. But something else gnaws at me, more urgent than his disappearance—the scar. "What happened to you?"

He smirks, but there's no humor in it. Just bitterness and old wounds. "Life happened, oak tree. Things you wouldn't understand." He uses an old nickname, and the look that he's giving me is like he's daring me to push further.

"Try me and don't call me that," I counter, stepping closer. He has no idea what I've been through, so right now we're a match made up of traumas.

"You're determined, I'll give you that," he mutters, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

"Don't patronize me, Royce. Not after everything." My voice is sharper now, cutting through the pretense.

"Everything?" He scoffs, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You don't know the half of it, Oakley."

"Then enlighten me," I challenge, refusing to back down. "Or leave. But don't you dare stand there and act like you don't owe me anything."

His eyes darken, a shadow crossing his face. "You chose Jeremiah. Remember that."

"Is that what this is about?" I snap, anger flaring. "Two years gone, and you're still hung up on that night?"

"More than you know," he admits, voice low and dangerous. The scar on his neck seems to pulse with his words.

"Then why come back?" I demand, frustration bubbling over. "Why now?"

"Because," he says, stepping closer until we're almost touching, "some things can't be left unfinished."

The cheers from the game swell behind us, but they feel miles away. All that exists is this moment, this confrontation. And the answers I desperately need.

"Fine," I say, my voice trembling with determination. "Let's finish it. Where the hell did you disappear to?" I demand, my voice cracking with desperation. The words spill out before I can stop them, years of longing and confusion bubbling to the surface as water rims my lashes. I search his eyes for any hint of remorse or explanation, but all I see is a wall of bitterness.

"Does it matter?" Royce's voice is cold, almost detached. He leans against the stone column, arms crossed. "You made your choice when you didn't back me up, Oakley. Whether I was right or wrong, you should have taken my side. I'm your brother." Spoken like a man who was definitely wrong and knows it, but somehow, it's still my fault.

"Isn't it always like this with you?" I retort, the sarcasm biting. "Always running, never facing things head-on."

"You're still young. Still innocent. Don't speak on things you don't understand." I want to throttle him. He has no idea about any of the shit I've gone through. Things I've done.

"Don't give me that," I snap, stepping closer until I can smell the faint scent of sweat clinging to him. "Two years, Royce. You disappeared without a trace, and you expect me to ignore that? Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"To you?" he scoffs, eyes narrowing. "You think this is about you? You chose Jeremiah over me. Remember?" His eyes flicker with something dark, something that makes my skin prickle with unease.

"Dammit, Royce!" I hit his chest with my fists, frustration boiling over. "I deserve to know!"

"Deserve? I owe you nothing, Oakley," he sneers, grabbing my wrists and holding them tight. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be betrayed by your own sister?"

"Like hell you don't, and let go of me," I say through gritted teeth, trying to wrench free. But his grip only tightens, his eyes flashing with anger and pain. "Royce, please," I beg, tears now streaming down my face. "I need you to let go."

"Fine," he says, releasing me abruptly. I stumble back, my heart aching with the weight of his words. " I guess some scars never heal."

"You think you're the only one with scars?" I ask, my voice shaking. "Don't be so obtuse or conceited. You left, but life goes on and bad shit happens to people every day. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"It doesn't matter now anyway," he admits, his eyes softening for a split second before hardening again.

"Royce, enough," I snap, my voice sharp and unwavering. The weight of the past couple of years presses down on me and it feels like a boulder is sitting on my chest, but I channel that pain into resolve. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and stir up chaos. Are you here for Jeremiah? He didn't do what you thought he did. I don't know why you could never believe that."

"Chaos?" Royce scoffs, his eyes flashing with anger and hurt, maybe. "You think I'm the one bringing chaos? Look around you, Oakley. You've got Jeremiah wrapped around your finger while you're still trying to play peacekeeper. It's pathetic, and no matter how much I have on him it seems like he still got his hooks in you."

"Pathetic?" My laugh is bitter, and I can feel my tears of sadness drying up. "What's pathetic is disappearing without a word and then expecting everything to be just as you left it. I've dealt with enough pain in your absence, Royce. You have no idea. You don't get to judge me, not after everything. I was in pieces, big brother, and I picked them up. Without you."

"Pain?" He steps closer, invading my space, his breath against my face.

"Just leave, Royce." I harden my gaze, drawing on every ounce of determination I have left. "I can't deal with your unpredictable presence anymore. I have no room for it in my life. I would have given anything to have you back months ago, hell a year ago would have been even better. But now you just remind me of how decayed our relationship is. How broken our entire family is. Say what you want about the Blackwoods, but you can't deny that not a single one of them leaves another behind, regardless of what may or may not have happened."

"Oakley, you're—" His retort is cut off by the sudden eruption of noise from the crowd. The final play of the Championship game has everyone on their feet, cheers filling the air, drowning out our confrontation. For a moment, we're both distracted, caught in the fervor of the crowd. I fucking missed it and now I'm pissed about that.

Royce mutters, his expression darkening. "I want to talk to Jeremiah, and I need you to stay out of it. This isn't your business and I would have preferred you stay the hell away from everything Blackwood."

"Yes, it is. Jeremiah is my business," I reply firmly, turning away from him, my heart pounding in my chest. As the crowd's excitement gets louder, all I can think about is getting away from him and getting back to the field. I know Jeremiah has noticed I've been gone too long by now and any minute he's going to burst off the field, murder in his eyes.

"Oakley!"

Jeremiah's voice cuts though just like clockwork. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him striding toward us, his eyes displaying with anger and protectiveness. He reaches my side, placing himself between me and Royce, a human shield made of muscle and determination. It helps he's still got his uniform on, but no helmet.

"Get gone, Ashford. Stay away from her," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You've done enough damage to last a lifetime."

Royce's lips curl into a bitter smile. "Oh, look who decided to play knight in shining armor. Just another pretty boy, always swooping in at the last second. Might want to check your facts."

"Shut up, Royce," Jeremiah snaps. "Or I'll shut you up. And you're just as much of a pretty boy as I am. Lest you forget we used to be fucking brothers."

Royce chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. "That's funny coming from you. Almost as if I heard those words from a Blackwood before."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeremiah's fists clench at his sides, ready for a fight.

"It means," Royce says, his voice dripping with bitterness, "that I know the truth now. Jeremiah, you didn't fuck around with Penny. It's your father who is a piece of shit."

The revelation hits like a punch to the gut. My mind races, trying to process what is actually happening right now. Royce steps closer, his gaze locked onto Jeremiah's. I have no idea what he's talking about, and I honestly don't want to know if it has anything to do with Mr. Blackwood. Knowing shit about him is dangerous.

"He wanted to break us apart, you and me. And it worked, he succeeded. I don't know why, but again I don't understand shit about you Blackwoods and how you operate." My brother spews out and my head spins.

"You're lying," Jeremiah snaps, though doubt flickers across his face. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"I don't have a fucking reason to lie. It doesn't change the fact that things can never be the same between us," Royce continues with a shrug, with what sounds like regret lacing his words. "Our friendship is beyond repair, and I know that. I made sure of it when I forced you to stay the fuck away from my sister."

"Yep," Jeremiah replies, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "You know Blackwoods never forgive blackmail, unless we're the ones doing it. But that doesn't mean you have to drag Oakley through your personal hell."

"Drag her?" Royce's eyes flash with pain. "I came back to set the record straight with you. She chose which side she was on a long time ago. I'm not the villain in this story."

"Consider it straightened. Now do us both a favor and leave her alone," Jeremiah says, his tone final. "That's the best thing you can do for your sister."

The tension between them crackles. I stand there, caught in the crossfire of these two boneheads. Royce's confession changes everything and nothing, all at once.

"Fine," Royce finally says, stepping back. "I'll leave. But I'll be around. I just transferred to St. Charles." There's mirth in his tone that I don't like one bit.

Jeremiah doesn't reply, wrapping an arm around me protectively.

As Royce turns and walks away, the weight of the encounter settles over us like a dark cloud. For a moment, we stand in silence, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as we process what just happened .

"Are you okay?" Jeremiah asks, his voice gentle now, his protective stance softening.

"Yeah," I whisper, leaning into him, finding solace in his embrace. "I think so."

"Let's get out of here," he suggests, his eyes filled with concern.

We move through the crowd, the noise fading into a distant hum. My heart pounds in my chest, the uncertainty that lies ahead for the three of us weighing on me. I don't know why my brother has transferred here, but I suspect it's not because he has a sudden interest in getting a degree when professional boxing was always his goal. He wanted to be the next great and to see his name in lights everywhere. But with Jeremiah's arm around me, I feel a flicker of hope. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

"Blackwood!" Royce's voice calls out behind us, and I realize that he's turned back around to us. His tone is raw, stripped of its usual confidence.

"Oakley needs you," Royce admits, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes me shiver. "I can see that now. It doesn't mean I like what happened, but I get it."

Jeremiah's grip on me tightens, as if he can shield me from the weight of Royce's words. I glance up at him, seeing the conflict tearing him apart. But there's an understanding there, a reluctant acceptance.

"I'll keep her safe. From everyone. Even you," Jeremiah begins, his voice low and dangerous.

"I know," Royce replies, stepping closer.

"You have no idea what she went through because you left her. Because I left her," Jeremiah snaps, his muscles coiled and ready to snap.

"You're right," Royce says, his voice softening. He raises his hand, rough and scarred, extending it toward Jeremiah. "Truce, for her sake?"

Time seems to freeze as Jeremiah stares at Royce's outstretched hand. He looks at his hand as if it's a viper poised to strike. Two former best friends, to enemies, to acquaintances as best. How freaking tragic.

"Fine," Jeremiah mutters, releasing his hold on me just enough to free one hand. He takes Royce's hand, their grips firm but wary. "But this doesn't mean you have any right to call her, text her, or be near her. I'm on the edge, Royce."

"Understood," Royce replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Just remember," Jeremiah warns, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You, of all people, know what the fuck I'm capable of. Don't give me a reason."

"Noted," Royce says simply, letting go of Jeremiah's hand. The tension between them simmers, an uneasy understanding forged.

"Let's get out of here," I say, my voice trembling. The need to escape is overwhelming.

"Yeah," Jeremiah agrees, his arm wrapping around me once more. As we turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of Royce's face—haunted, regretful, yet determined. I'll find out where he's been and why he was gone for so long, but I know it won't be right now. As much time as I've spent hating the fact that he left the way he did, I do believe him about Mr. Blackwood. I can tell that Jeremiah does, too.

I want to know what happened, how he got that scar and why he looks so exhausted, but I know it's not my place anymore to ask those kinds of questions.

That's his story to tell when he's ready.