Broken Promises

Chapter Twenty-three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Strafford stayed in a separate room on the other side of the cabin while Oliver and watched TV. My stomach growled as we finished the movie we were watching, and he grinned down at me, popping his knuckles in the process.

"Come on. I'll cook you something."

He dropped his legs off the coffee table and stood up. Stretching out his hands so I could take it, he pulled me to my feet and led me into kitchen. He told me to sit, and I obliged with no protest. Thankfully, the freezer and refrigerator were already full of food. They probably stocked it full either yesterday or this morning. Whichever day they came up with the idea to bring us here.

Oliver pulled out a bunch of stuff out of the refrigerator, including a pack of chicken breast. He grinned at me and washed his hands before grabbing a knife out of the drawer, along with a cutting board. He peeled the onion and began chopping that up first, along with the bell peppers, carrots, and tomatoes.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked, placing my elbows on the island and resting my chin in the palm of my hands. "I didn't take you as the cooking type, to be honest."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so stereotypical. Just because I'm a high school male who plays football doesn't mean I'm dumb and don't know how to cook anything," he joked. He looked through the cabinets until he found some oil and a pan. He also found a plate and unwrapped the chicken. He seasoned it with salt, pepper and onion powder before setting it to the side.

He heat the pan up before putting oil in it, and then adding all the chopped veggies in it. You could hear the vegetables searing in the pan, and he seasoned them with some other seasonings he found, making the room smell good. I couldn't help but wonder though if someone lived here considering it was packed with a bunch of seasonings and food. I was going to have to ask Strafford later.

"Sorry," I said, laughing with him. "It was just a question."

He sent me a smile over his shoulder. "I know. I was joking." He stirred the veggies around before continuing. "I actually taught myself. I love food but have to watch what I eat. You know us athletes like to eat somewhat healthy."

I did know that. Back before my brother started drugs and played football at school, I always saw him watch his calorie intake. He went to the gym quite often, too, to stay in shape. He told me once that he didn't want to get too fat so that he couldn't play football. At one point, I thought he got a scholarship to some college because he was good at the sport, but after all this, I wasn't too sure if he still had it or not.

"Well, it smells good."

"Thank you."

When the veggies were done cooking, he put it on a plate and began peeling potatoes. He then diced them and threw them in a pot of salted water, turning the heat on high. I watched with fascination, wishing that I knew how to cook. My parents were great at it, and now I learned that Oliver was, too. Man, I needed to step up my game.

After a minute, he started cooking the chicken. We stayed in silence for a minute, and then suddenly I was growing anxious. "Do you think the plan is going according to plan?" I asked, swallowing hard.

Oliver stopped what he was doing and turned to face me. He gave me a small smile. "I'm not entirely sure, but we have to hope it is." I nodded, but was still unconvinced. Oliver sighed, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Walking over to me, he placed a gentle kiss on my lips. "Sierra, you have to think positive thoughts. You can't go your entire life wondering and asking a bunch of what if questions."

He was right, and I mentally smacked myself in the forehead. As hard as I tried to think positive, it was kind of hard not being there and not knowing. But everyone seemed pretty confident that everything was going to go okay. Besides, if something was to go wrong, they would call us – or Strafford- and let us know, right?