Page 12 of Melt the Ice

Lucas: Yeah, thanks, Doc.

Dr. Williams: Of course. Talk then.

Tossing my phone, I roll over, burrowing myself in the pile of blankets I have on my bed. You’re strong enough to get through the night, Lucas. You don’t have to earn love. It’s not tied to performance. I tell myself as I flex and relax my toes, the constant brush of the blanket against them grounds me enough to lull me to sleep.

5

scarlett

The sun has barely risen over the tree line when my eyes crack open, my brain already running on fumes, and I’m not even out of bed yet. Two weeks on the ranch, and it’s like every muscle has lodged a formal complaint with HR. Back home, hard work meant heels, headaches, and pretending I liked my job and the people that came with it, enough to close a deal.

Here, hard work comes with hay stuck in my bra… amongst other places. Mud is a permanent accessory. There’s usually dirt under my unmanicured nails, and my hair has taken on a life of its own in this humidity. And somehow… I don’t hate it.

The rope burn on my forearm aches as I turn my palm over to push back the blankets. Ranger, a skittish rescue horse, decided to end my night last night with a bang, scared of a shadow as I was putting him back in the stall. My arm throbs when I unwind the bandage, discarding it in the bathroom trash can. The skin is tender, raw in a way that feels more earned than sealing a contract ever did.

I put fresh antiseptic on it, wrapping it again and tugging until it’s snug, but not suffocating. There. Evidence, proof I’ve actually got skin in the game here. I catch myself in the mirror, smirking like an idiot. My eyes roll. Great. I’m becoming one of those men who flaunt their injuries like trophies.

I loosely braid my hair as I walk to the kitchen, punching the cold brew button with the amount of force I hope this caffeine gives me. The machine groans, like even it’s protesting being up this early. I get it, but for the life of me, I cannot sleep past five anymore. Before I can blink, I’m splashing in creamer and shaking a bit of cinnamon on top like it’s muscle memory.

I groan as it hits my taste buds, quickly pulling the cup away from my lips. I stare at the coffee like it’s personally betrayed me. I’ve never made my coffee like this before. I’m strictly an iced coffee with a splash of milk, kind of girl.

And here I am, making it just like he did. The same way I did every time he tried something new when we were kids. What Lucas did became Lettie’s way. It doesn’t even register as wrong. Just familiar in a foreign way. The realization lands, tugging at the hand of the girl who’s begging to come out. But I shove it aside before it can settle. Not yet.

Outside, the stables are alive with their usual morning sounds. The shuffling of hooves, the low grumble of a horse still half in dreamland. Stella lifts her head when I approach. She’s a White Abarrio, all grace laced in trouble. Still as gorgeous as I remember.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I murmur, scratching between her ears. “Still acting like you’re all that and a bag of chips?” She huffs warm breath across my arm. I smile, taking that as a yes.

My hand runs the length of her neck. Her mane could use a brush out. Maybe she’ll let me braid it like I used to. But she’s antsy, so I take the hint. “Wanna ride, ol’ girl?” I ask as I lift the bridle from the wall in the back corner of her stall.

Her head lowers, allowing me to slip it over her, scratching the underside of her jaw. I step around the side, holding the reins loosely in my hand.

We step out into the glow of early morning, the birds chirping mix perfectly with the sound of the sprinklers spraying over the back pasture. I brace a hand on her back, throwing my weight forward, and swing up in one slightly wobbly, yet oddly familiar move. I settle in the middle of her back, and she shifts underneath me. Nana used to say bareback meant letting the horse tie its heartbeat to yours, and I’ve never understood it until now.

Stella picks the trail herself, hooves sinking into the pale Florida sand. My hips fall into a rhythm that matches hers, the sway and roll silencing the noise in my head more effectively than any deep breathing exercise ever has.

The oaks still bend over the path, draped in Spanish moss that sways like a thick blanket in the humid breeze. Palmettos crowd the fence line in the protective way they always have, their fronds brushing together, creating a sound like a slow exhale, like even they can’t believe I finally came back. Everything looks the same, and somehow that makes me feel even more disconnected than before.

I sit a little straighter, fingers slipping absently through her mane, and keep my eyes ahead as she leads us to wherever she wants to go. She stops in front of the koi pond Nana had put in for my eighth birthday. Nana used to say they symbolize strength, courage, and transformation. Something that I didn’t appreciate as a child, but now, looking at my reflection, I find myself reevaluating.

I can almost hear her as I sit here in a spot that became innately ours. I’d run out here in tears every time I got off the phone with my parents during the summer. I hated it, the reminder that I had to leave. That I had to leave the real Scarlett here and go back to playing dress up. There was nothing that tore my heart up more than leaving her and Lucas. Truthfully, not much has changed because I’m torn up over Lucas now, too.

As much as I try to act unbothered by his presence, all I want is to fall into him. Find out if his arms still feel like they were made to hold me. Maybe find out if his lips still feel like home, if the feel of them is still enough to silence my mind. To block out the voices of anyone else, to give me the strength to be me when the world has always told me I’m “too much.”

I let out a huff. Nana used to love it when he was here, she said we were her little chickens. The two of us followed her around like shadows, learned everything we could, and then, as we got older, she put us to work. But it didn’t matter what we were doing, because we did it together. And there’s never been a time in life that I’ve been happier than I was here with him.

I pick up a smooth rock, running my finger over the cold surface before tossing it into the pond. The water ripples, rings chasing each other across the surface. A memory sneaks in with the shimmer, the same pond, but younger. Barefoot and running across the ranch, excited to share my new happy place with the boy who brought me to life.

“Come on, Goldie! I wanna show you what Nana built for my birthday!” I yell as I grab his hand and pull him toward the new pond.

Nana chuckles as she walks behind us. “I didn’t build it, Mija. I had it put in.”

My free hand waves through the air. “Same difference.”

We come to a stop next to the pond, Lucas’s eyes widen as he takes in the orange fish swimming in the water.

“Whoa, what kind of fish are these, Ms. Anna?” he asks as he gets down on his hands and knees and leans over the top.

“Koi, they’re Japanese. They can swim upstream against really strong currents.” She sits next to him as they watch the fish.