Page 17 of Melt the Ice

“When are you coming back?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

I can almost see him sitting in his office, rubbing his temples, annoyed at my insubordinance. “Scarlett, I know you think you want to be what your Nana was, but you can’t. You weren’t made for that life.” He sighs, as if he’s doing me a favor by telling me this. Like he’s saving me from years of hardship. I turn my hand over, looking at the healed rope burn on my arm, and I realize I’m happier here, sweating and covered in dirt, than I’ve ever been inside the walls of my father’s company.

“I know you think you know who I am, but I promise you, you don’t.” The muscle in my jaw jumps as I bite down as hard as I can.

He mutters a curse. “Scarlett, you’re in way over your head.”

My annoyance gives way to anger, a slow coil wrapping tighter in my chest. If nothing else, their insistence further confirms there’s something here they don’t want me to find. “I know a threat dipped in sugar when I hear one. I learned from the best after all,” I hiss.

There was a time when I may have believed that, but being here gives me a strength I’d long forgotten. It pulls little Scarlett to the front, allowing her to take the reins. The heartless Scarlett they know is now ruthless in the name of the ranch. Damien’s always done my father’s dirty work, the face of the fallout. He doesn’t scare me, though.

“If that’s all, don’t call me again.” I hang up, only for my phone to immediately light up. This time, with a text from my father. I’d bet money on the fact that he called me from my father’s office, and he heard the whole thing.

Papi: I’ll give you two days to be back in the office.

A laugh escapes me, the disbelief in it sounds hollow to my own ears. How could I have been so blind for so long? This moment should be terrifying, and it probably would be for someone else. But for me, it’s like staring at an open door. One where the other side holds something that feels unmistakably like freedom.

Scarlett: Or what? You’ll fire me?

Papi: Yes.

Scarlett: I’ll do you one better, I quit.

Then I slam the phone on the ledge that houses the many brushes, my manic laughter filtering through the stables. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to steady my breathing, when I hear the soft shift of gravel under a boot.

“Uhh, you alright there, Little Bird?” Miller asks hesitantly from the doorway.

I stand tall, a genuine smile taking over my face, one that feels earned because I finally stood up for myself. “Yeah,” I say, breath hitching. “I just quit my job. Dad wasn’t too happy about it. But I feel free as a bird now.” My voice breaks over bird, the sound thin and aching.

I fill up their water then continue down the line, stopping when I come to my favorite Florida Cracker horse named James. “Hey, bud.” I rub the spot between his ears. He was terrified of me when I first got here, but daily head rubs and peppermint bribes have done wonders for our friendship.

“Did you do this back home?” Miller’s voice carries through the open stables. I scoff.

Ellie Arias’s daughter shucking horse stalls? God, I can see the scandal now. “In my dreams. If my mother saw me right now…” My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I fight a smile at the thought of what she’d do if she could see my clothes covered in mud, hay sticking out of my hair. It’d probably put her in an early grave.

“She hated it when I got on a horse. Said it was the peasants' way of gettin’ around.” I pause, tossing my braid over my shoulder. “Except at the derby.” I send him an over-exaggerated wink.

His raspy laugh threatens to pull yet another smile from me. “You’re a lot like your Nana,” he says as his fingers tap rhythmically against the door. The sound echoes through the quiet stables, and for a moment, they seem to tilt. My arm goes still, the brush hovering over James’ back. I don’t breathe.

“She thought the world of you.”

The words sink in slowly, like warm honey coated grief. I press a hand to my chest, rubbing the spot on my sternum that’s saved for Nana. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

His silence is palpable, and it takes a moment for me to realize he isn’t responding. Turning my head, I find him slouched against the door frame, shoulders low as if some invisible force is pressing down on them. His eyes stay fixed on the floor. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. It cost me the things I treasured most.”

He lifts his head then, slowly, as though it takes a gargantuan effort. His gaze meets mine, steady, but holding a lifetime of regrets I’ve never heard him talk about.

“You belong here,” he adds, almost whispering it. Like if he says it too loud, I might break apart right here in the middle of the floor. And honestly, I feel like I might.

His affection feels like danger when you’ve been shown that love is conditional, and I want to ask what kind of mistakes make the man I’ve only ever seen as confident look so haunted, but the familiar itch of emotional discomfort starts at my neck, spreading through my arms, and suddenly, I need space. I drop the brush into the metal bucket, “I’m gonna go wander for a bit, if that’s okay with you.”

He looks at his watch before a smile grows across his face. “Don’t go too far, the kids with the Wilder Foundation will be here in about twenty minutes.” He hesitates, “I’m actually shocked Lucas hasn’t shown up yet.”

My eyes widen. “Miller!” I look down at myself in horror. I’m in sleep shorts and boots. “A little heads up woulda been nice!” I shriek. His laugh follows me as I burst through the door. The sunlight stings my eyes as I run to my house, praying that no one saw the flash of ass I just gave the world.

I quickly change into something a bit more appropriate. I don’t know if he didn’t tell me they were coming today because he knew I’d overthink it, or if it just slipped his mind. But the sinking feelin’ that I’m about to plaster another fake smile on and schmooze like it’s business as always, is currently sending my anxiety into overdrive. My fingers get cold like they do every time I meet new people, my brain jumpstarts, running through every possible negative outcome, and how I can get out of it, if need be. It’s funny how it never tries to figure out how to act if things go right. But I guess that’s just life as Scarlett Arias. Life hasn’t gone right for me since I was fourteen. Why the hell would it start now?