Page 34 of Melt the Ice

She puts her hand on my forearm, “Sounds like your parents suck.” That they do, little cutie.

“Yeah, but now I’m free. And I’m happy here.” I whisper.

She looks up at me, those innocent kid eyes, always seeing way too much, “And Uncle Lucas is your Flynn Ryder?”

I sit with that for a second. I don’t need any man to save me. I can save myself, but if I had to pick someone, it’d be him every time. “I don’t know, maybe.”

She giggles, “I think he’s in love with you.” She says with complete confidence.

I scoff as I twirl her ponytail around my finger. “I don’t know about all that, little muchkin.”

She tilts her head back and smiles, “You looooveeee my Uncle Lucas.” And then she laughs like a child with a sugar rush, almost villainous. When she’s done, she puts her hands on my face, her eyes begging me for something I already know I’ll give her. “Can you come to family night? It’s at the ice rink, my mom isn’t going, but Uncle Lucas will be there. So will the rest of the guys, but I want you to come with me.”

I should ask Lucas first, but I haven’t seen him since they left for their games. That little fact doesn’t sit well with me, but I can’t deny this little one again. “Sure, I’ll ask Ms. Hannah for the details.” She claps rapidly before hopping off my lap and running toward the group of kids that are currently petting Nutter and Butter.

I’m not alone long when Abby sits next to me, “I’m surprised you talked to her.” She says.

I bristle. “You don’t know me.” I cringe internally. I really need to stop treating everyone like the enemy.

She huffs, “No, but he does. Which is why I’m surprised you're here, not with him.”

Turning my head slowly in her direction, I narrow my eyes, “Why isn’t he here? This was his idea, no?”

A flush works up her neck, coloring her cheeks in a shade that would be perfect for blush. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Gonna need you to be more specific.”

When she doesn’t respond, my skin starts to itch. I pat the ground, pushing to my feet, “Well, thanks for that riveting conversation.” I start to walk down the hill toward the group of kids when her voice stops me in my tracks.

“You know, I’ll never know how someone like him fell in love with someone with the personality of a peacock. All show, no depth.” She’s standing now, her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow hiked in challenge.

“Like I said, you don’t know me.” I mirror her stance, unwilling to let her get to me. His best friend be damned, I was his best friend first.

“I know you’re here, acting like you didn’t destroy him when you left and never reached back out.” Her head tilts to the side. “And I know you’re here while he’s locked himself in his house, drowning in grief because he found his mom face down on the floor earlier this week. And you either don’t know that, or you don’t give a shit. And if that’s the case–” I tune out the rest of what she says, I don’t care. His mom died, and he didn’t tell me?

Does Miller know? Was I the last one? I mean, I’d deserve it. But it’s me, and he’s him. My mind races as I run through the open field, memories I’ve tried to forget assault my senses as tears spring to my eyes. The time he told me he wished his mom would join his dad because it’d hurt less to not see her anymore. Or the summer he begged me to stay because he couldn’t handle someone else he loved leaving. Then the promise I made him the last summer I was here, the one where I said it was us against the world. That he’d never have to worry about me leaving, because I’d pick him every time in every life.

Each pound of my foot against the ground feels like I’m running a never-ending race, the distance between the two of us too insurmountable to close at this point. Yet every huff of breath releases pieces that no longer serve me. Like every breath is one step closer to the woman I always wanted to be. But still, a nagging voice in the back of my head tells me it may be too late.

My closed fist rapidly knocks against his door. “Go away,” he croaks from inside.

“Goldie, let me in, please.” It’s quiet for a second before the door swings open. He looks awful, his hair matted, the stench of alcohol wafts off of him in waves. But it’s the dimness in his eyes that has tears gathering in my own

“What do you want, Ms. Arias?” He slurs.

“Please don’t call me that.” I can handle Scar. I can handle Ms. Arias from anyone else, but not from him. I can’t handle the formality, the space he’s putting between us. “Can I come in? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

He scoffs, “You think because you don’t have a dick you can tell me what to do?”

I sigh, the weight of the distance I’ve put between us makes my head fall forward, “I deserve that and a heck of a lot more, but Lucas, let me in.”

His eyes water, “I want nothing more than to let you in, Lettie. But what happens when you leave? I’ll go through this all over again. I can’t do it. I can’t have you just to lose you again. So just stay away.” The pain in his voice splits me down the middle when he tacks on, “please.”

He starts to close the door, and I stick my boot between it and the frame. “No, I can’t do that,” I say, pushing my way into his house.

He swats at the air, “Yes, you can. You’ve done it over and over again.” Stumbling backward, he catches himself on the entryway table. “You chose not to reach out to me when you knew I was here, drowning alone. You let me drown, Lettie. And you’ll do it again, because that’s who you are now, right?” His voice pitches as he sways a bit.

Swiping the tequila bottle off the coffee table, he takes a big gulp. I close the distance between us, reaching for him, but he throws a hand up, stopping me in my tracks. “Big city girl. Handles her shit, doesn’t need anyone. Sound familiar?”