Page 35 of Melt the Ice

“Lucas.”

His head snaps so fast in my direction that he tilts over the back of the couch just enough to make the liquid spill onto his hand. “No, I pulled myself out of the pit you left me in.” He bellows as he smacks his chest with his open palm. “I did it without you. Just like you don’t need me, I don’t need you.”

But he’s wrong, I do need him. I think I’ve always needed him and have just been too big a coward to admit it.

He raises the bottle in the air, “Maybe I’ll know how it feels to be loved in the next life, huh, big man?” He whines before tilting his head back, drinking half the bottle in one go.

A knife lodges itself in my chest as I take in the man before me. The one who’s been passed up time and time again. The man who has never wanted anything other than to be loved and accepted for who he is. He’s right, though, I did leave him. I did know he was suffering, and while I was suffering differently, I wasn’t alone.

I broke a promise that clearly did more damage than I could ever imagine. But this is my line in the sand. The Scarlett my father built dies right here. The pride I carry so close to my chest has no place on the ranch. No place with him. Because at the end of the day, there is nothing I’m more sure of than the fact that my heart and I are safest when in the hands of the man unraveling in front of me.

“Come on, Goldie. Lay down.” I guide his shoulders until he’s lying back on the couch. Grabbing a blanket from the basket by the fireplace, I throw it over him before settling his head in my lap. His hair is greasy and tangled, but I know I won’t be able to get him up to shower right now. So instead, I just run my fingers through it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear me.

After a while, my breathing matches the steady rise and fall of his chest. I let myself look at him, and I mean really look at him. His arms, tattooed with a lion on one forearm and tribal print from shoulder to wrist on the other, beg me to trace the ink with my finger.

In the silence, I let myself do what my younger self would have done, and draw over his skin. The familiarity strips away every excuse I have left. Maybe it’s the masochist in me. The one that says if I don’t feel anything but pain, no one can tell me I’m too loud, too emotional, too much. If I’m just a stone wall with no feelings, I can’t get hurt. But I’m hurting all the same, aren’t I? And him? He’s the wrecking ball that knocked it all down.

Here, with my finger swirling around black ink, there’s a cataclysmic shift. There’s no going back to how we were before. It’s him and I. Just like it always should have been.

14

lucas

I pry my eyes open, the sour smell of stale booze clings to my skin, making me b-line for the bathroom. Well, at least I try to, but my foot catches on a lump on my floor on the way. “Ouch,” It says. I catch myself on my dresser, the room spinning wildly for a second.

I blink, trying to clear my vision. “Lettie?” She presses her hand against the spot on her back where I’d accidentally kicked her.

“Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”

She looks up at me through her lashes, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands before she pushes up to stand in front of me. “I’ve been here since Halloween.” She’s what? How did I not realize she’d been here? I tap the screen of my phone, eyes widening when I see the date. It’s November sixth for crying out loud. Because you’ve been so drunk, you didn’t even know your own name.

“Shit,” I run my hand down my face. “I’m sorry.”

She steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, not batting an eye at the wretched stench wafting off of me. “Why on earth are you apologizing?”

I can’t help but laugh. The ridiculousness of that question lightens the pressure in my chest. “Because I’ve been so drunk that I didn’t even realize you were here.”

“Understandable.” She adds.

Is it though? Is it understandable that the woman I would have done anything to get attention from for two decades is dead, and the only thing I feel is anger? Is it understandable that the only thing I want to do is numb myself because it’s easier than having to deal with the fact that I’ll never get the answers I wanted?

“Come on,” She grabs my hand, pulling me into the bathroom. “Strip.” She says so abruptly that my eyes fly wide.

“Well, my word.” I drawl, slipping back into the joker part of me, hoping she won’t ask how I’m feeling if she thinks I’m okay. “What kinda man do you take me for?”

Her eyes roll as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Down to your boxers, Goldie. Get in the tub.”

The tub? The tub I’ve never used. The one I put in because she told me it was her favorite way to unwind at the end of the day, when she was fourteen. “I…” My mouth snaps shut.

“Please.”

She turns on the water, filling it to the halfway point before helping me step in. Her gentleness is a complete juxtaposition to how she’s been with me since she’s been here. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s because my mom died, or if my Lettie is finally tired of pretending to be someone she’s not.

“Sit forward,” she says after I’ve settled. She takes the hose and wets my hair, dragging her nails along my scalp. I groan at the sensation, tingles start on my scalp, traveling down through my body until a weightless feeling takes over. This is the most at peace I’ve felt in ages.

“I hate myself for not reaching out to you.” Her hands move to my neck, running along the back, massaging the knots before moving down to the tops of my shoulders.