Page 36 of Melt the Ice

I hold my breath for a few seconds before slowly letting it out. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

“I want to. Selfishly, I want this to be our restart.” Restart. The word we always said when one of us said or did something we didn’t mean.

“When my father told me the ranch was sold, I didn’t want any reminder of the place and the people I loved. I felt betrayed. But I shouldn’t have ghosted you.” Her voice is heavy with defeat.

“Did you think of me?” I instantly regret asking.

She sighs, digging her thumb into the junction of my neck and shoulder. I hiss as she says, “Every day.”

I stare at her through the mirror and wonder if she’s ever seen herself the way I do. Does she know the way her smile lights up a dark room? How I dream of watching her draw again, to see the way her tongue presses into her cheek when she’s concentrating. Does she know my love for her is both the motivation behind everything I do and the chain wrapped around my ankle?

“You’re not an easy man to forget.” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh, one that feels like sandpaper against my heart. “I came out here to find myself, to save what should have always been mine. Ours,” she whispers in reverence. “Instead, I found you again, and somehow I think that’s better.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore, Scarlett.” I turn to face her. “ I’m not sure what to do with that. You’re one way in my head, but here, it’s like you can’t stand to be around me. And that hurts. It hurts to know I wasn’t enough for you to come back, or at least call.”

Her gaze bounces over my face, and when the silence gets too heavy, I deflate.

“I know I shouldn’t expect anything from you, but damn, Scarlett. I would have given you the world, whatever that may have looked like at the time, if you just asked for it. Because you’ve been my world since the moment we met.”

Her hands fall to the rim of the tub, as tears build behind her eyelashes.

“Are you ashamed of me?” I ask as I look for any indication that she is.

Hair flies everywhere as her head shakes rapidly, her fingers trailing over my face until they cup my cheek. “No.”

“Then why do you hate the sight of me?” I don’t even have the question fully asked when she climbs in with me, fully clothed.

She sits between my thighs, her tears falling down her face faster than I’ve ever seen. “I don’t hate anything about you. But I don’t think I deserve you. I don’t know how to be the girl you fell in love with.”

My hands find the backs of her legs, thumbs brushing against the outsides of her calves. “I’d never ask you to be anything other than who you are.” I reach up, swiping a tear from her eye, “I miss you, miss being around you. I’ll take whatever pieces you’re willing to give me.”

Which, now that I think about it, is pretty freaking pathetic. I’ve said almost the same thing to my mom. What is it with me and having to beg the women I love to love me back? I sink further into the water, leaning against the back.

The tension pulls tighter with every second of silence, and my heart riots as I watch more tears fall from her eyes.

“What if I’ve lost that girl forever?” She whispers, voice cracking as if she’s afraid of the answer.

“The fact that you’re sitting here, fully clothed in my bathtub, letting this side of you show, tells me that you haven’t lost her as much as you think.” She huffs out a broken laugh. “You’re not telling me off, not hiding behind the persona you’ve built as a shield. You’re just, you.”

She turns, putting her back against my chest, sending water sloshing over the edge, but I don’t care. “You don’t have to be that person here, Lettie. Drop the act, let me have the sides of you that nobody else has the pleasure of knowing.”

She nods against me, “Shouldn’t it be me trying to comfort you right now, not the other way around?”

I lean my forehead against her shoulder, “Probably.” Her shoulders shake, jostling my head as the tension bleeds from the room. “Try for me? Please.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll try.”

I want to believe that, I really do. But when it comes to the life of Lucas Monroe, good things very rarely stay.

Today is my mom’s funeral, one I pushed back because my teammates were gone and I couldn’t imagine doing this without them. It’s cold today, fitting for the chill her absence left behind. I run a hand down my face, pulling a bit when I get to my beard that definitely needs a trim. Her casket settles at the bottom of the ditch they’ve dug right next to my dad. It’s been weeks, weeks of numbing myself every night, despite Abby benching me for the next series and threatening longer. Weeks of resentment for a woman who was only my mom for the first seven years of my life.

Frustration courses through my veins as Abby comes to stand next to me, her hand softly wraps around mine, and I fight against every instinct telling me to grab on and never let go. Instead, I pull away, crossing my arms over my chest, making this stupid suit pull even tighter over my back. Her soft gasp lands like a bullet to the chest. She, out of everyone at this stupid funeral, doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger.

Yet she is, my team is. In fact, the only person who isn’t is Lettie. She somehow shows up every night, ready to slay every demon I have. Last night, she sat on the couch and drew in silence next to me before she made me eat and drink something with no alcohol in it. Her silent presence has done more for me than she’ll ever know.

The woman has always been my soft spot, my safe place. Home. But my friends have always been there for me, too. Since the moment I got picked up by the Hawks and the core group got together, we’ve been inseparable. They fall, I pick them up. But when I fall? I push them away. Not a fair trade if you ask me.

“Goldie,” Scarlett whispers, her hand wrapping around mine. I raise my head, unaware that I’d even looked away from the grave. “Do you want to say something, or are you done?”