Page 39 of Melt the Ice

I reach up and swipe it with my thumb, running my fingers softly over his beard. His arms tighten around me, pulling me tighter to his chest. “I hate myself so much for not being my own hero, for wanting to be loved so much that I was willing to do anything, because now the idea of loving someone or letting myself be loved feels like a trap. I wanted my father’s love, so I went to school, got a business degree, became a raging bitch, and he was proud of that. But his brand of love has only ever come with fine print and a shock collar.”

We’re both quiet for a minute, letting the words sink in. But then, I decide if we’re going to have this conversation, he needs to hear all of it. We can’t work through our fears together if we don’t know what the other fears. “I’m scared that if I let you in, you’ll see all my brokenness and decide I’m not worth the effort. Or you’ll decide you know what’s best for me and try to determine what we do.”

He lets out a watery, disbelieving laugh. “You’re a beautiful bird, Lettie. The most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.” His lips meet my forehead, pausing to let them rest for a beat. “Beautiful birds don’t deserve to be caged. I wouldn’t dare try. We soar higher together, pretty girl.”

How does he do it? Always know the words to say. “You don’t hate me?” My finger slides into the ring hanging from his neck. I watch as it zips across the chain the way it does when he’s nervous.

His thumb finds the front of my chin, the rest of his fingers settling underneath as he raises my face. “Don’t hide yourself from me, Lettie, please. There isn’t a single part of you that I don’t think is worth fighting for.” I blink, trying to stop my tears from falling, but it’s no use.

He leans in, giving me a quick kiss before pulling away. “Your past doesn’t make you unlovable. It doesn't make you unwanted. You’ve been in survival mode for a long time, too. Rest with me. We both could use a restart. Let me carry some of that burden. Let me love you the way you should have been loved your entire life. Let me love you the way I’ve loved you from afar this entire time.”

16

lucas

There’s nothing scarier than begging the woman you love to let you love her. But here I sit, staring back into the wide eyes of the girl who’s been my entire world for seventeen years. “I don’t…” She trails off.

Seeds of doubt start to take root. Is this going to be another mom situation? Am I going to spend the rest of my life begging for the love of another? But then her eyes lock on mine, pleading with me to understand, and I realize it’s not unwillingness, but fear.

I kiss the apple of both her cheeks, letting my lips linger just a second longer. “I’ll do whatever you need me to, Lettie. I just need you to let me in. No more pretending, no more calling me a stranger, no more trying to act like a hard ass.”

Her shoulders shake with a soft laugh, tears decorate her lashes like snowflakes as she looks up at me through them. “Just be you, and let me love you for who you really are. Fears, faults, and all.” She aims a shy smile in my direction before she schools it.

“Can I show you something?” I ask, feeling a bit nostalgic.

She looks at me and nods. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I open my photos app, pulling up the album that’s stocked with pictures of us through the years. Her hand wraps around it hesitantly, but when she realizes what she’s looking at, a small gasp escapes her. And damn, what I wouldn’t do to hear that in a different scenario. She lets out a watery laugh, her thumb moving back and forth as she looks through the pictures. “We were so cute,” She says as she turns the phone sideways to get a better look.

“Cute? Who are you calling cute?” My eyebrow hikes in outrage. “I’m handsome, a total catch if I may say so myself.”

She pauses, letting her brows furrow, “I don’t know about all that. You still very much have your boyish charm.” She laughs again, this time her entire body shakes against me. I wrap my arms around her, holding her to my chest, before my fingers dig into the sides of her ribs where I know she’s ticklish. “AHHH! NO LUCAS, NO! PLEASE,” she squeals, which just makes me double my efforts.

“You planned out a hundred ways to get me off the ranch that first day, didn’t you?” I ask, her laugh turning into howls of amusement.

“Yes.” She squeals, “I mean no. I wanted to hate you.” She heaves a breath. “I’m sorry, you win. Make it stop.” Tears run down her face when she finally sits up to face me. She wipes them on my shoulder, and I don’t even care. I don’t care if she uses me as a giant tissue for the rest of her life. I just care that it’s me she’s using.

“I’m sorry, really. I… didn’t know what to expect.” Her lips roll together, “I was preparing for a wife and kids moment shortly after that. I don’t think I would have survived it.”

I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, then pull her into me, my arms banding around her shoulders, a soft sigh escaping her lips when her head settles against my chest. Scarlett’s beautiful on a normal day, but I’d be hard-pressed to find a time when she’s more beautiful than when she’s comfortable in her own skin. She shivers, and I realize she’s got goosebumps covering her arms, cold even though we’ve got a blanket pulled over us. “Should I turn the fire on, or do you want to call it a night?”

She hums as she turns, her back against my chest as she extends her legs, letting them rest against mine. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, then grabs my hands, placing them in her lap as hers cover the tops of my own, finally lacing our fingers together before she looks up at me.

“Can you just hold me for a little bit?” She asks, her voice taking on a sultry tone. It takes me holding my breath for about twenty seconds before I’m confident we’re not going to have a situation. Not that it matters much because her perfect ass is settled right in the cradle of my hips. Every slight move she makes sends waves of forbidden energy straight to my– “Do you think clouds get jealous of each other’s shapes?” She asks.

A laugh bursts from my chest, sudden and forceful, like water surging from a firehose. Here I am trying not to poke her, and she’s thinking about clouds? “I…” My forehead rests against her shoulder, shaking as I sink into the comfort her question brought me. “I don’t know, Lettie Girl. That’s a question for the afterlife one day.”

I walked Lettie home after we had dinner, even though she begged me to let her stay. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, and I meant it when I said I didn’t want us being together to be tainted. She deserves the world and so much more, and right now, my head isn’t in it. Not the way it should be when it comes to her.

She held my hand the entire way, letting it swing between us like there wasn’t a single problem in the world. And for a few moments, there wasn’t. But then she said something, something oddly similar to something my dad told me once. “Did you ever think we’d be here? The little Ranch Prince and Princess now King and Queen?” The force at which the memory slammed into me had me bending at the waist the second I got out of her line of sight.

“You look so pretty, Mommy, like a real-life princess!” Her laugh is loud as it bounces off the wall of the living room. “Thank you, my little prince.” She says as she stops spinning and lets go of my dad’s hand. She places her hands on the sides of my face, her eyes shine when she says, “One day, you’ll meet a real-life princess too. And you’re going to make her the next Queen Monroe.”

My dad chuckles, his hand pushing through his hair, his eyes never straying from my mom. “She’s right, son. One day, you’re going to meet a woman, and she’s going to knock you flat on your back. You’ll look up from the floor and thank her for it. When that happens, you marry her and treat her like the queen she is. Do you hear me?” I nod, a smile splitting my seven-year-old chubby face in half.

That was the day before he died.

The silence in my kitchen is louder than it should be. The pounding of my heart echoes off the hollow place in my mind reserved for my parents. Every replayed memory acts as a tiny needle, poking at my heart in a way that has me questioning how many moments like these it’ll take before I bleed out.

My heart holds so much hope for the future, but my brain is begging me to think logically. To take some precaution, to expect to be left behind again. That’s the pattern it’s used to after all. I’ve lived what feels like a thousand lives during my twenty-seven years, yet the second Lettie came back, it was like every one I’d lived between when we last saw each other and now meant nothing.