Page 44 of Melt the Ice

“Monroe, did you read any of this, or do you want the Cliffnotes?” Hannah asks, flipping through the pages of a book with a black-and-white cover. I haven’t picked up a book since we finished Second Chance Ranchers.

“I haven’t read any of it,” Lettie cuts in, my saving grace as always. “Fill me in?” She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back twice. Our silent way of saying thank you, one we made up when I was ten. It was the first summer I realized I liked her a lot more than I liked anyone else.

They just started reading a book called Will She Choose, apparently it’s a love triangle. The girl, Callie, is pregnant with one of their babies. One is a jerk, but also not. Then there’s the guy who was her best friend growing up, but now he’s all man and a cop. Which, according to my sources, is a lethal combination.

The girls jump into their usual routine of reading the different characters' lines, but I can’t focus. My head is spinning, I’m itching for a drink, just so I can stop thinking for half a second. I feel like an outsider, even though I know nothing has changed for them. My mind doesn’t want to cooperate, though. In the jacked-up confines of my brain, I don’t belong here. I’m not worthy of being here. The proof is buried in the dirt.

My gaze locks on the bottles lined up on the kitchen island. Amber glass under soft light. One drink could make the noise stop. Just for a little while.

“You don’t need it.” Lettie’s voice cuts through the haze. My guiding light, calling me out of the darkness.

“I know.”

She cuddles in closer, pulling her feet into my lap and tipping her head back. “You know, I could really go for a grilled cheese right about now…”

My head tilts until my forehead is resting on hers, “I’ll make you as many grilled cheeses as you want. Just don’t give up on me. Not yet.”

“Not ever, Lucas.”

The night fades around us, words float by, but I can't hold onto a single one of them. I exist in fragments, part of me here, part of me at the ranch, and part of me buried six feet under with a woman I never got the chance to forgive.

We say our goodbyes on autopilot, promising everyone I’ll be back at the rink next week. Lettie’s hand sits warm in my own. It fits so perfectly, it’s as if she were made to slide into the pieces of me I deem unlovable.

The sound of my tires on the asphalt is the only soundtrack playing right now. The low rumble is oddly soothing as we leave the city and head for the ranch. “Will you come to family night with me?” I break the silence.

Her head turns to me, a shy smile playing on her lips as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Lily already asked me to come. I meant to ask you, but things got a bit crazy.”

Crazy sure is one word for it.

The thought should make me happy that Lily has taken to her. But it doesn’t. Not right now. Right now, it feels like I’m losing someone else, but this someone just so happens to be a nine-year-old who stole my heart two years ago at the charity carnival Hannah put together. She’s been instrumental in helping me heal my own inner child, though now, you can’t really tell I’ve done any work in that department.

“Oh, okay.” I take my hand from hers, anxiously drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.

She turns in her seat so that her knees are tucked underneath her, “Is that not okay?”

I point to the buckle that’s not over her hips at this point, “I don’t think that’s safe. Can you sit right, please?”

“Lucas, I’m fine. What’s the problem?” But she’s not fine.

If we get hit, she could be thrown from the car. She could go through the windshield, and if I try to save her, which I would, I could get hurt too. One of us could die, or maybe both. But regardless, we could end up like my parents. The thought has me pulling off to the side of the road, arms crossing over the steering wheel as I suck in air as fast as I can.

“Goldie, what’s going on?”

“Your seatbelt, Lettie.” My voice rough, as if it’s spent the day being sandblasted, only getting rougher when I say, “If we got hit, it’d do nothing to hold you back. I’d lose you like I lost my dad.”

She freezes, the buckle partly over her lap. “Shit.”

Her hands land on my face, soft and trembling against the scruff of my beard. And I break, because it’s not about the seatbelt, or a crash, or even the bottle I so desperately wanted to reach for all night. It’s the ghosts in the back seat whispering, you weren’t enough to save us.

“I can’t do this, Lettie,” I rasp. “I need a drink. I need my brain to turn off. I need to not feel.”

The familiar, viscous pull toward the one thing I’ve been thinking about all night. The one that quiets the noise, the confusion. My fingers twitch over the steering wheel, and blood rushes through my ears like a roaring wave. It would be so easy. One sip and I’d be on my way to blissful silence.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat because damn it, I don’t want to want it.

“No,” she says, voice barely a breath but solid nonetheless.

Her thumb continues to brush against my cheekbones, my head cradled in her hands. The gentle strokes calm my fears in a way that shocks me. I let my eyes slowly fall closed, because looking at her feels like admitting failure.