Page 45 of Melt the Ice

“You don’t.” She whispers. “You're stronger than this. I can drive if you need me to, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

She kisses me softly, patiently, like she’s trying to breathe steadiness back into me. When she pulls back, her forehead rests softly against mine. “Let’s go home,” She says, swiping at my cheeks one more time. “We can eat grilled cheese until our stomachs hurt, then watch a movie while we fall asleep. I won’t leave. I can talk all night if that’s what you need.”

My throat tightens, the fight in me writhing. Part of me still wants the drink, the numbness. But the other, quieter part of me wants this. Her. Wants not to disappear into the darkness again. I promised I’d tell her. I promised I’d let her help. And I may be a broken man, but I’m not a liar. I don’t break my promises.

“But you don’t need a drink.” She continues. “You need to feel, to acknowledge it, and to move through it. Where you go, I go.”

Damn it. She’s right. It takes me a long, jagged inhale before I can get the words out. Before my mind can decide which part of me wins out. “Yeah, where you go, I go.”

Her smile is bright enough to push the shadows back a bit. Allowing me a moment of clarity, letting me call on the strength she exudes.

“Then take me home, hockey star.”

I nod, pulling my Jeep back onto the road, hands tight on the wheel, breath still a bit shaky. Lettie settles beside me, her fingers find their way to the back of my neck, her nails dragging back and forth across my scalp, grounding me every time a thought of a drink comes up.

Tonight, the ghosts stay in the back seat. I can feel them there. But she’s beside me, real, warm, and choosing me.

I reach over and squeeze her thigh.

Where you go, I go. I repeat over and over until finally, my headlights catch the sign hanging over the entrance to the ranch.

We made it. I made it. And for the first time since Mom died, I realize I can do this as long as she’s by my side.

19

scarlett

It’s family night, and I’m nervous about being here. I’ve never been on the ice before. In fact, I’ve never been inside an ice rink. I don’t know the first thing about hockey. I’ve watched a couple of his games, plus some internet searches have helped me come to the conclusion that the man looks delicious decked out in hockey gear, only to be slightly outdone by the sight of him as he walks down the hallway of the arena in a suit that looks like it was painted on him.

“It’s going to be okay, Lettie.” Lucas’s voice fills his Jeep as we stop at a light. His left arm lies over the steering wheel, his hand dangling as he looks over at me. It should be a crime for this man to be this attractive. It’s really not fair to the rest of the male population, but I mean, I’m not complaining.

His right hand lands on my thigh, gripping it in a way that sends a rush of heat to my cheeks. His hand is so big it swallows my thigh. The sight is as erotic as it is humorous. I groan, letting my head fall back against the headrest, “I just don’t want to fall in front of all your friends.”

He laughs, and my thighs immediately squeeze together, trapping his hand at the sound, and yup, there goes my mind, straight to the toilet. “What’s got you so flustered, Lettie Girl?” He squeezes before he starts to run it up and down the inside of my thigh.

“I’m already nervous that I’m going to make an ass out of myself. I don’t need to be wound up tighter than a banjo string.” I swat at his hand, “Behave yourself, Lucas Monroe.” I chide, his laughter fills the air once again.

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” he shoots me a wink before his face turns serious. “You have to know by now, I wouldn’t let you fall, right?” I do, but still, something about being on a sheet of frozen liquid with kitchen knives strapped to my feet does nothing to settle my nerves.

Maybe it’s because I want to impress them, maybe fit in is the better word. I rub my hands on the outside of my arms, a nervous habit I haven’t kicked. “I know, I just…” My head turns to look out the window, it’s times like these I realize how utterly alone I was even when I was surrounded by people. It was all surface level bullshit. I never had to talk about my feelings. It was easy for me to fade into the background.

“I want them to like me, but because I’m me. Not because of who I am to you. And I know if I fall, it’s going to be embarrassing and then like, what group of hockey players wants to hang out with someone who can’t even stand up on the ice without turning into a human bowling ball?”

“Scarlett, they already love you for you.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair that’s currently down, hanging just above his shoulders. “I know you don’t know them like I do, so it’s hard to believe they like you for any other reason than because I love you. But that isn’t it.”

“It’s not?” My hands fall to my lap, fingers lacing together as I chew the inside of my lip.

He turns his head to me briefly before turning his focus back to the road, his lips twitch at the corner before he shakes his head. “It’s not. Sammy went off about how if anyone was touching my goodies, it was you. Reed’s been giving me shit because you’re way more of a badass than I am. And Wilson? You’ve made yourself a lifelong bestie of a giant teddy bear when he heard you told Lily you liked Rapunzel.”

My eyebrows slam over my eyes, “Was someone trying to touch your goodies?” I pout.

“No, pretty girl. My goodies are reserved for you and you alone.” He throws the car in park, looking over at me before he grabs something out of the back seat. “Stay.”

“What am I, a freaking dog?” I mutter as he jumps from the car, smiling at me through the windshield.

His hand lands on the door, swinging it open and stepping up on the rail before unbuckling my seatbelt. “No, you’re my woman.”

My mouth falls open, and every rational thought escapes my mind. I’m reduced to one working brain cell, and that brain cell repeats one word. His.