Page 53 of Melt the Ice

Damn it, I pull back, blinking to get my tears to make up their mind, either fall or dry up, because I hate the sensation of them pooling behind my eyelids. It’s like I’m too calloused to even cry correctly.

His arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into the comfort of his chest. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Lettie. I just...” He blows out a breath. “I need to know you're safe. Selfishly.”

I let out a humorless laugh, wondering how I went so long without him in my corner.

“We can walk to the rehab, ask Miller if he knows anything.” He says into my hair.

“Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed.” My hands meet his hips as I push away from him. “Thank you.” I motion to the flowers and the coffee, “You know how to make a girl feel special.”

He simply smiles, hands me my coffee, and says he’s going to put the flowers in a vase while I get ready. It’s simple, domestic, yet there’s so much joy in the little things. The nuances no one else would notice, the way I can feel him watch me even in a room full of people. The way his body is always turned toward mine, like we’re magnets pulled together by an invisible force. How his hand seems to always find some part of me to rest on, the way he checks in with a single glance.

The six-foot-four Viking looks like he could and would rip someone’s head off if you hurt someone he cares about. Then I see him hold baby animals, feed and nurture them with such care, I get to witness the way he loves his friends, feel the way he loves me, and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side.

It’s a love for the ages, him and I. One that I’ve held close to my heart, kept in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, keeping his memory safe and protected from the bullshit that happened back home. It’s like I’ve woken up from a winter's long hibernation with an appetite that can only be sated by him. His love lets me be me. I’m safe in it, safe with him.

22

lucas

I called Miller while Lettie was getting ready, running him through last night's incident. He quickly combed through the footage of the front gate, and it was like nothing had happened. The gate showed it stayed closed all night, not a soul in sight.

I would have asked Lettie if maybe she had a very lucid dream, but as he droned on about nothing being amiss, I noticed the barn door leaning to one side. It wasn’t like that when I left a couple of days ago. “Miller, did you ever change the bolts on the barn door?”

He’s quiet for a beat, his chair creaking as he stands up. “Couple of days ago, why?”

“Because it’s leaning to the side.”

It’s silent for a second, heavy and loaded with concern. “Be right there,” he clips before the call disconnects. I run a hand through my hair, sighing as I lean against the kitchen counter. I’ve had more good days than bad recently, and if I’m being honest, this feels like the tip of the iceberg of what’s to come.

I’ve been here for nine years, and we’ve never had random people on the property. We’ve never had security footage not pick something up. But I know what it’s like to worry, and it’s never done me a lick of good. It’s just amplified situations I couldn’t change. In turn, making me miserable and depressed.

After Scarlett and Ms. Anna found me standing on the bottom of the intercoastal bridge with not a single positive thought at the age of eleven, I told myself I’d never let myself go back to that tornado of anxiety. But right now, it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Scarlett, it’s the ranch, it’s the animals in the stables, and the rehab center.

I’ve been known to go a bit overboard when I feel people I love are hurting or in trouble. Lily is a prime example. I found out some kids were bullying her at school, and Samuels and I went and had lunch with her class every day for a week, flanking either side of her as we sat like gargoyles, only smiling at her. Did we intimidate the shit out of a bunch of second graders? Yes. Do I regret it? Not in the slightest. They left her alone after that.

“You okay?” Her arms snake around my waist as she lays her head on my back. I relax a bit, turning in her hold until my arms are wrapped around her back. I press a quick kiss to the top of her head, then pull away.

I slide my hand in hers, walking side by side out the door. When she sees where we're headed, her hand tightens around mine for a fraction of a second before she’s running toward it. “Hey! Lettie wait!”

She doesn’t stop, though. Luckily, my legs are longer, and, not to toot my own horn, but I’m faster. “Lettie,” I warn as my arms wrap around her waist. “Give us a second to make sure it’s not going to fall over on you if you try to pull it open.”

She doesn’t fight, seeming to realize that not one of us could hold that door up by ourselves. Truthfully, I’m concerned a gust of wind is going to send it flying. She relaxes, nodding against my shoulder as I put her back on the ground.

Miller meets me on the other side, tools already in the pocket of his jeans, as I hold one side while he twists the bottom so we can get it upright. Lettie’s low whistle has me looking at her out of the corner of my eye, “I’m going to need you to do manual labor more often.” She says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Miller and I both laugh. He works to undo the bottom bolt so the door drops to the ground, leaning before I step in front of it and push it back up against the building with his help. This door has a gravity latch, meaning that whenever the door shuts, gravity automatically engages the lock. But there’s also a deadbolt that we usually wrap around the handles of the front, and that, along with the chain it hangs on, are not here.

“Can I check inside?” She asks hesitantly. I step to the side, letting her pass as Miller and I walk shoulder to shoulder behind her. He’s been here this entire time, too. Over the years, we’ve formed a bond that I’d risk my life for. He’s got my back, I have his, and now, we both have Lettie’s.

We’re halfway through the stables when she stops in her tracks, inhaling so quickly it makes me tense. “What?” I follow her line of sight to a muddy boot print on the ground. “Lettie, it’s just a boot?”

Her head shakes slowly, “Yeah, but I mopped this floor before I went to bed last night. Stella and I had a chat. The floor was spotless.” She looks up at me, something flickering in her eyes that matches the unease in me. “Can we get out of here?” she asks, wiping her hands against the front of her pants.

I nod when she looks up at me. A sense of dread overwhelms me as we walk back to my house. Her hand doesn’t leave mine until we get to the front door.

“Let me unlock it,” I say, pulling my keys out of my pocket. But to my surprise, the second her hand lands on the handle, it pops open.

My keys fall from my hand as I stare at the now cracked door. “I know I locked that,” I mumble, quickly deciding the keys aren’t worth it, but Lettie is, and she’s already pushing the door open further. There could be a serial killer inside for all she knows.