Page 55 of Melt the Ice

“And you don’t?”

She shakes her head, looking down at her plate with a sense of longing, one I’ve decided to make my personal mission to get rid of. “I haven’t spent Thanksgiving with anyone in years. I usually stayed home, a week-long vacation where I’d be told all the things I wasn’t doing or wasn’t doing well enough started to lose its appeal after I turned eighteen.”

“I usually get a honey baked ham and make mac n cheese, drop some off at my mom's, then spend it with my teammates who aren’t married.” I bring my glass of water to my lips, letting it wash down the ball of grief as I realize this is the first year I won’t be bringing my mom anything. “Be my date this year?”

A slow smile spreads across her face, “I’d be honored.”

Success, I’ll be pulling out the book of homemade recipes I found in Ms. Anna’s house when I was redoing them. It’s time to show my girl who her family is these days.

23

scarlett

It’s Thanksgiving, and today I’m thankful I woke up wrapped in the arms of the man I’ve loved my entire life. I run my nails across his shoulders, stopping to massage the muscles at the back of the neck, while he drives us back to the ranch. “I’m so sorry, Goldie.”

He groans when I hit a tender spot up towards his skull. “I can’t imagine how hard this was for you.” It’s the first holiday without both his parents. We spent the morning bringing flowers to their graves. He talked, I listened. But I think, more than anything, he just needed to get the last bits of his anger out. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen him drink himself to sleep, but he does still reach for the bottle every now and then.

“I lost my parents a long time ago.” His eyes close, arms relaxed at his sides as we come to a stop at a light. “Dr. Williams says it’ll be harder to let go of my mom because I reopened the wound of losing her every time I went over there. Sure, she was here, but she wasn’t, not really. Twenty years of continual grief, or grief that hasn’t ever been given the chance to fully heal, I guess.”

“What about your dad? Have you healed from that loss?”

His head rolls against the headrest, eyes slowly opening as a small smile crosses his face. “Yeah, he died with only good memories. I worked through most of his death when I had access to therapy in college.”

I let that sit for a moment. “I’m really proud of you. By all means, you should be a cynical asshole. But you aren’t, you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met. I’m blessed to know you, Lucas Monroe.”

“Mmm…” His head pushes further back into my hand, “Stay with me tonight? You can put me to sleep by drawing my next tattoo and giving me scratchies.” His jaw relaxes enough that his lips part. “Holy shit, I’m Moolan.”

We stare at each other for a second before the car is filled with laughter, all tension from our cemetery visit melting away as his right hand settles on my thigh. He proclaims it’s “Sing-alongs with Lucas” time as we merge onto the highway. I lost count of the number of songs we sang after number five, a personal favorite, “Feel Like a Woman,” complete with multiple hair flips from him.

We sing at the top of our lungs, dancing and bouncing in our seats, a genuine smile permanently on his face, and before I know it, we’re pulling into the ranch. When we turn down the dirt road to his house, I note the line of cars that line his driveway and the grassy area next to it.

“How many people are here?”

“The team and apparently the Wilders. Which is weird, they usually go to his parents’ house.”

As we walk up to the back door, movement catches our eye. “I KNEW IT!” Lucas shouts as Abby and Tate break away from their kiss.

“When did this happen?” he asks, his arms crossing over his chest.

Abby wipes her hands down the front of her shirt, ridding it of dirt that doesn’t exist. “Oh, um… Surprise. We kind of got married," she says as she immediately jumps behind Tate, her shiny new husband.

Lucas’s body visibly tenses. His hands clench at his sides, rolling his shoulders back as he squares them. The way he looks over Tate’s shoulder, but mostly, the fact that he hasn’t said a word, has me concerned. Is this going to be the thing that derails all his progress?

“Monroe?” Abby whispers as she peeks around the back of her husband.

“You didn’t tell me.” His eyes still not meeting hers. “I tell you everything, you know every detail of my life, and you kept this from me…”

She steps around Tate, her eyes search his face for a clue as to how he’s feeling, anger, disappointment, something, but she only gets a vacant stare. “We didn’t even tell Hannah. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, Abby. Not now,” he whispers, voice trembling right along with the rest of him.

She gives him a smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. “It wasn’t exactly planned. Hannah’s going to plan a party for us when you guys aren’t traveling.” Her arm reaches for him, but he steps back.

“No!” he hisses, “You have a person now.” He doesn’t say anything else as he turns and steps through the door, leaving me on the porch with the two we just caught macking in the corner like a couple of teenagers.

Abby’s face drops as she watches him disappear inside, “Is he okay?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer to that.

I run my hand through my hair, “We just came from the cemetery, this was probably not the best time for him to find that out.”