Page 56 of Melt the Ice

“Shit, I’m sorry.” She says, looking down at her shoes. She steps up to me, her nervousness taking me by surprise. She’s usually so sure of herself, confident in a way that some might think is prideful, but I see it for the protective shield it is now. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Do you know what he told me when he was twelve?” I ask as gently as I can.

She shakes her head, and Tate steps up behind her, resting his hand on her hip as she leans her head against his shoulder. “He said, ‘I hate when you leave every summer because I know one day you won’t come back.’”

Abby blinks rapidly, her mouth pulling down at the corners. “You guys have only gotten to see the full-of-life version of him. You don’t realize he’s silently suffering, terrified of all of you leaving him, too.”

She hiccups, and her husband wraps his arms around her shoulders as she shakes in his arms. Tears roll down her cheeks as she stares at me. “You won’t leave him, will you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I respond before I head inside to find Lucas. The house is swarming with his teammates, over the top laughter, and furniture pushed out of the way so they can mingle, but he’s in the corner with a beer in his hand, watching everyone else with the same blank expression he’s had multiple times in the past month.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize I’m close until I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his chest.

“What do you need?”

He takes a drink, his throat bobbing before setting it on the counter with a quiet clink.

His hands frame my face, eyes searching mine, for what I don’t know, but he could ask me for anything, and I’d find a way to give it to him. “Just you.” His smile grows as his arms fall to my shoulders, pressing me against him.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Goldie.”

His chest rattles, the hold he has on me tightening slightly.

“I love it when you call me that.” He tucks me into his side, turning me so that I’m facing the chaos of the room, too. “My dad was the only one to ever give me a nickname.” He tilts his head to the side, resting it on top of mine as his thumb brushes against the hem of my jeans. “I’m glad the only other person who has is you.”

I place my hand over his, squeezing slightly before letting my eyes close long enough to commit this feeling to memory. He tipped the beer out, pouring it down the sink the second his arm closed around me. Like I’m a better solution to the problem. The possibility that I could be something, someone, that makes it better for him, it’s my life’s greatest accomplishment.

There’s a loud smack on the island, followed by a gasp. “You made frijoles?” Sammy asks as he takes the lid off the pressure cooker sitting among the ridiculous amount of food.

I’m assuming his question is aimed at me because I’m the only other Latina in the room, but he would be incorrect in that assumption. Nana used to make them all the time. They were one of my favorite meals.

When he finally looks away from the dish, his eyebrow hikes. “I made cornbread, Sammy. I can’t cook to save my life,” I toss at him.

His head tilts to the side, “Hmm, never tried cornbread. Where is it?”

I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. Never tried cornbread? Is this guy for real?

“I made it.” Lucas’s fingers lace through mine as they sit on my hip. “I found a book with all Ms. Anna’s recipes in it when I was redoing the house.”

I spin in his hold, our joined hands falling to the side as my mouth hangs open. “You redid the house?”

He nods, “Found your dream board. Figured I’d make good use of my big boy money.”

He made one of my favorite meals from my childhood, and he redid my house. And I’m just now finding this out. “You did it yourself?”

“Hey, I helped!” Sammy whines as he walks over to where we are, tucked into the corner of the kitchen.

“I…” There are so many things I want to say, ask, and thank him for. But at the moment, I’m so overwhelmed that I revert back to what I do best, deflect and run. “You did what?” I whisper, willing my body to move, but it stays unnaturally still.

His eyes hold mine, time seems to stand still, an eternity stretching between us in a single second. My breath shakes on my exhale. “I need a minute.” I run upstairs to where I know there’s a balcony. There’s a sun lounger up here, well, multiple actually. I sit in the one furthest from the door, pulling my knees into my chest as my head rests on top of them.

Everything clicks into place as I stare off into the night. He found a dreamboard I made at thirteen. He remembered the comments I made about the way the light filtered into the kitchen in the morning, how I thought it’d look infinitely better with white cabinets.

He remembered how I used to complain about the stairs groaning, and he replaced them with solid stone. He remembered me, even when I stopped letting myself remember us. Knowing this, does it change anything? Everything?

Will I walk into my house and see everything he’s done, and start tallying up all the things I owe him? Because there’s no way he did this out of the kindness of his heart, right?

A sob rolls through my body. Here’s this man who has been so selfless and loving that he’s preserved and rebuilt the ranch, and where was I? Kissing ass and trying to please my father so he’d love me. I wasted so much time when I could have been here, on the receiving end of the most selfless love I’ve ever experienced.