Page 73 of Melt the Ice

She holds my hand for a beat, “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, but I need to know this isn’t you taking a nosedive. I’ll bench you if I don’t think your head is in the right place.”

I shake my head, “I’m not okay, Abs. I’ll lean on you guys, but even you have to admit this is a bit insane, all things considered.”

“It is, and I know it’s a lot to take in.” She sighs, patting the top of my hand softly, “But I know you, and we all love you. I want to make sure you don’t lose yourself in this.”

I swallow roughly as Hannah and Lettie come back in with a broom and a dust pan. “I know, I appreciate it,” I say before I’m moving to help them clean up the evidence of my pain. Lettie gives me a small smile. I know she wants to say something, but she won’t. Not while they’re here.

31

scarlett

I’m still shaken from watching Lucas fall to the floor. Seeing the strongest man I know drop to his knees like his body finally gave up its fight. I didn’t think anything could hurt more than the sight of him lying boneless on the ground, on the verge of giving up himself. It was the very same look I saw on his face when we found him standing at the bottom of the bridge. The reminder of what could have happened that day sits like a rock in my throat.

I just moved on to the closet when a wooden box catches my eye. It’s buried under a bunch of folded shirts, shirts that are one hundred percent men's shirts. The top looks like it’s been branded, their last name burned into the light wood.

My finger flicks the lock open, and what’s sitting on top has my vision tunneling. “L-Lucas.” My voice shakes as I call out for him.

He’s by my side in a second, dropping to the floor beside me. “What? What is it?” His voice is frantic, laced with panic as he takes the box from me.

I can’t speak, I just stare at the letter sitting on top. He studies the paper on top, the paper I know he has no idea the significance of. But I do. That stamp sits on every memo that gets sent out at Arias Corp. My stomach turns so violently that I’m jumping off the floor and running to the bathroom, barely leaning over the toilet before I’m heaving. The sound is raw and humiliating.

His hand runs the length of my shoulder blades in slow, steady strokes until I can breathe again. He doesn’t say anything as he hands me a washcloth after I slump against the wall opposite him.

“Lettie,” he says softly, “what’s going on?”

My eyes flutter closed. The question is gentle, but there’s unimaginable weight behind it. When I open my eyes, he’s picked up the letter, staring at it like it personally offended him. His brows pinch together, lips slightly parted as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip. I move before I can think, trying to snatch the letter from him. “Can we read this later?”

He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “What are you hiding?” His tone holds no accusation.

He peels my fingers off the edge of the paper one by one. The sound of it unfolding is deafening. I can’t breathe. I can’t watch him break again, so I turn away. Walking back to the closet and pulling shirts out of the drawer to make sure there isn’t anything else hiding beneath them.

Then I hear it. His quick inhale.

“He threatened my mom into silence,” he mutters a curse. “My whole life, I thought she hated me. But she was protecting me from… your father.”

His words hit harder than any slap could. Every muscle in my body tenses until my shoulders are pulled up to my ears. I knew it wasn't going to be good, but I never imagined that. I want to reach for him, wrap him up in my arms, and beg him to forgive me for something I couldn’t have controlled. But I freeze, afraid of the look on his face, the disgust, the betrayal.

His arms slide around me so suddenly I don’t even have time to react. He pulls me in, holding me tight to his chest, his breath ragged against my hair. “Lettie, this isn’t on you. You know that, right?”

I nod, choking back sobs.

“Do you think I hate you?”

Another nod, because honestly, how else could this end? How could he look at me and love me when my own blood took any type of parental love from him?

“I can hear you beating yourself up from here.” He tips my chin until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “I could never hate you.”

I shake my head in disbelief, “How can you not, Lucas?”

He sighs, thumb brushing a tear off my cheek. “Because I’ve spent half my life being angry. At her. At dad for leaving us. At myself, and it doesn’t bring either of them back. It doesn’t change anything.” His head hangs heavy in front of him, tears hitting the wood floor with a muted thump.

“You didn’t do this, Lettie.” He says quietly, “We weren’t even alive when this started.”

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence feels like the beginning of a revival of some sort. The grief has burned out, and in its place is an all-consuming desire for answers. When he speaks, what's left of my heart cracks down the middle. “You are my future, Lettie. You always have been. This doesn’t change that.”

“I can’t be the reason you get hurt. I can’t be the reason anyone here gets hurt,” I whisper.

“Nuhuh.” A feminine voice cuts through the room. Abby and Hannah step into the closet, with the rest of the guys just outside the door. “Trust tree, Scarlett,” Abby says.