Page 83 of Melt the Ice

“Wait,” my voice breaks the spell they’re in, and I internally kick myself for it. “What do we call you, now? Anything but Miller is going to be weird as hell.”

Laughter ripples through the room, small but needed. “Miller’s my mom’s maiden name. You can keep calling me that if you want. If not, Jackson or… Jax.”

The doctor clears his throat, “Can I take you back to your room now? We need to run some tests.”

“I’m fine here, doc,” Lucas says, his eyes bouncing between his dad and me.

A soft chuckle leaves Miller, Jackson? Hell, that’s going to take some getting used to. “Son, let the good doctor make sure you’re okay. For the sake of the rest of us, please.”

Lucas freezes, lips parting, I’m sure at the term son. Miller called him that so many times over the years, but now, he knows the truth. “Come with me?” he asks softly, eyes hopeful, boyish like they were when we met.

I watch as Miller lights up, but that stops the second Abby’s brothers walk in. “Let me talk to them first. I’ll come back as soon as I’m done.”

“You’ll still be here?” Lucas asks, I hate the hesitance in his voice. Like, he doesn’t want to believe this is true. That it’s actually happening.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “‘Till I actually kick the bucket, you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me.” Lucas flies out of the wheelchair he’s been in and throws his arms around his dad.

“JEEEEEESUS Monroe,” Sammy yells from the corner. “You have a nice ass, but we don’t need to see it.”

Lucas flips him the bird without missing a beat. The soft laughter from before is replaced by a thunderous roll of it. Then, as the doctor wheels him away, Lucas glances over his shoulder. His eyes find mine. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. I see it all. The relief, the ache, and the thousand things we’ll have to unpack later.

And finally, for the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe. Because he’s here, he’s alive. He’s still mine.

36

lucas

The plastic catheter in my arm pales in comparison to the level of discomfort I feel staring at the man standing at the end of my bed. The man I’ve known as Miller since I was nine is really my dad. The man I watched being lowered into the ground when I was seven.

My brain can’t reconcile the two: the man I watched lowered into the ground, and the man whose shadow fills this room now. I stare at the white sheet over my legs like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. Looking at him feels like a risk I can’t take yet.

“If this is some sort of sick joke…” My voice shakes. I hate that it shakes.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t offer me any placating words. “It’s not.”

My head snaps up. How did I not realize it sooner? His voice may be deeper, rougher, but it’s still his. The same cadence that used to tell me bedtime stories when I refused to go to sleep. The warmth that used to wrap around me like a shield. My heart struggles to believe what my eyes are seeing. “This whole time, you’ve been here?”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “I had to keep you safe, kiddo.”

Kiddo, the word acts like a nuclear bomb. “Don’t,” I choke out, “Please don’t call me that.”

His expression doesn’t fluctuate, but I see the flare of pain there. The kind that's lived in him longer than I’ve been an adult. “I didn’t have a choice. I knew they’d come after your mom, and when they threatened her, I could only work in the shadows.”

I bark out a breathless laugh, one that burns on the way out. “You didn’t work in the shadows, though.” Anger laced my words, aimed at the man who left me behind. “You coached me. Had dinner with me. You watched me fall apart on the anniversary of your death every freaking year.”

My voice cracks, and I drag in a long breath before looking back at him. “You let me think I wasn’t good enough, year after year, visit after visit with mom. And you said nothing.”

His hands flex at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me, jaw clenched tight. “If I had told you, they would have come after you, Lucas. They needed to believe I was gone. You needed to believe it, too.”

“Bullshit.” The word scrapes from my throat. “You had twenty years to come clean. And you waited until I almost died?”

He steps closer, his steps calculated. “You weren’t ready. Neither was Scarlett.”

A broken sound escapes me, half laugh, half sob. “You watched me grieve you,” I whisper. You watched me break over and over, begging the world to bring you back to me.”

His breath shudders. “You were the only reason I stayed alive, Lucas.” I watch as his blue eyes fill with tears. The words land like a punch, and the ridiculous noise of the machines starts to beep more rapidly.

“Did mom know?”