Page 89 of Melt the Ice

“See you at the ranch, kiddo.” He calls over his shoulder.

I nod, looking both ways before I cross the street. There are two benches on each side of the pond, eight in total, yet right now, I’m the only one here. The sun reflects off the top of the water, shimmering as the ducks move around.

The anger, confusion, and the ache of wanting to belong aren’t as present anymore. It’s quieter, however still painful, sure.

But in a way that feels manageable. Human. For twenty years, I lived with the door cracked, waiting for someone to walk through it who never would. I didn’t realize until now that the door wasn’t stuck. It was me holding it closed, terrified of what was waiting on the other side.

I spent so long believing I was broken that some piece of me died with him, and what was left was unlovable. Mom sure made it feel that way. And maybe to an extent, that was true, but then I grew. I became a man in all the places grief tried to break me.

I loved when life told me I wasn’t worthy of it. And now, I get to keep both versions of myself. The boy who's been trying to heal for decades, and the man who stands tall despite the rubble that surrounds him. The thought settles something in my chest with surprising gentleness.

My lips pull up at the corners. For the first time since I was a kid, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge. I feel like I’m standing at the starting line. Like my life is no longer shaped by fear of being left behind, or what I could lose. I now have a life where I get to choose who I want to be.

I let out a slow breath, the kind that pulls at the bottom of your lungs. Dad said he’d be here if I wanted him to be. And I do. Not out of desperation, or because I need him to fill some hole that aches inside me. But because I want him in the life I’m building, not the one I’m leaving behind.

I can see it now though, I’ve seen it already these past few months. The way dreams I’ve had of what I always wished my life could be have become my reality. Dream of holidays I get to spend with my dad, with my girl, with all my friends, and now, even with Rory, my real family.

It was weird at first, and it’ll definitely take me some time. But it’s a future I would have done anything for, one I’ll protect at all costs.

Because even now, even after months of proof and therapy and every late-night conversation where he tried to piece together the truth for me… there’s still a part of me that remembers a casket being covered with dirt. A part of me remembers sitting next to that grave every time I needed his advice, only to get silence in return.

The breeze picks up, making the grass sway slightly, and I smile as two birds chase each other around, stopping on a branch before taking to the skies again. The ease at which they move, seemingly without worry over what comes next, settles over me in a way that has me looking at my life through a different lens.

One that shows me that love can be flawed, messy, even misguided, and still be real. I survived the worst versions of my life. I think I can handle the rest. Because now, I know I’m not alone. I know that I don’t have to do anything to make people stay, that their decision to leave or stay isn’t my burden to carry.

I’m no longer begging people to want me around. I don’t have to beg them to stay. I’m confident in who I’ve become. Knowing that at the end of the day, I am enough, exactly as I am.

A curly-haired beauty catches my eye from the opposite side of the pond, a sunflower in her hand, and a soft smile on her face.

I stand, meeting her halfway, “Hey, Lettie Girl.” My hands find the backs of her thighs as I pull her into me, wrapping her legs around my waist.

Her smile is blinding. The light sheen of pink lip gloss on her lips begs me to kiss it, so I do. And just like it’s been every time her lips have been on mine, it feels like coming home. “Missed you,” I whisper against her lips.

“I missed you, too.” She wiggles until I put her feet on the ground. “Did you have a good session?”

I nod, lacing our fingers together as I turn toward the car. She doesn’t move, though. Her feet stay rooted to the spot she’s in. I hike a brow and cradle her face with my free hand. “What’s wrong?”

She watches me for a second. There’s something in her gaze that looks a lot like awe. “Lettie, you’re worrying me.”

Her lips roll together as she pulls something out of the bag hanging from her shoulder. “I made you something.” She says, “Well, I’ve been working on it since you showed me the room with all my drawings at your house. I just finished it.”

My heart rate speeds up. She drew me something? Am I getting to add to my collection for the first time in more than a decade? My palms begin to sweat as she rummages through a sketch book. “I redid it to look like how we do now.” She hands over a piece of paper that is so expertly done it looks like it’s been painted.

It’s the same pose of us in the sunflower field that she drew all those years ago. Her long, curly brown hair lies over both shoulders, her eyes lined to perfection as they look into my own. We spent more than enough time in that patch of flowers to feel as if we were there as I look at it. The way our bodies would sink into the soft tangle of stems and warm dirt.

Her hand tangles in my hair as my fingers rest on her shoulder. A touch that guides us closer to one another, like she wanted to capture the exact moment where our friendship turned into something deeper. There’s no doubt in my mind that I fell in love with this woman in that field as a kid. My eyes are focused on her, just like they always are. Being beside her is where I feel safest. Like, it's okay to let everything else fade away.

I’m now sporting a white Tampa Bay Hawks shirt, instead of the old grey shirt I had on in the previous one. My beard is neatly trimmed, and the chain that hangs from my neck is front and center. But it’s the upward tug on both of our lips that has an unbelieving laugh bubbling out of me. Looking at this drawing, the world seems to disappear once again, captured by a moment she somehow made eternal with nothing but lines on a page. “Scarlett…” I whisper, my hand shaking as I hold on to my new favorite picture.

“Do you like it?” she asks, as she fidgets with the hem of her shirt.

How could she ever think I wouldn’t like it? Have I not done a good enough job at letting her know she could color a coloring book page and give it to me, and it would become one of my most prized possessions?

Anything made by her hands is something I’ll treasure with my own for the rest of time. “I love it, it’s stunning. You should be drawing for real. I’d pay millions for this.” I hold up the picture, and she nudges me with her shoulder.

“Oh, stop it.”

“I mean it, I would.”