Page 9 of Melt the Ice

“I remember the first day you showed up here. You were all sunshine and rainbows for a week or so until Lucas showed up,” I say, the mood turning somber.

His mouth softens at the corners before his eyes screw shut, like he’s trying to forget the memory. “That was the only time I think I've ever seen you cry. You said he was more like you than you could ever imagine. “

He nods, eyes still closed. “I remember.” His voice comes out as a choked whisper.

“You still think that?”

He cracks an eye open, and the redness in it catches me by surprise. “He’s like a son to me. I’d protect him with my life. Just like I know he’d do for me.”

I chew softly on my bottom lip. “You and Kerry never wanted kids?”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips before he turns to face me fully. “There are a lot of things I regret in life, letting my fear and pride get in the way of loving the ones who meant the most, will always be at the top of that list.” His head hangs in front of him, defeated in a way I’ve never seen from him. “Don’t repeat my mistakes, let love in. Let it heal you, there’s nothing stronger.”

“The burns, how long have you had them?”

He sighs, digging the toe of his boot into the ground. “Almost twenty years, rehab on them was… excruciating.”

“Are you ashamed of them?”

His head pops up, and a slow smile spreads across his face as he shakes his head softly. “Always full of questions, aren't you?”

I find myself returning his smile. “Just trying to learn more about my bestie. Someone’s gotta love my grumpy ass.”

He looks at me with a look I can’t quite decipher. Something like pity and sadness swirls in his eyes. “You know, when Lucas started with the Hawks, he connected the Ranch with the Wilder Foundation. Now, there are kids here a couple of times a month for equine therapy. Most of ‘em don’t have easy lives, just like he didn’t.”

He reaches out, letting his hand land on the outside of my shoulder, giving it that comforting squeeze, “There’s this one girl, I swear she’s you when you were that age.” My eyes follow the sunflowers as they sway in the breeze, sitting with that piece of information.

“Her name’s Lily. They’re besties. She lost her dad, too.” Something laced with pain passes through his gaze. He turns his head, motioning toward the stable we were just in. “She gets up on Princess. She wants to barrel race someday.” I try not to get jealous of a child, and maybe it’s not entirely because she’s besties with Lucas. Maybe it’s because she’s allowed to be a kid in a way I was only allowed to be when I was here.

Nana always used to tell me I was the kind of girl free spirits wished they could be. The kind that never took life too seriously until it came to the people I loved. The kid who always did everything to make someone else happy. The one who knew who she was and wouldn’t tolerate people who didn’t love her as she was.

“When do they come next?” I ask, trying to keep my mind from taking another stroll down memory lane. It’s a painful place to walk through most days.

“Should be next week, it’s the start of hockey season. Visits get shuffled around when they go out of town.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I haven’t been the greatest at keeping up with their games. Shot myself in the foot last time they were all here.” I watch in amusement as a flush creeps up his neck. “Told ‘em they played great, congratulated them on the win. They lost both games.”

My hand covers my mouth, eyes widening as a giggle escapes my lips. “You did not.” I can only imagine how awkward that was for him.

He laughs, head shaking as he looks at the ground, “I did, Lucas gave me shit for it for weeks.” He clears his throat, and genuine affection shines in his eyes as he looks down at me. “Go easy on him, Lettie. He’s been hoping you’d find your way back this entire time.”

Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.

4

lucas

I’ll never understand how this door is capable of making me feel like I’m ten years old again, small and unwanted. The familiar brown color taunts me, tells me there’s no reason for me to be here. I stand outside longer than I should, hand resting against the doorknob, the cool metal grounding me just enough to keep me from turning around.

The voice in my head whispers, ‘She won’t acknowledge you.’ The soft, self-destructive tone familiar as I’ve come to recognize it as the version of me that’s been shaped by her silence. ‘You’re still not worth it.’ It says, digging the knife deeper into my chest. But the worst part is, I don’t argue, not right away at least. I just stand there, letting the weight of it dig deeper until breathing feels like a full-time job.

Truthfully, I don’t know why I still show up. I don’t know why I haven’t moved her into an assisted living facility. One where she doesn’t get to live like this anymore, alone and unreachable.

I told myself a long time ago that I was done begging for scraps of her attention. Yet here I am, like a dog running after its favorite bone.

Maybe it’s misguided loyalty to my dad, or guilt. Heck, it’s probably the pathetic, stubborn part of me that wants her to look at me with something other than vacancy, just once.

Whatever the reason, I’m here, week after week, continuing the tradition my dad started before I was even born, clutching a bouquet like a seven-year-old holding out a drawing, hoping it’ll be enough this time.

I stop at the same flower shop my dad used to go to, pick out the brightest ones they have. The same kind that always felt like hope and love when they came from his hands. And like always, I’ll replace the dead ones from the week before, while hoping she’ll light up the way she did when my dad brought them home. “I couldn’t have picked a better example for our son, Jax. Thank you, my love.” She’d say, week after week, a smile stretched across her face as she’d wrap her arms around my dad and then me. But now, it’s my own little ritual of pretending there’s still life within these walls.