Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 122

**Blake**

I don’t think I’ve ever showered that fast in my life. I wash the sweat from practice off my skin, drag my fingers through my hair, and pull on sweats and a jumper while the mirror is still fogged. My hair is damp at the ends, water dripping down the back of my neck, but I don’t care. The whole house smells like dinner, sugar, garlic, warm cream, and Charlotte. Strawberries and cream. Only sweeter today.

I pause at the top of the stairs with one hand on the rail, breathing her in. The scent curls through the house, soft and bright, threaded through Mum’s cooking and the chocolate still lingering from whatever they made earlier. Lex lifts his head inside me and goes still. *Happy,* he says. Yeah. I feel it too. There’s warmth in my chest that wasn’t there this morning. It’s settled deeper now, easier to hold. Charlotte is downstairs, and she’s safe, and she’s happy. I was right to leave her with Mum today. I hated every second of walking out the door, but I was right. She needed this.

I take the stairs two at a time. The kitchen is full when I reach it. Mum is setting bowls on the table. Charlie is talking with his hands, telling her something about practice while pretending he isn’t watching the food like a starving man. Charlotte stands near the counter with a serving spoon in her hand, hair a little messy around her face, cheeks rosy from the heat of the stove, her mouth curved in a smile. My feet stop for half a second. Then I move. She turns just as I reach her, and her eyes widen. “Blake—” I scoop her up.

She squeals, one hand flying to my shoulder, the other grabbing at my jumper as I lift her clean off the floor. “Blake,” she laughs, breathless. “Put me down.”

“No.” Her laugh breaks brighter, and it goes straight through me. 

“I’m serious,” she says, but I can hear her smiling so hard it ruins the threat.

“I haven’t seen you all day.” I carry her toward the table, arms locked around her. “Let me have this.”

Mum laughs under her breath as I sit and pull Charlotte onto my lap. Charlie freezes across the table, fork already in hand. His face twists in disgust. He looks at Mum. “Can we tell Blake no girlfriends on his lap at the dinner table?”

Mum presses her lips together, trying to look stern, but she fails. “Blake.”

I tighten my arms around Charlotte’s waist and rest my chin near her shoulder. “Good thing she’s my mate, not my girlfriend then.”

Charlotte giggles, soft and embarrassed, and ducks her face like she’s trying to hide from everyone while sitting directly on me.

Charlie points his fork at me. “That’s a bloody loophole.”

“It is,” I say. Theo would be proud of that answer.

Mum shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she places the last bowl on the table. Dad comes in from the living room, takes one look at Charlotte on my lap, and gives me the kind of look that says I’m pushing my luck. I smile at him, and he looks away first, which means I win. Charlotte shifts like she’s about to climb off me. I hold her tighter. “I can sit in my own chair,” she says quietly.

“You can,” I agree, but I don’t let go. Her shoulders shake with another laugh, and Lex stretches out inside me, satisfied and warm.

Her plate is in the spot beside mine, so I reach around her and pull it closer. Creamy pasta twists in the bowl, steam rising from it. It smells incredible. I pick up my fork, twirl some pasta around it, and lift it toward her mouth. Her cheeks go pink. “Blake.”

“What?”

“I can feed myself.”

“I know.” I hold the fork there. Her eyes flick to Charlie, then Mum, then back to me. She bites her lip, and for a second, I think she’s going to refuse just to prove a point. Then she leans forward and lets me feed her. My chest goes stupidly tight. It’s such a small thing. A bite of pasta. Her hand resting against my arm. The way her lashes lower as she tastes it.

But after everything she’s had to carry alone, after every meal she skipped, every plate she made for someone else first, something in me settles when I get to feed her. She chews, then her eyes lift. “That’s really good.” Mum beams, and I pick up more pasta and put it in my own mouth. The sauce is creamy and rich, with garlic and herbs and just enough salt. I groan before I can stop myself. “This is great, Mum. Thank you.”

Mum sits down across from us, pleased. “Well, your mate now knows the recipe, so you can thank me for that too when she’s making it at your own house in the years to come.”

I smile because the image in my mind is beautiful. I want to see Charlotte in a kitchen that belongs to us. In a big house, because I want space for her. A warm one. A house with a proper kitchen and a pantry that is always full. A house where she never has to count groceries or hide hunger or listen for footsteps before she breathes. I want to give her everything she’s never had, and I want to come home and find her happy in it. Every day. Forever.

My arms tighten around her, and Charlotte glances back at me. She leans a little more into my chest, like she’s letting me hold some of the thought for both of us. Charlie watches us for a second, then he looks down at his plate and shoves pasta into his mouth. Mum starts talking about the fundraiser tomorrow, about tables and raffle baskets and who is bringing what. Dad mentions security in the same casual voice he uses when he’s trying not to make something sound serious. My gaze lifts to him, and we share a silent conversation. Even Lex lifts his head.

I keep my face easy, and I keep feeding Charlotte little bites of pasta between taking my own, letting her blush and laugh and swat lightly at my hand when I try to give her too much. I let Charlie complain about us being gross, and I listen to Mum tease Dad about burning sausages at a fundraiser last year.

I sit there with my mate on my lap, her scent sweet and safe around me, and I hold onto it. Tomorrow is supposed to be good. I want Charlotte smiling under bright lights with my jacket around her shoulders and my hand in hers. I want one perfect day, but under the food and sugar and warmth, something moves low in my gut—a quiet warning. I press my mouth to Charlotte’s hair and breathe her in until the feeling settles back down. Tomorrow, I tell myself. We’ll handle tomorrow when it comes.