Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 141

**Blake**

Charlotte’s eyes close again, but her hand stays in mine. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe properly. Her fingers are loose now, resting inside my grip instead of holding on, but they’re still there. Still warm enough to feel. Still real. The monitor beside her keeps beeping in a slow, uneven rhythm, and I stare at the line moving across the screen because if I look at her face too long, I’m going to break. She can’t remember me. My mate. My girl.

I lift my eyes to Dr Hale. I don’t have words. I look at him, and whatever is on my face must be enough because his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh. Dr Hale steps closer to the bed and lowers his voice.

“She’s out of the worst of it now,” he says.

“Why doesn’t she remember me?” My voice comes out raw.

Dr Hale glances at Charlotte, then back to me. “Charlotte suffered severe hypothermia, oxygen deprivation, and significant trauma. Her brain has been through a lot. Memory loss after something like this can happen, especially around recent events.”

“Recent,” I repeat.

He nods carefully. “From what she answered, she knows herself and Charlie. She remembers older anchors. But the newer memories… those may be harder for her to reach right now.”

Charlie lifts his head. “But they’re still there?”

“They might be,” he says. “They may come back in pieces. They may return with time, scent, places, and familiar routines. Or some of them may not come back the way they were.”

My grip tightens around her hand. The world tilts, but I stay sitting because her fingers are still in mine. 

“She remembered my scent,” I say.

Dr Hale looks down at our joined hands, and his face softens. “Yes,” he says. “She did. The mate bond remembers you, Blake.”

I look at Charlotte’s sleeping face. Her lashes rest against pale skin. Her lips have more colour now than they did in the snow, but she still looks too small in the hospital bed, surrounded by wires and blankets and machines. “But she doesn’t,” I whisper.

“No,” Dr Hale says gently. “Her conscious memory doesn’t seem to right now. But her body reacted to you. Her wolf likely knows Lex, but she may not have woken up yet. The bond is still there, though. You saw it yourself.”

I did. I saw the way her body reacted to me, even if she didn’t understand. Dr Hale folds his arms, watching me carefully.

“We’ll keep assessing her. We’ll monitor her lungs, temperature, oxygen levels, and her cognition. Right now, she’s stable. That’s good. Her pulse is stronger than it was, her temperature is coming up, and her lungs sound better than they did when she came in.”

Charlie’s shoulders drop a fraction. “So she’s going to be okay?” he asks.

Dr Hale doesn’t rush the answer. “She’s through the worst of the immediate danger. I want another full day of rest and observation. We need to make sure there’s no delayed lung complication from the water and that her temperature stays stable without support.”

I nod, clinging to every word that sounds even close to good.

“After that?” I ask.

“If she continues improving the way she is now, she should be able to be released tomorrow or the day after.”

Released. Home. Does she remember Mum’s kitchen? The puzzle on the coffee table they still need to finish? My room? My bed? Me?

Dr Hale’s gaze moves between Charlie and me. “I understand Gareth and Mara have recently taken legal custody of the twins.”

Charlie nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“They’ll be able to sign Charlotte out when she’s medically ready. We’ll give them discharge instructions, warning signs to watch for, breathing checks, cognitive follow-up, and I’ll come by the house if anything changes.”

I press my thumb gently over Charlotte’s knuckles as D. Hale continues. “When she wakes again, keep things calm. Don’t force memories, and don’t argue with what she believes she remembers. Her mind is trying to protect itself and repair at the same time.”

Charlie swallows. “What do we tell her?”

Dr Hale looks at him. “The truth, but in pieces she can handle.”

Charlie’s face tightens, and I know what he’s thinking. How do we tell her the truth when it is so painful?

Dr Hale’s eyes move between us. “Some things can wait until she is strong enough.”

Charlie nods, but his eyes get wet again. I look back at Charlotte. “What do I do?” I ask.

Dr Hale’s answer is quiet. “Be there.”

I let out a broken breath. “That’s it?”

“That’s everything,” he says. “Be familiar without demanding she understand why. Let her learn you again. Let her feel safe. If the memories return, we’ll help her through them. If they don’t, then you create new ones.”

My throat closes.

I bend over Charlotte’s hand and press my mouth to her knuckles. They’re warm now. Still too cool, but warmer than the lake. Warmer than death. “I can do that,” I whisper.

Dr Hale gives us a moment before stepping back toward the door. “Let her rest. Talk softly if you need to. She may hear some of it.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and the room settles into beeping, breathing, and the low hum of machines. Charlotte sleeps between us, pale and quiet, her hand resting in mine on one side and Charlie’s on the other. Like this, I can almost pretend she is only sleeping after a long day, that she’ll wake up and roll her eyes at us both for staring. My chest tightens until I have to lean forward, elbows on the mattress, her hand pressed between mine. Across the bed, Charlie watches me. “You made her fall in love with you once,” he says quietly. I lift my head, and Charlie’s eyes shine as he looks down at his sister, then back at me. “You can do it again, brother.”

The words break through me. I look at Charlotte’s sleeping face, at the faint colour slowly returning to her cheeks, at the girl who loved me yesterday and doesn’t know me today. I press my mouth to her knuckles again and close my eyes. “I hope so,” I whisper. I hold her hand a little tighter, careful enough not to wake her, and try to make my heart understand what my body already knows. If I have to start again, I will. Every day. As many times as it takes.