Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 144

**Charlotte**

For a while, I don’t open my eyes. I lie there, breathing in the warm scent pressed into the pillow beneath my cheek: Cedar and smoke. I really like that smell. When I finally pry my eyes open, the room is dim. The curtains are drawn, and soft evening light slips around the edges. The house is quiet around us, with faint sounds moving somewhere downstairs. Blake is asleep beside me. He is on his back, one arm bent above his head, dark hair messy against the pillow. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm. I watch him for a long time.

Long enough to learn the shape of his nose, the line of his mouth, the dark sweep of lashes against his skin. Long enough for the strange pull in my chest to settle into something quieter. Carefully, I lift my hand and let my fingers brush his jaw. The stubble rasps lightly against my skin, and Shanti purrs inside me. *He is good to us.*

My fingers still. *Can I trust him?*

Her answer comes without hesitation. *With everything we are, yes.*

Blake’s eyes open, and I start to pull my hand back, but his fingers close gently around my wrist and keep my palm against his face. 

“Please,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. “I’ve missed your touch.”

My heart pulls at his words, so I leave my hand there. His eyes close again, and I let my fingers move lightly over his cheek, the edge of his jaw, and down to his chin. A low, deep purr builds in his chest. His wolf, Lex, is showing me he is here with us, too.

“Blake?” I ask quietly.

His eyes stay closed. “Yeah?”

“Will you tell me about the incident?”

His eyes open slowly, and the crease between his brows deepens. His fingers loosen around my wrist, but he doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t answer me right away either.

“No one is telling me what happened,” I say in a whisper. “It must have been bad.”

I watch as his throat moves, and I feel in my own chest that this topic hurts him deeply. That’s not something I want… “Will you tell me about it one day?”

He watches me for a long moment, his face close enough that I can see the way his eyes tell me what he doesn’t say.

“One day,” he says softly. “When I’m sure you’re ready to hold that pain, I’ll tell you.”

It hurts, but I believe him. “Thank you.”

His thumb moves over my wrist, in slow soothing strokes. I look down for a second, then back at him. “Will you tell me about the year I lost?”

His brows pull together again before he lifts his arm—a silent invitation. I hesitate a little before I shuffle closer. His arm curls around my back as I tuck against him, my face near his collarbone, his chin resting lightly against the top of my head. I like this… It feels like… Like this is where I’m supposed to be in the world. He exhales, long and shaking.

“Okay,” he says.

So he tells me. He tells me what he knows about what happened before him. He tells me about the first night he saw me on the lake, how he fell for me, how I fell for him, how we came together. Then he tells me about the life we’ve been building and surviving in together. His hand stills on my back as he talks. “I thought that was what I wanted forever to look like.”

I look at him, at the tired eyes of the man who remembers a version of me I can’t reach. There is not a single doubt in my mind that this is my person. He loves me, and I, I must love him too. I can feel it. 

He keeps talking. He tells me about the hockey game where Charlie scored, and I cheered so loud for him. He tells me I wore his jersey, his name, his number, and he was so proud the world could see I was his girl. I try to picture it: the stands, the noise, Charlie’s grin and Blake looking up at me, but there is no memory. Still, I like it.

“He scored?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Was he good?”

Blake huffs. “He was annoyingly good.”

I smile. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Trust me, he already knows.”

He tells me about the fundraiser, too. Apparently, there was an electrical fire at a diner in town, and we were raising money to rebuild. Blake tells me how we played games, and he won me lots of prizes. He gets a little sad when he talks about a plush wolf that was lost. He says I looked like I loved it, and promises he will win me another one day. He doesn’t tell me how the day ended, but I don’t ask either. There are spaces in the story. Ones that feel dark and heavy in my chest. There are times his voice sounds careful, and even Shanti goes quiet inside me. I know they’re both protecting me from something, and I don’t want to push. So I let him give me what he can. Pieces. Warm, safe pieces of our lives that I can hold on to.

By the time he finishes, the room is darker. My body is heavy again, but my mind feels less lost than it did when I woke. There is still a wide gap inside me, but now there are little markers around the edges. Blake’s fingers move slowly over my back, and my stomach chooses now to growl loudly. He chuckles against my hair.

“Well,” he murmurs. “That’s one memory still working.”

I lift my head enough to look at him and blush. His smile makes his whole face look softer. He rolls out of bed and holds his hand out to me.

“How about we sneak around the kitchen and find you something to eat?”

I slide my hand into his and let my own feet move to the floor.

“Is there ice cream?” I whisper.

His grin turns dangerous.

“Pretty girl, Mum stocks this house for an army. There is always ice cream.”

I let him help me stand, my legs weak beneath me, but I feel confident enough with his hand around mine. He doesn’t pull too hard or hover too close. He waits until I find my balance. The hallway is dim when we step out, and downstairs I can hear voices and smell something warm drifting up from the kitchen.

Blake pauses at the top of the stairs and looks at me. “Still want to sneak?”

I tighten my fingers around his, feeling playful in his presence.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He smiles, and we go looking for ice cream.