Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 20

**Charlotte**

The air bites the second I step outside. Snow squeaks under my sneakers as I pull the door closed behind me. The sun is fading in the winter air, and porch lights are beginning to glow softly and yellow through the falling flakes. I tug my bag higher on my shoulder and start walking toward Nanna’s, breath fogging with every exhale. My knee complains for the first dozen steps, a dull sting that fades the more I move. Today’s bruises from my embarrassing fall are almost gone, like my body knows it doesn’t have time to stay hurt. I keep my head down and follow the edge of the road where the snow is packed thinner, eyes flicking to shadows between houses and the dark gaps where people don’t look. Charlie is on my mind anyway. I think of his grin at the rink. The way he lit up when he told me the boys invited him to a get-together at Blake’s house. I’m glad he’s making friends. I want him to have this. I want him to have a team, a future, and something that doesn’t depend on me stretching groceries.

The wind picks up as I hit the main road, pushing snow into little spirals across the footpath. Wellington is quiet, shops are dark, and I keep walking, hands shoved into my sleeves because my gloves are too thin to do much. Halfway to the diner, a rotten smell hits me so hard I stop. It smells like wet meat left in a bin too long, and it crawls into the back of my throat and makes my stomach threaten my shoes. I lift my foot and check the bottom of my shoe. I sniff my sleeve, then the front of my jumper, feeling stupid as I do it. I smell like cheap detergent and cold air. The rotten stench lingers anyway, threading around me like it wants to stick. I look around for an overturned bin or something dead in the snow. There’s nothing obvious. Just fences and dark windows and the tree line standing still. The smell follows me for a stretch of road, then thins as I get closer to the glow of Nanna’s windows.

My chest does that weird pull again. I rub my sternum once and keep walking. It settles a little, but it doesn’t leave. Nanna’s Diner is warm the second I step inside, and the smell of coffee, fried onions, sugar, and heat wraps around me. Sophie looks up from behind the counter and smiles warmly. “Hey, love,” she says. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her, hanging my sweater up and tying on my apron. The shift is busy tonight. Plates clatter, mugs steam and people stamp snow off their boots and complain about the weather while ordering extra bacon. Sophie moves like she has been doing this her whole life, and I keep up, wiping tables and refilling coffee. When the rush hits, I stay. I’m not going to say no to the money. By the time it finally slows, the windows are black mirrors, and my feet ache all the way into my bones. Sophie presses folded notes into my hand, warm from her palm. “Good work,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I manage, and step back out into the cold.

I stop at the little shop because I can’t waste the chance. I get a few things, but it’s enough that the bags bite into my fingers as soon as I step outside again. The walk home is eerie. I stick to the lit streets as long as I can and keep my pace steady. That rotten smell drifts in again, faint on the wind, and my skin prickles. When I reach our road, my shoulders are tight, and my fingers are numb around the grocery bags. The house sits at the edge of town where the lights thin out, so I expect darkness, but the porch light is on. My stomach drops. I stop at the bottom of the drive and stare at it. If Dad is awake, the night can go anywhere, and if Charlie is home, I don’t want him alone with that. If he isn’t, then I’m walking into it by myself. I force my feet forward anyway.

The house looks worse at night, warped steps and peeling paint catching the porch light. The first step creaks under my foot, and the front door slams open. Dad fills the doorway, swaying slightly, eyes bright and mean. The smell of beer rolls out with him. He’s not fully drunk. That’s the worst part. “Where the hell have you been?” he yells. I hold up the grocery bags. “Working,” I say. “I got a job. My shift ran late, and I grabbed groceries. I was going to cook. Are you hungry?” His laugh is ugly as he snatches the bags out of my hands and throws them over his shoulder into the house. Cans clatter, fruit rolls across the floor, and the milk hits the wall and bursts, wet and bright against the boards. Then his hand clamps around my arm. His fingers dig in hard enough that I know I’ll bruise. He yanks me over the threshold like I weigh nothing and slams the door behind me. The sound echoes through the house and my soul. My eyes scan the room automatically. The couch. The hallway. The stairs. Charlie isn’t here, thank God.

Dad grabs at my backpack strap and rips it. The fabric tears with a sharp sound. He jerks the bag off my shoulder and dumps it upside down on the floor. Workbooks, pens, loose papers. My timetable lands face down in a puddle of milk. “You got a job, yeah?” he snarls. “Where’s the money? Where’s the money, huh?” He digs through my stuff like he’s convinced I’m hiding something from him. When he doesn’t find it fast enough, his hand lifts, and the back of his fist catches my cheek. The world flashes white. My head snaps sideways, and I hit the floor hard. Stars burst in my vision, and my mouth fills with a metallic taste. I blink hard, trying to make the room hold still. My cheek burns, and I already know it’s going to swell. “It’s in the front pocket,” I stutter. “All the cash is in the front pocket.” He yanks the bag toward him, rips the zip open, and pulls out the folded notes. Every single one. He counts them quickly, then shoves them into his pocket like they were always his. “At least you’re good for something,” he mutters. “You owe me rent anyway.” Then he turns and walks back out the door like nothing happened. Cold air rushes in for a second before the door slams shut again.

I stay on my back on the hardwood, staring at the stained ceiling. My notebooks are scattered. The groceries are ruined across the floor. My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat. My breath shakes once as I drag it in. I just have to get Charlie out. If I can get Charlie out of this, it’ll all be worth it.