Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 23

**Charlotte**

My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat, and every blink pulls at the swelling around my eye. I keep my chin up anyway, because that is what you do when you are bleeding on the inside, and people are looking at you like they can see straight through. Charlie’s hand is still wrapped around mine. His palm is warm and his grip careful. Blake stands in front of us like a wall. His voice is calm, but his eyes look like he’s waging a war. Theo opens the door and checks the hallway before he gestures us out. Charlie moves before I do, still holding my hand, still half shielding me with his body. He keeps glancing at my face like he is trying to make the bruise vanish by staring at it hard enough. “It’s fine,” I whisper again as we step into the corridor. Charlie’s jaw tightens. “Don’t.” I swallow the rest of the words. Blake leads us out a side exit, away from the main gates. The air outside is cold as ever and bites the tender skin on my cheek. I flinch before I can stop myself. Blake doesn’t say a word, but he takes off his jacket and holds it out to me. I stare at it, stupidly frozen. “I’m not cold,” I try. Blake’s expression softens. “You’re in a school uniform in winter, and you’re shaking. Please take the jacket, Charlotte.” Charlie starts to protest, but Blake’s eyes cut to him, and Charlie stops. I take the jacket even though I feel like the world's biggest inconvenience right now.

It smells like cedar and smoke. The moment it touches me, I lose my breath for a second. I turn slightly so no one sees my face. Charlie opens the passenger door when we get to the car. He always treats me like glass when this sort of stuff happens. “I can sit in the back,” I say. “You’re not sitting in the back,” Charlie replies firmly. I slide into the passenger seat, and Blake gets in on the driver’s side. Theo and Charlie climb into the back. The door shuts, and the world narrows as the quiet settles in. Blake starts the engine and pulls away from the school, as if he has done this a thousand times. Like, taking people home is a normal thing for him. Charlie’s voice is quiet behind me. “Lotty. Why didn’t you call me?” I keep my eyes on the windscreen, watching as snow drifts across the road in thin sheets. “I didn’t want to ruin your night,” I say quietly. Charlie’s hand comes forward, resting on my shoulder. “I would have come home.” He whispers, and I nod, swallowing down the ache in my throat. I know he would have. That’s why I didn’t call. What good is he for hockey with a broken arm or leg because he felt the need to protect me?

I nod once because it is easier than explaining the truth. The truth is that I have been managing Dad’s moods for years. I know when something is brewing. I knew the porch light being on meant trouble. I knew the moment the door opened that I was alone. I made choices fast because that is what I do. Theo shifts in the back seat, then clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, your brother slept like crap anyway.” Charlie shoots him a look. “Theo.” Theo lifts both hands. “I’m just saying. He was worried about you.” I keep staring at the road. The cedar and smoke scent wraps around me again, stronger in the small space. It slides into my lungs and chest, answers it with that strange pull, and I press my fingers lightly to my sternum under Blake’s jacket. The voice in my head stirs quietly. *Mine,* it whispers again, softer than breath. I close my eyes for half a second and shove it down like I have been doing with everything for years. When I open them, Blake is glancing at me. His eyes flick away instantly when he catches mine.

We pull into a driveway with a neat yard. Smoke drifting from somewhere out back. A big wrap-around porch and white shutters with a picket fence… The perfect-looking home. Blake turns off the engine and looks at me. “We’re here.”

“I really don’t want your parents seeing me,” I say before I can stop myself. Blake’s voice stays calm as he tells me, “They already know.” Charlie opens the door for me again, and I step out carefully, knee stiff, cheek throbbing. Cold air hits my face and makes my eyes water. I wipe at it quickly, furious with myself. The front door opens before we reach it, and a woman stands there, hair clipped back, eyes sharp and warm at the same time. That has to be Blake’s mum, and she’s looking right at my face. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says softly, like the words are for me and not for the bruise. “Come inside.” I hesitate, because stepping into someone else’s warmth feels like stealing. Charlie’s hand touches my shoulder, and a strange warmth wracks through my body. “Please.”

Blake’s mum takes my hand and guides me straight into the kitchen. “Tea?” she asks. “I’m fine,” I say automatically. She doesn’t accept that. “Tea.” She sets a mug in front of me anyway, then disappears into a cupboard and pulls out a small first aid kit. My stomach twists harder. “I don’t need that,” I try. She sits in the chair beside me. “You do.” She opens the kit and starts working without making a big deal of it. Her gentle touch near my cheekbone makes me flinch. “I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly. Her eyes flick to mine. “Don’t apologise for being hurt.” I swallow and l look down at my hands wrapped around the mug. Theo breaks the tension by pointing at the bread bin. “Can I make toast, Mara?”She nods like that is the most normal question in the world. “Yes. You can.”

Theo starts rummaging, muttering under his breath about “emergency toast situations,” and for a second, the air loosens. My stomach growls traitorously. I pretend I didn’t hear it, but Blake’s eyes flick to me… Charlie watches me too, and his eyes go distant. Footsteps sound in the hallway before a man enters the room. He’s taller than Blake, with broad shoulders, a calm face, and eyes that miss nothing. That must be Blake’s dad. He takes in the room in one sweep. Clocking the bruise on my face and then the tension I’ve undoubtedly caused. Then he pulls a chair into the adjoining living room and gestures at the couch. “Charlie. Charlotte,” he says. “Come sit down.” My stomach drops. I knew this was coming. I knew this was a bad idea. He will involve the cops, and Charlie and I will become homeless. Charlie stands first, and I follow on shaky legs. We sit on the couch, side by side, our knees almost touching. Charlie’s hand finds mine again, quick and steady. “Have you ever heard of a pack?” He asks.