Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 34

**Charlotte**

Blake sits beside me like he’s braced for impact. He’s trying to look calm, but I can see the tiny tells. The way his knee bounced before he stopped it. The way his gaze keeps skimming the ice instead of my face. The way he keeps swallowing like he’s got too many words and none of them are right. It’s… kind of funny. Not in a cruel way. In a way that makes something in my chest loosen. I didn’t realise people could just… stumble and be awkward. I didn’t realise people could want to talk to you, not try to take something. He tells me Shanti means peace, and he says it like he’s sure, and then he says it’s beautiful, and my stomach flips because I don’t think anyone has ever said something about me is beautiful and meant it, not like Charlie. Charlie says nice things all the time. He says I’m smart and strong and that he’s proud of me, but Charlie is my twin. He is the only person who has always been mine, too. This feels… different. I stare down at my hands and rub my thumb over my knuckle because it’s the only thing I can do with the feeling. “Sanskrit?” I ask quietly, because if I don’t say something, my brain is going to start sprinting. Blake blinks. “Yeah.”

“What is it?” I ask. He shifts a little, finally turning his head toward me. “It’s an ancient language from India.” I stare at him. “How do you know that?” The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “Mum,” he says. “She reads a lot. She… likes words with deep meanings. Old stuff.” That tracks. Mara has the kind of calm that feels practised—the kind you build when you’ve had to hold a whole pack together. I can imagine her teaching Blake things just because she wanted him to know them, not because he needed them to survive. That thought stings weirdly. “What else do you know?” I ask before I can stop myself. Blake’s brows lift slightly. “About Sanskrit?”

“About… anything,” I say, then instantly regret it because it sounds too personal, but Blake doesn’t pull back. He smiles, surprised by it too. “I know a bunch of random stuff,” he admits. “Mostly because Mum won’t stop talking when she gets into something.” I let out a quiet laugh. It slips out without permission, and Blake looks at me with the widest eyes. My cheeks warm. “Sorry,” I mumble automatically. Blake shakes his head. “Don’t.” The word is simple, firm, but not harsh. *Don’t apologise for existing,* it says.

We sit there for a moment, and the conversation keeps going effortlessly. Like it’s been waiting for the space to open. I ask him what he reads. He tells me he doesn’t read much fiction, mostly things his Dad hands him about pack history, territory rules and old stories about wolves that sound like legends but apparently aren’t. He asks me if I’ve always skated. I hesitate, then answer carefully. “When Mum was alive… we skated every spare second. She had a real love for it that she wanted to make sure she passed on.” Blake’s expression softens around the eyes. He doesn’t press for details, but his voice goes quieter when he says, “I’m sorry.” I shrug, because shrugging is safer than letting grief have space. “It’s fine,” I say, because that’s what I always say. Blake’s gaze holds mine for a beat. Like he knows it isn’t fine, but he won’t push if I don’t open the door. It’s the easiest conversation I’ve had with anyone besides Charlie. That realisation hits me hard enough that I stare out at the ice for a second, trying to steady myself. Why is this easy? Why does it feel like I could keep talking to him and not have to perform, not have to calculate, not have to keep one hand on the exit? *Mate is perfect for us,* Shanti whispers in my head, satisfied and calm. My chest pulls softly in agreement. He is, I think back, before I can stop myself. Then I add quickly, because my whole life is built on caution. But we should really focus on Charlie. Shanti’s presence shifts like a quiet sigh. It’s okay to be happy, too, she says. I don’t know how to reply to that. I don’t know how to be happy without waiting for it to be taken. So I sit in the silence with Blake for a while, letting his scent settle around me, letting the pull in my chest stay soft and content.

Then footsteps echo down the tunnel, and the moment breaks. Charlie comes out of the change rooms with damp hair and a jersey in his hands that looks newer than the one he wore just before. It’s far cleaner and much brighter, and he’s grinning like he can’t help it. “Hey, Lotty,” he calls, voice loud in the empty rink. “How’s it look?” He pulls it on like he’s modelling, shoulders back, turning slightly so we can see the front properly. I stand automatically, smile already there. “It looks great.” Charlie beams. “The boys gifted it to me,” he says, still sounding surprised. “Said they didn’t want me looking scrappy on game day.” I’m so proud of him for fitting in here. Blake stands too and claps Charlie on the shoulder, firm and approving. “Told you they’d take care of you.” Charlie’s grin turns bigger. He looks like he’s about to say something, then he nods, because he’s not used to people taking care of him either. I grab my bag and slide my arms into the straps. We head toward the exit together. Charlie slips into the middle, keeping me close to his side without even thinking about it. As we step outside into the cold morning, Shanti settles again, quiet and content.

The sky is brighter now, snow still drifting in slow sheets, and the world feels almost normal for a second. Charlie has a pep in his step, shoulders back in his new jersey, talking excitedly about drills and game day. Blake keeps pace on his other side. I watch Charlie’s grin flash when he talks, the way his eyes keep lighting up. He has a team, a place to belong and people who want to be there for him just because. Maybe I don’t have to be the only one looking out for him. The thought slides in so softly it almost scares me. Maybe these… pack people… could help care for him, too. Shanti hums faintly in approval. Charlie keeps talking, warm and excited, and I keep walking beside him, letting the idea sit in my mind without shoving it down. For the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe the weight on my shoulders might be able to be shared.