Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 36

**Charlotte**

The grocery store doors shut behind us, and the cold hits like a slap, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I adjust the plastic bags in my hands and try to keep the cans from clinking so as not to draw attention. Charlie walks beside me with a couple of bags looped around his fingers. He’s talking about practice again, about how Coach corrected his stance and how Blake showed him a better way to angle his blade, and I keep nodding and smiling because I want him to have this, I want his voice to stay light. We take two steps down the footpath before Charlie slows. “Lotty,” he murmurs. “What?” He tips his chin toward the main street, and I follow his gaze. There are people out. Not the usual number of people out, but clusters standing in twos and threes. They’re all lingering outside shops that are already shut, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, watching the road like they’re waiting for something. It’s subtle, but once I see it, I see it. Charlie’s voice drops. “Is it just me, or are there more people out than usual?” I swallow and shift the bags tighter in my grip. “Yeah.” He keeps staring, brows drawn together. “Why, though?” “I don’t know,” I lie, because I don’t want to tell him about the boy at school and the bathroom and the feeling of being followed. I don’t want to tell him because if I do, he’ll start looking for threats in every shadow, and he finally looks happy. Charlie glances at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say too fast, then try again, calmer. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go home.” We walk faster.

The snow crunches under our shoes, and the cold air burns my lungs.  Every time we pass another group of people, I feel their eyes slide over us. Shanti stays quiet in my head, but I feel her alertness like a lifted ear. By the time we reach our street, my shoulders are tight enough to ache. The house sits where it always sits, tired and slumped at the edge of town, porch light off, windows dark, and for a second, I expect relief. Then I see the glow through the front room window. The television is on. Charlie sees it too. He stops at the base of the steps, and his jaw tightens. “He’s awake.”

“Maybe he’s passed out with the TV on,” I say, but I don’t believe it. We climb the steps anyway. The first board creaks, loud in the quiet night, and my stomach twists as Charlie reaches for the door handle. It opens, and Dad is standing there. Sober. His eyes flick to Charlie first, then to me, then they stall on my face like he’s trying to find bruising that isn’t there anymore. Like his brain is reaching for proof, only to come up empty. Then he forces a smile. “Oh,” he says, voice too bright and too careful. “Hey, guys. How was school?” Charlie’s brows lift in surprise, but he catches himself fast and steps into the doorway like he’s sliding into a role. “It was good,” he says, easily. Dad’s gaze flicks to my hands. “You got food? You didn’t have to do that, peanut.” I nod once and step past him, keeping my voice neutral. “I know, Dad. I did it because I wanted to.” His shoulders sag slightly. “Right,” he mutters. “Yeah. Thank you.”

I go straight into the kitchen and slowly unload the bags, lining up the cans and stacking the bread. I keep my head down while Charlie sits on the couch and Dad follows him. “So,” Dad says, clearing his throat. “Hockey still going alright?” Charlie’s voice brightens. “Yeah. It’s good here. The team’s solid. Coach knows what he’s doing.” Dad chuckles, small and uncertain. “That’s good. That’s really good.” Charlie launches into details; he’s starving for attention, and I don’t blame him. This is the version of Dad we used to have, the one who sat at the table with Mum and listened to us talk about school projects, skating, and stupid kid drama as if it mattered. I stir a pot on the stove and try not to let the sound of them sink too deep into my ribs, because I know it can turn on a dime. I know this could be gone tomorrow, and I don’t know which version of him will walk through the door next.

Dinner comes together quicker than I expect, mostly because I’m moving fast to keep from thinking, and when I plate it up and carry it into the lounge room, Dad looks up like he’s surprised I actually did it. “Smells good,” he says. Charlie grins and takes his plate, and Dad takes his too. I sit on the edge of the armchair for a few bites, forcing myself to swallow even though my stomach is tight. Halfway through, my throat tightens. “I’ll be back,” I say quietly, and no one argues. I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me, and the moment the latch clicks, the tears come. I let myself have just this one moment. This is why we can’t leave him. Because under all the grief and misery, he is still our dad, and sometimes he comes back for a night and looks at us like he remembers who we are.

I wipe my face with toilet paper and breathe until my chest settles, until I can walk out without my voice cracking. When I return, Dad is laughing at something Charlie said, and Charlie looks like a kid again for half a second, shoulders relaxed, eyes bright, soaking up the attention like sunlight. I take the opportunity for this one calm night and go upstairs. I grab my skates from under the bed and pack them into my bag along with my thin cardigan and my spare socks. Then I head downstairs again. Dad looks up from his plate, still eating slowly, still sober, and he’s rambling about a job he might pick up in town. “Hey,” I say lightly. “I’m just going down the road. One of the girls from school wants to hang out.” Charlie’s eyes flick to my bag. Suspicion sharpens there for half a heartbeat, but he doesn’t say anything. Not when Dad is watching. Dad’s face brightens, and it makes my stomach twist because the approval feels like a gift and a threat at the same time. “Oh yeah?” he says, genuinely pleased. “You’re making friends?” I nod and force a smile. “Yeah.” Dad chuckles. “That’s good. You kids should have friends.”

Charlie glances at me again, a quiet question in his eyes, but he doesn’t ruin this for me. “I’ll be back soon,” I say. Dad waves me off. “Don’t be too late.”

“I won’t.” I step out into the cold night with my skates in my bag and a tight ache in my chest that has nothing to do with the mate bond. The door clicks shut behind me, and the quiet wraps around my shoulders like a blanket. I’m happy for them. Truly. I need to be alone.