Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 49

**Charlotte**

Blake looks down at our hands again, then back at my face. “Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.” I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he said it mattered more than anything else… I swallow, and my throat feels too tight for the amount of air I’m breathing. “You’re welcome,” I manage, but it sounds stupid, because what do you even say to that Blake’s thumb brushes my knuckles once, light as breath. My leg throbs slightly. It isn’t screaming anymore, but it’s there, pulsing, reminding me that I did something I can’t undo. I shift a little and suck in a breath when the pain answers. Blake’s gaze drops instantly. “Don’t move it too much.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. He doesn’t argue. He looks at me in a way that makes the lie feel obvious. I stare at the blanket instead, at the neat fold near my knee, at the edge of his sleeve, at anything that isn’t his eyes. The embarrassment crept in late, like my brain waited until the danger passed to let me feel it properly. I’m in his bed. In his shirt. In his house. I screamed, and I passed out. I let his mum touch me. I let her break my leg. I let him hold me through it. My face heats. Blake’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “You’re thinking too loud.” I blink, startled. “I’m not even talking.” He tilts his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I can see it.”

That makes my chest tighten even more. I’ve spent my whole life making sure no one can see anything on me unless I want them to, and somehow Blake keeps looking at me like he’s reading the parts I’ve always kept locked up. I take a slow breath and decide to aim for something safer. Something practical. Something I can control. “Sophie,” I say suddenly. Blake’s brows lift a fraction. “Sophie?”

“Nanna’s,” I clarify. “I left. I just… I left. I didn’t even say anything. I didn’t finish my shift. I didn’t… I didn’t clean up. I didn’t—” My voice catches, and I hate that it does. “She’s going to think I’m unreliable.” Blake’s expression shifts into something calm, like he’s been waiting for this, like he knows guilt is where my brain goes when it doesn’t know what else to hold. “Dad cleared all of that up,” he says. I stare at him. “What do you mean? How?” He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like it was easy. “He spoke to Sophie. He told her you had a stomach bug.” I blink. “A stomach bug,” Blake smirks. “It was the closest lie to the truth that humans don’t question.” I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “Right.”

“She said you can have a few days off,” Blake adds. “To deal with it.” My stomach drops. “No. No, I can’t. I need that job.” Blake’s gaze stays steady on me. “I know.”

“I need the money,” I say, mentally spiralling at how bad this could get if I can’t support my family. “I can’t just take days off. I can’t just… stop.”

Blake reaches into his pocket, and for a second, I think he’s pulling out his phone, but he pulls out a wad of notes instead, thick enough that my brain stalls. He sets it on the bed beside me, and my eyes lock on it. “That’s your pay,” he says. “And your tips.” I stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “How?” Blake shrugs again, like it’s not a big deal. “Dad asked Sophie to tally it. She did. She said you earned it and you’re not missing out because of some feral stomach bug.” My throat tightens so hard it hurts. I don’t touch the money. I can’t. It feels like if I do, I’m admitting that I needed help. That I wasn’t in control. Blake points at my leg with his chin. “But in case you haven’t noticed…” I follow his gaze automatically, and Blake’s voice stays calm. “You won’t be walking for a few days.” I swallow. “I heal fast,” I say again.

“You do,” he agrees, and there’s something almost gentle in his tone, like he’s not arguing with me, he’s just being honest. “But not fast enough to limp to town twice a day and do a full shift on your feet.” The panic flares anyway. “Charlie needs—”

“I know he does,” Blake says, cutting in softly. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it stops me. “And you need to heal.” I shake my head once. “I don’t have time.” Blake leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and his hand finds mine again, like it’s instinct. “Your time is not optional,” he says quietly.

The words land heavier than they should, because no one has ever spoken to me as if my body matters. I blink fast, and Blake’s thumb brushes my knuckles again. “And,” he adds, voice even softer, “it will go faster if you stay closer to me.” Heat floods my face so fast it makes me dizzy. I look away immediately, staring at the far wall like it might save me. I swallow hard, and the truth slips out before I can stop it. “I don’t know how to do this.” Blake’s hand tightens slightly around mine. “You don’t have to know how yet.” The room stays quiet for a moment, and the bond hums under my skin like it agrees with him. Then there’s a soft knock at the door, and I stiffen instinctively. Blake’s eyes flick to it, then back to me. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. The door opens slowly, and Mara steps in, carrying a tray of toast, eggs, and a mug of tea. The smell hits my empty stomach, and I hate that it does, because it makes me feel needy. Mara’s gaze flicks over my face first, checking, then down to my leg, then to my hand still held in Blake’s. She doesn’t comment. She sets the tray on the bedside table and gives me a small, careful smile. “I thought you’d be hungry, love,” she says gently. “Thank you,” I reply, voice quiet. Mara hesitates like she’s choosing her words, making sure they won’t spook me. “I wanted to ask,” she says softly, “would you prefer to stay here in Blake’s room while you recover, or would you like your own room?” I look at the tray, at the tea, at the clean blankets, at Blake sitting beside me like he isn’t going anywhere, and my head spins again for a different reason this time. No one has asked me what I prefer in a long time. I don’t know what to say.