Page 36 of Home Ice

I raise my eyebrow, sure this will devolve into a staring contest, but I'm prepared to wait her out as long as I need to. But it doesn't. She pulls her arm free of the blanket and holds it out for me. It's her left hand, the one with the tattoo on the wrist. My eyes flash to it for just a second. I wish I could have been there for her then, so she'd never need to get that tattoo. But I'm here now. I flip her hand over and press my palm to hers. "You're freezing," I tell her as I lace my fingers between hers.

Her eyes are wide. "You shouldn't."

Maybe not. Maybe this is going to take something that is already the hardest thing I've ever done and make it impossible. But I can't care about that now. "I'm here, Lily. For as long as you want me to be. We don't have to talk, but I'm right here. And I'm going to hold this hand the whole time to remind you of that."

"It will be awkward if one of us needs to pee." She tries to laugh, but I don't.

"We'll figure everything out."

CHAPTER 27

BIRTHDAYS

LILY

When Brant took my hand, it felt like holding my palm out to be warmed by a fire, and it's just gotten better every second since then. His touch is the only thing I can think about. I want him to pull me tight to him. I want him to throw his leg over me and straddle me so I can feel his warmth and his weight. I want so much more than his fingers woven through mine. As strong as it is, I don't know how this feeling can only be one-sided.

But it is. Friends. For him, this hand holding is as far as he wants to go. It's his dessert. But it's not even the appetizer for me. This is me walking into a restaurant, famished after not eating for a year, and staring down a buffet while the server holds the most delicious smelling focaccia in the history of smells right under my nose. Then just as I can't take a second more without biting into it, "sorry, miss, this is only for sniffing," in a haughty accent.

"Lily?" I look up. He's smiling that smile I hate. The one that simultaneously makes him the sexiest and most adorable guy I've ever seen. "Should I be worried, Jams? You look like you want to turn my fingers into a chew toy."

"Jams?"

"Pajama Girl is kind of strange, don't you think? I don't know why you ever called yourself that."

"And Jams is better?"

"So much better. I'm great at nicknames."

I know he's setting me up, but I don't even have the strength to banter with him right now. This day was so much easier before Brant came. There was nothing to distract me. I could have sat here all day, staring out the front window. Seeing what was probably the very last thing in this world that he saw. Only I can't, because Brant is here, and I have to act like I'm at least partially holding myself together even though every single atom that used to comprise me has been scattered. "I'm fine, you know."

Brant turns and brings his leg onto the couch so he can face me, and now he holds my hand in both of his. His thumbs stroke down the front and back, and I know what Silver feels when I rub that one spot at the base of his ear. "You're not fine. But friends are there for each other during the not-fine parts."

"Friends?" I want so much for him to say no. I want him to tell me this is just as hard for him as it is for me, and that he can't do it anymore. If he says that now, I'd give in. I'd lose my job because of it. Every bill collector on this side of the country would come after me. But I would do it for just one time. Say it, Brant. Tell me it's what you want too.

"Friends."

I sigh.

I turn toward the kitchen so I'm not facing him. "Today's his birthday." My words are so light they're whisked away before they're even out of my mouth. I lift my dad's hoodie up to my nose and inhale. It still smells like him. I'll never wash it.

"Whose birthday?"

This is the first time in a very long time—since that day when I was a teenager—that I wish my heart would stop. I shouldn't have said anything to Brant. I shouldn't have let him in. I should have hidden as soon as I saw his car pull in the driveway. All I can do now is close my eyes and try to wait him out.

"Oh, your dad's birthday. Lily, I don't know what to… Tell me if this is too much."

Of course it is. It's all too much. Being back here. This day. Him. The couch cushions shift. Maybe Brant’s leaving? Maybe this is too much for him too? I almost turn around to see what he's doing. But then the cushion drops from his weight again, closer to me now. He works his leg between my hip and the back of the couch. Then he wraps both arms around my belly and pulls me back. Into him.

I've worked with professional athletes for four years. College athletes for three years before that. I've seen every type of body during that time. Basketball players, baseball players, even college hockey players, but after seeing all of them, I'll never understand how that type of body can feel the way Brant's does now. How it can be so strong—as firm as any wall I've ever leaned against—but a place I never want to get up from.

"Is this okay?" His breath tickles the back of my neck, and I can't help leaning back into him. He wraps me tighter in his arms when I do.

"When I moved back, I put all his things in storage. Everything except this hoodie and his damn coffee pot. I thought it would help, but he's still here. All the fucking time, Brant. He's here. And that just reminds me that he's gone. I'll never get to see him or hear his voice. He'll never see me finally be happy. I promised him I would stay for a year, and I will. But I just don't want to feel anymore. Does it make me a bad daughter that the thing I want the most is to be numb?"

He tucks an invisible hair behind my ear, and I wish his hand would linger. "I've never lost anyone I truly care about, so I don't know what it's like. But I know he's not just here. You carry him. From what I hear, the burden gets lighter as time goes on… or we get stronger. But you'll always carry him, and eventually you'll be glad to do it."

I sniff. "I doubt it."

---