Page 135 of Frozen Flames

“She was hot.” Henrik snickers, and my mom slaps his shoulder.

I eye him, warning him not to speak that way about Claire, and he looks back defiantly, as if daring me to out myself in front of our mother.

“She and Stefan are amazing at their jobs. They’ve helped you in so many ways, Harvey.”

“I know.” I nod.

“Claire and Harvey have a thing going on!” Henrik blurts out like the dick that he is, and my mom’s eyes go wide.

“What? Harvey! I suspected something…but I wasn’t sure.”

I put my head down, brushing my thumb and forefinger over my eyebrows. “Yeah, well, I won’t be seeing her anymore—”

“One day at a time,” my mom reassures me. “Gemma doesn’t need to know that Claire’s gone. It’s none of her business anymore.” Neither Henrik nor I comment on my mom’s statement. Some things are better left unsaid, private. I can understand why my mom would be protective and hate on Gemma right now though.

“I’m going to make you guys your favorite chicken and scalloped potatoes dinner,” she says with glowing eyes.

“Mom, you don’t have to. You’ve done enough. You don’t need to be here all the time.”

“Let people help you,” she says simply, shoving my brother out of the kitchen.

We both head to my room to game when I tell him, “You’re a fucking idiot, Hen.”

“Yes, yes, we all know you’re happy I told her. It’ll give her time to wrap her head around it.”

“Whatever.”

Something about being around my family helps me deal. Deal with the losses, deal with the pain.

It’s comforting, and feels like old times somehow.

“Claire…” I say when I open the door and she’s standing there. She looks great in jeans, a white top, and a dark green raincoat. Her soft, wavy hair is tied up.

“Hi, Harv.” She smiles as she walks in.

I wheel back to the kitchen, giving her space to walk in and remove her coat if she wants to.

“I’m here to pack up the equipment,” she reminds me.

“Yeah, I figured.”

I hate this small talk. She was literally sleeping in my bed a few nights ago.

After taking off her coat and setting her purse on the kitchen island, she disassembles the parallel bars. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, doing better.”

“Are you really, or is that the answer you think people want to hear?” She looks up at me as she puts one of the bars in a big black bag.

I sigh, pushing my hair back. “What do you think, Claire? You left, and you quit…”

“I know.” She swallows.

“I understand why you have to do this. I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“Me neither, Harvey, believe me.”

“Did you find another job yet?” I ask, curious.

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