Page 20 of Frozen Flames

“It’s up to you, Claire.”

I honestly couldn’t care less.

“Well, what do you watch with Gemma?” she asks.

“Horror movies, thrillers, and fantasy movies.”

“I was right.” She nods. “She is cool.”

“She is.” Then I smile, thinking back to the night we met. To Gemma asking me not to break her heart.

I close my eyes quickly.

How can I make her happy when I can’t even make myself feel remotely content anymore? I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be okay with this shit.

It’s not okay. I’m not okay.

“I don’t think I can watch a horror movie…”

“That’s fine,” I tell her.

She picks an old comedy instead, and somehow it’s exactly what I needed today.

I woke up feeling down, and here I am laughing with Claire because these idiots on TV think pressing on the gas pedal will reverse the mileage. We’re both laughing so hard at one point that I see Claire wiping away tears of laughter.

That’s when I notice how dark her eyes are, and her red hair, and her brows are the perfect shape to recreate on a piece of paper.

It hits me for the first time that she’s very beautiful.

I noticed the first time we met.

But this hits different.

Claire

I find Harvey in his room on Tuesday morning, looking lifeless in his bed.

He’s barely answering my questions or engaging with me at all. It’s impossible not to notice the massive shift in his mood.

There’s no way he’ll be able to train today, so I grab his gaming chair and sit on it, turning it around to face the bed. I make myself comfortable, putting my feet on the edge of his bed, watching him stare at the ceiling.

“What’s going on, Harvey?”

A minute passes, perhaps two. “Nothing.”

“Did you get in a fight with someone?” I ask, hoping for a glimpse into his somberness.

“No.”

“Well, okay,” I reply, feeling out of my depth. I stare at the hardcover book in my hand that I’ve wanted to reread lately.

Little Women.

I figured that it would help me kill time while Harvey stays in his room.

I open the book, the cover a beautiful pastel color, and flip through the beginning pages. When I reach the first chapter, I stare at Harvey with his eyes closed, his brow knitted tightly as if he’s in pain. Not the physical kind of pain, though there’s no doubt he deals with that too. But the kind of pain that makes it hard to talk, hard tobreathe.

I don’t know what makes me do it. But randomly I start readingLittle Womento him. His eyes fly open in an instant before they land on me, confusion written all over his face.

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