Page 50 of Frozen Flames

She might have the title, yet she doesn’t feel like mine.

Not anymore.

She’s been slipping through my fingers since the accident, little by little.

I bring myself back to reality, my jaw ticking when Gemma reaches me, grabs my hand, and clutches it to her chest. “Harv.”

Her voice is peppered with guilt—purified guilt—and I’m sure my eyes are emanating unfiltered rage.

I don’t say a word though.

Not one fucking word.

I can’t stop my throat from swallowing, because she’s looking at me with hope, and she’s pleading for something with her eyes.

I can’t pinpoint what it is.

“I’m so proud of you.” She grabs my face with her hands. “I believe in you—you know that, right?”

I stare at her lips, hearing the softness in her voice, my mind wishing that in a perfect world, we’d muddle our way through this.

And then I notice her leather skirt, and whom she wears these types of outfits for now.

As if she realizes it too, that she’s a liar, a cheat, she takes a step back, checking out my chest.

Would’ve been nice if she had done that long ago. Would’ve been nice if I didn’t have to be standing up for her to stare at my chest the way she is now.

“Are you…are you also doing different exercises?” she asks me.

I shrug. “McKleen gave me more upper body strength exercises.” I’ve also been training with Claire, but I don’t mention it, since Gemma already knows.

“That’s good,Harv.” She whispers my name like she’s engraving the memory of it inside her head. She’s so far gone, it’s not even funny. I don’t think there’s a single thing I can do to win this woman back, nor am I even sure that’s what I want.

A part of me wants the familiarity, wants what we once had. And a part of me knows that’s dead and gone, and that I must move on.

But right now? I’m mad at her. I’m just processing my thoughts, trying to put them into words so I can tell her how I feel.

“Keep going,” Gemma says, gesturing for me to keep walking.

She probably thinks we’re having a moment. Though the only moment we’re having is one of realization that her need to take care of me is bigger than her need for me or her love for me.

It might not even be her fault, she might not even notice it, but she’s done this since day one. She’s hovered and pestered and questioned and pressured me about my progress since the early days after the accident.

It took me a while to realize it, what was bothering me about her. And now that she’s taken a step back and given me space to breathe and grow on my own, it’s not for my own good, but to justify her own behavior.

So I shake my head and ask her to close the door behind her.

My voice is gentle though, the complete opposite of the fury racing through me.

She swallows, and she’s nervous, and when I look her in the eye, I want her to know that I fucking know. I know she’s playing dirty behind my back.

Not that I’m any better.

Fuck, I’m not any better at all.

She nods and leaves, and I can’t shake the heavy feeling inside of me. That I’ll have to make a decision soon and that something will have to change.

My head is a mess.

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