Page 72 of Frozen Flames

“Why’re you looking at me like that, Gemma?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’refuckingdone with us!”

Hard. To. Breathe.

“We just…we need space, Harv. Admit it.”

Panic. I’m panicking.

“No! Fuck your space—pick right now! You should be able to choose—me or him. It’s me or him!”

I’m being hypocritical because of Claire. Except I was still able to tell Claire that I want to work things out with Gemma. Has Gemma been able to do the same? Is she thinking about him right now?

“Him. Or me. I swear to God, if you pick him, I don’t know what I’ll do—” My voice cracks from the mental fatigue of all of this.

I’m so unhappy with myself, it’s not even funny.

Her leaving me makes me feel as if I’m breaking apart cell by cell and becoming less than half the man I already am.

I think of the intense loneliness. Of that black hole. Of never seeing Gemma again. Of her leaving me behind and marrying her boss.

Then she grabs my hand. For some reason, she’s focused on the phoenix tattoo on my forearm.

“Gemma.” I shake my head, knowing I’ve lost her for good as I wrap my arms around her waist one last time.

Oh, please, please, please.

Don’t leave me.

Fuck my life, I really am losing her.

This is it—the moment I’ve been waiting for since the accident.

She’s not answering me.

Why isn’t she answering me?

“Gemma?” I ask, willing to do anything for another chance to make this right.

“Okay.” She swallows. “Okay, Harv, we’ll try.”

Her words are dripping with hesitation. There’s a lack of certainty in them about our future that’s ratcheting up my anxiety to its highest level.

But I can work with trying. I have no other choice.

So even though I don’t want to, I release her waist, rolling my chair back, remembering that she wanted to shower. “I’ll let you shower.”

I exhale loudly, wishing I could get a release by playing extreme sports. Nondisabled people are so fucking lucky sometimes, I swear. Instead, I settle for playing video games until Gemma’s out of the shower.

Then I wheel out of my room and head into the kitchen, watching her grill cheese sandwiches. I set the table with plates, and she thanks me before I watch TV for a bit.

Soon, we sit and eat dinner together.

It’s quiet, the opposite of our night so far, but not in a good way. Rather, it’s the kind of silence that wreaks havoc on a relationship’s intimacy.

After we finish, as she’s clearing the table, I put my hand on her arm, stopping her.

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