Page 121 of Cross Ice

“I don’t need you to fix this right now.”

He went still. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know. But I just needed to tell you. I didn’t need solutions.”

“Then what do you need?”

I looked at him. The question wasn’t impatient—it was genuine. He really wanted to know, and I really didn’t have a clean answer. We’d been having this same exchange in different forms for two weeks.

“I needed you to know how bad it is,” I said. “That’s all.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he moved closer and pulled me against him. “I’m sorry. I know I do that—jump to fixing things instead of just listening.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m working on it.”

We sat there in the quiet, and I let myself lean into him. Let his steadiness calm the anxiety that had been running through me for two weeks.

This was why I kept trying. Not just because I cared about him, though I did, more than I’d expected to care about anyone after Ryan. But because being with Nico had reminded me what it felt like to be seen. Not as a cautionary tale, or a PR problem, or an accessory to someone else’s life. Just as myself.

And sitting here in the wreckage of my professional life, he was still here. Not fixing it—because I’d asked him not to—but here. Present. Trying.

That was worth fighting for.

“Tomorrow will be good,” he said against my hair. “Fresh start. Just us and the ocean.”

I wanted to believe him. I went to bed telling myself I did.

Saturday, Nico picked me up at noon.

“Ready?” he asked when I got into his SUV.

“Ready.”

He smiled and pulled out of the parking garage. I watched my apartment building disappear in the side mirror. The familiar streets of Milpitas gave way to the freeway heading south.

The drive took about an hour. Nico made conversation—asked about my week, told me about practice, mentioned that André had been asking about me. I responded when I needed to, but mostly I looked out the window and tried to let the distance from my apartment feel like something other than exposure.

“You okay?” Nico asked somewhere around Los Gatos.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“We don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to. Just a few hours. Get lunch, walk around.”

“No, it’s good. I want to.”

I did want to. I wanted to be the person who could go on a spontaneous day trip without my chest feeling tight the entire drive. I just didn’t know if wanting it was enough to make it true.

Santa Cruz was beautiful, the sun sparkling off the water.

Nico parked near the wharf, and we walked toward the beach. Clear sky, warm for early March. He reached for my hand as we walked, and I let him take it.

But I couldn’t stop scanning. Every phone that came out, every group of people who might recognize us.

“This is nice,” Nico said, looking out at the water.

“Yeah.” I wanted it to be nice. I kept my eyes on the horizon and tried to stay in the moment.