Page 26 of Fractured Ice

She can't walk straight, which means I end up with my arm around her waist for half a block and then just carry her, because it's faster and she's cold and she's shaking a little, and I don't know if that's the alcohol or something else, and I don't want her to be cold for longer than she has to be. She's light and she fits against my chest like she's supposed to be there, which is a thought I'm going to lock in a room somewhere and not open.

She needs water and a bed and to not be outside in January.

"You're warm," she says, against my shoulder.

"I know."

"I don't feel good."

"I know."

"I didn't—" She stops. "He kept getting closer and I knew something was wrong but I couldn't⁠—"

"You don't have to explain," I say. "I've got you."

She's quiet the rest of the walk.

I take her to the hockey house because it's closer than her place and I'm not leaving her in a house with three roommates who may or may not be home and awake. I get her upstairs, sit her on my bed, work her boots off while she blinks at the ceiling. I get her water from the bathroom and make her drink half of it, and she does, compliant in the way that makes something in me hurt.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

“No,” she slurs.

“No?

"Stay," she says when I start to move.

“Emma…”

"Ethan." She grabs the sleeve of my hoodie. Her grip isn't strong but I'm not going anywhere anyway. "Stay. Please."

I stand there for a second studying her, thinking of all the reasons I should tell her no, and knowing I’d never tell her no to anything she wants. Finally, I nod.

She climbs onto the bed, then looks back at me.

“Ethan?” she whispers.

Slowly, I sit back on the edge of the bed, and she shifts, making room for me beside her, and then somehow I'm lying on top of the covers with her curled against my side, her head on my chest, and she's asleep inside of four minutes like someone pulled a switch.

I stare at the ceiling.

My shoulder's going to be bruised by morning, and it was my good shoulder. My ribs ache, but I can tell they’re not broken. My hand is already bruising. But I don't care about any of those things. What I care about is that an hour ago she was being walked to a car by a guy who had decided she was going home with him, and she was too drunk to make him stop, and if I'd stayed in my room tonight scrolling through her Instagram like the person I apparently am, I wouldn't have known about it until after.

I don't let myself finish that thought.

Sienna breathes slow and even against my ribs. Her hair's across my shoulder. For years I've been trying to get her to see me, actually see me, and I keep showing up wrong and saying the wrong thing. Tonight I showed up right for the first time and it happened because someone scared her and not

because I managed to do anything correctly.

I'm going to do something correctly. I'm going to figure out how.

But right now she's asleep and safe and I'm not moving until morning, and that's enough.

It has to be enough.

7

Sienna