Page 112 of On Thin Ice
“And I did,” he whispered, his shoulders slumping. “I became the perfect son. The golden boy. Captain of the hockey team. Scholar athlete. Never let myself get close to anyone again. Never let myself want anyone I couldn’t have. Not until—” He broke off, his throat working, that muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Not until me,” I said, my voice rough with unshed tears.
He nodded, a single jerk of his chin. “So yeah.That’swhat I’m afraid of. I don’t care if things are different now. If people are more accepting. Because back then, it wasn’t just some online troll spouting their bullshit. It was people I knew. Trusted.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, hot and insistent. The room blurred, and I blinked to clear my vision.
“Even now, when I think about coming out, all I can do is re-live that moment. The betrayal. The pain I experienced in that fucking room.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. All I could do was move.
I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him, feeling him shake against me. The heat of his body, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of his shampoo—all of it anchored me even as I tried to anchor him. He didn’t cry. He just held on, silent and trembling. His heartbeat thundered against mine, our pulses racing in tandem.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his hair, my lips brushing against his temple, over that fucking scar. “I’m so sorry.”
His fingers dug into my back, clutching at my shirt. “I don’t want to be scared anymore, Bell,” he murmured, the words muffled against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. “But I am. All the fucking time.”
“I know, baby. I know.” I held him tighter, as if I could absorb his fear through my skin.
Outside, a car honked, and the world kept on turning.
But in this room, time seemed suspended as I finally understood the depth of Ethan’s fear—not just abstract anxiety, but a physical memory of pain and betrayal seared into his bones.
And I realized it was so much bigger than I knew what to do with.
CHAPTER27
I didn’t know how long Bell and I stood there, me folded into his arms as we held each other up. Every time my breath hitched, he held me tighter, his palm moving in slow circles over my back like he was trying to soothe away the tremors in my bones.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” I murmured, my words muffled against his neck as I tasted salt on my lips. “But I am. All the fucking time.”
“I know, baby. I know,” he whispered, lips brushing my temple, right over the scar he now knew the truth about.
I let the sound of his voice wash over me, the gentle rumble of it vibrate through his chest and into mine. I wanted to stay here, buried in his warmth, held together by his faith in me.
But that wasn’t how life worked.
Eventually, I moved away, needing space to pull a breath into my lungs.
Bell’s hands slipped from around me without resistance, but his eyes stayed glued to mine, filled with a tenderness that made me want to look away.
I grabbed my mug off the table and took a sip, even though the coffee was cold now, the bitter, acidic taste matching the churning in my stomach.
“You’re safe now. You know that, right?” he said, stepping back into my space and brushing his thumb across my cheek, the calloused pad rough against my skin.
I nodded, swallowing hard against the tightness in my throat.
But the truth was, I didn’t feel safe.
Not in the way he meant, at least. The phantom pain of old memories seemed to pulse beneath my skin, a sensation my body wouldn’t let go of.
Bell desperately wanted to believe that the world was better now. And maybe it was for someone like him, a man who could stare down his bullies with a smirk, his eyebrow raised in silent challenge.
But I wasn’t built like him.
I was built of secrets and lies and fists I never saw coming.
And shame.
