Burning Ice - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

I wasn't expecting it. When I saw Billie's name pop up on my phone, my first thought was that it was probably something small, something casual. But when I answered, I could tell something was wrong. The way she spoke, the slight hesitation in her voice, it was all wrong. This wasn't the Billie I'd gotten to know over the past few days.
I was sitting at Evan's place, the guys were messing around with some video games, and I was enjoying the usual banter. But the second I heard that softness in her voice, I couldn't just sit there. Evan gave me some shit when I told him I was leaving, but I didn't care. He knew how much I valued the team, but he also knew how I felt about Billie.
I drove over to her apartment as fast as I could, every minute dragging by, my mind racing with all the possible things that could be wrong. When I finally stepped inside, seeing her sitting there, her energy drained, I felt a knot form in my stomach. This wasn't the girl who joked around and lit up every room she walked into. No, this was someone else entirely, someone who looked like she'd been carrying the weight of something heavy, something I understood.
I didn't want to push her. I knew better than that. People don't open up unless they're ready, and I wasn't going to force it out of her. Instead, I decided to do what I do best and distract her.
I asked about ice cream, not even sure if she was into it, but who the hell doesn't like ice cream, right?
The second I saw her face light up, that small spark of excitement in her eyes, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I didn't know what had happened to her, but for a second, I knew I had made the right choice. She needed something to take her mind off whatever was weighing her down, and if ice cream could do that, then hell, I was proud of myself for thinking of it.
I wasn't sure what tonight would bring, or when she'd feel ready to talk, but I was here. I wasn't going anywhere. And if all I could do was sit with her, help her feel a little better, then that's exactly what I was going to do.
The drive to the ice cream shop was only a few miles, but it felt longer than that, the quiet between us settling comfortably in the truck. Every few seconds, I'd glance over at Billie. She wasn't saying much, just staring out the window, but there was something calming about having her here, in the passenger seat.
The air in the truck smelled faintly of lavender, a scent that seemed to cling to her, and it was almost like I could feel it in my lungs every time I took a breath. The soft, floral scent wrapped around me, mixing with the cool night air that seeped through the cracks in the windows.
Even in the dim light of the dashboard, she looked... beautiful. I wasn't sure if it was the soft glow of the streetlights outside or how peaceful she looked just sitting there, but something about the way the night illuminated her face made her seem almost ethereal. The gentle curve of her jaw, the way her hair tumbled around her shoulders, the slight furrow of her brow as she thought about something only she knew, she looked perfect in this quiet moment.
I couldn't help but steal a few more glances. The kind that made my chest tighten, the kind that made me want to do everything I could to make her smile again, to take whatever burden was on her shoulders away.
But I didn't push her. She wasn't ready to talk, and that was fine. I was just glad she was with me. Glad that, for a moment, we were just two people driving to get ice cream, even if there was a lot more going on under the surface.
When we pulled into the ice cream shop, I hopped out and opened the door for Billie before walking around to the other side. I didn't think much of it at first—the place was a little busier than I expected, but it was nothing that would get in the way of us having a simple night out.
Billie ordered a Rocky Road cone with cherries on top, and I smiled at how she seemed to enjoy the process of choosing her flavor. As for me, I stuck with my usual, a mint chocolate Blizzard. We stood in line for a minute, and I noticed a couple of people glancing our way, but I didn't think much of it. It wasn't unusual for people to recognize me every now and then.
But as I was checking out, I could tell the glances were turning into something else. A couple of people were moving closer now, their eyes fixed on me, and before I knew it, a fan was approaching, asking for a photo.
It was the kind of thing I didn't mind as it came with the territory. I loved my fans, loved that they supported me, but when another person asked for a photo, then another, I started to realize it was growing into something I hadn't anticipated.
Within a minute, there were maybe five or ten people standing around me, all eager for a photo, a handshake, a quick chat. I kept a smile on my face, trying to be polite and present, but in the back of my mind, my eyes kept drifting over to Billie.
She was standing just outside the crowd, a little ways off, looking uncertain. Her eyes flicked between me and the group of fans, and I could see the way she was clutching her ice cream cone a little tighter, taking small, hesitant bites. She wasn't saying anything, but I could tell she was uncomfortable with the attention I was getting.
I hated that she was standing there like that, caught between the awkwardness of my fame and her need for some space. It wasn't something I wanted her to deal with, especially not tonight.
I glanced back at the crowd, trying to keep it together, but I knew I had to wrap this up soon. I didn't want to take away from her moment. I wanted to get her back in the truck, back in that little bubble where things felt easier, quieter.
With a final smile, I excused myself from the group and started making my way back to Billie, my heart a little heavier than I wanted it to be.
I put the truck in park and just sat there, the engine humming softly beneath us, but neither of us moving. The night felt heavier now, the atmosphere between us thicker with everything that had happened. I could tell she was still processing something, but I wasn't going to force her to talk about it. Not yet.
Billie took another bite of her ice cream, her eyes focused on the melting tip as if she were trying to distract herself. I let the silence stretch between us, giving her space, but I couldn't help but glance over at her every now and then. The quiet was comfortable in a way, but it didn't feel like enough.
"I'm sorry about that" I finally said, breaking the silence, my voice almost a whisper. "I should've told you that it happens sometimes. I didn't want you to feel like... like you didn't belong there. I should've handled it better."
Billie's gaze flicked over to me, and for a moment, I thought she might say something, but instead, she just sighed and looked out the window again, her breath fogging up the glass slightly.
"It's not your fault. I just... I don't know. I guess I'm just not used to being around people like that." he said softly, her voice distant, like she was talking more to herself than to me.
I wasn't sure what she meant by "people like that," but I could feel the vulnerability in her words. She wasn't just talking about the fans, there was something deeper, something that made this moment feel heavier than it should have been.
"I get it," I said, leaning back into my seat, trying to give her a little space while still making sure she knew I was here. "It's a lot to deal with sometimes, all the attention. And I should've been more aware of how it might've made you feel."
Billie nodded, then paused, like she was weighing her next words carefully. "It's not about the attention. It's... I don't know. I've just been dealing with some stuff, and it's hard to focus on anything else."
I could see it in her eyes, that faraway look. Whatever it was, it was still eating at her.
"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready," I said gently, keeping my tone soft. "I'm not going anywhere, though. Just know that, alright?"
She looked over at me, her eyes softening for a moment.
"I know. Thanks" There was a heaviness in her voice that made my chest tighten.
"Anytime," I said, giving her a small, reassuring smile. "We can just sit here as long as you need."
For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of the quiet night around us and the soft noise of Billie eating her ice cream. But somehow, it felt like enough, like we didn't need to fill the air with words just yet.
I sat quietly, listening as Billie spoke, her words slow and hesitant at first. When she sighed and rolled her neck, I could feel the weight she carried in her shoulders, in the way she spoke. There was a softness to her voice that hinted at something deeper, something she hadn't fully let out until now.
When she started talking about her dad, I felt my chest tighten. I hadn't expected her to go there, but I knew this was a side of her I hadn't seen before.
"My dad... I saw him today for the first time in ten years," she began, her voice trembling slightly, like it hurt to say the words. "He didn't even recognize me."
I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but I didn't want to make her feel like she had to say more than she was ready to. But she kept going, the words flowing from her like a dam finally breaking.
"He left me and my mom when I was a kid. Never came back. Never said a word. Just disappeared, and... I don't know. I guess I thought I was stronger than this," she said, her words starting to break up a little. "But seeing him today, here, in the same city I've always lived in, I don't know... something inside of me just... broke."
I could hear the pain in her voice, and I hated it. I hated that this was something she had carried for so long, something that had shaped her in ways I didn't fully understand. She wasn't the type to open up about her feelings, to show vulnerability. But she was here, talking to me about it, and I felt that fragile trust in her voice.
"I know he doesn't deserve a second thought but seeing him... I don't know, Nate. It just hit me in a way I didn't expect." She continued, her eyes fixed on the space outside the truck.
My chest ached for her, for the pain she was still carrying, even if she didn't want to admit it. She wasn't looking for pity. She wasn't looking for me to fix it. She just needed someone to listen, someone to hold space for her pain.
I could feel the weight of Billie's words in the air between us. Her pain, the frustration of not getting what she needed from her dad, it hit too close to home. I wasn't going to make this about me, but I couldn't ignore the similarities between what she was going through and what I had lived. My relationship with my father wasn't just complicated; it was toxic, abusive in ways I didn't always know how to talk about.
I looked at her for a moment, her eyes still soft, waiting for me to say something more. And for some reason, it felt like the right time to let her in at least a little bit. I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself before speaking.
"I get it," I started, my voice quieter now. "The complicated relationship with a father thing, I mean."
Billie looked over at me, clearly surprised. I could tell she wasn't expecting me to share anything, but I felt the urge to be honest. Maybe it was because I could see how badly she was hurting, and in some strange way, I wanted her to know she wasn't alone in it.
"My dad..." I hesitated, biting my lip, unsure of how much I wanted to reveal. But it was her sitting next to me, someone who'd already opened up about something personal.
"My dad wasn't exactly the best guy. And I don't just mean he wasn't around. He was... abusive. Not physically all the time, but emotionally? Yeah. A lot of the time. And that... that shit messes with you."
Billie's eyes softened, her face reflecting something between surprise and empathy. I wasn't sure why I was telling her this now, but once I started, I couldn't stop myself. I had to let it out.
"He would belittle me, make me feel like nothing I did was good enough. And there were times he'd hit me, when he lost control. But the worst part was that I kept trying to please him, to be the son he wanted me to be. And when I couldn't, when I wasn't what he needed, that's when the abuse got worse."
I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the old scars start to surface again. It wasn't easy to talk about, but I wanted Billie to understand. Not just that I got her pain, but that I wasn't immune to it either.
"I don't know when I stopped hoping things would get better with him. Maybe it was when I finally realized he was never going to change. Or maybe it was just the day I realized I was tired of being someone I wasn't just to earn his love." I continued, my voice growing heavier.
Billie was quiet for a moment, her eyes locked on me, processing everything I said. I couldn't tell if she was shocked or if she just didn't know what to say. I wasn't expecting her to say anything at all.
"I didn't get the answers I needed from him," I said, my voice a little rough. "And I don't think I ever will. But that doesn't mean I have to keep carrying all that with me. It doesn't mean it gets to define me, you know?"
Billie took a deep breath, her eyes softening even more. I could see the shift in her, like she was starting to understand that we both carried scars, but those scars didn't have to be who we were.
She nodded, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to find the right words.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she finally said, her voice quiet but genuine.
"Yeah, well," I said, shrugging like it was no big deal, even though it was. "It is what it is. But you're not alone in this, Billie. Whatever you're carrying, I get it. And I'm not going anywhere."
For a brief moment, she just sat there, her eyes studying me with something like gratitude but also understanding. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't carrying that weight alone anymore either.
Billie let out a small, almost nervous laugh, shaking her head.
"Well, I guess we both have a thing for complicated fathers, huh?" Her lips twitched as she added, "Guess that makes us both experts in daddy issues."
Her words hung in the air for a moment, and despite the heaviness of what we'd both just shared, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was dark humor, but it lightened the tension, and I appreciated the way she could make a joke out of something so painful.
"You could say that" I replied, smirking. "I think we should start a support group or something. For people with... questionable father figures."
"I'm in. You know, with our combined expertise, we might just fix the world one messed-up relationship at a time." Billie grinned, the weight in her eyes lifting just slightly.
I laughed again, and for the first time that night, it felt like a small release. It wasn't all fixed as nothing ever was, but at least we weren't carrying it alone anymore.