Burning Ice - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Ted's tiny body was wrapped in a blanket on my lap, his chest rising and falling in a soft, steady rhythm. I couldn't stop staring at him, at the way his ears twitched even in sleep, as if he were still on guard. My heart ached at the thought of how close I'd come to losing him tonight.
I leaned back against the hard plastic chair in the waiting room, exhaustion seeping into my bones. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and the antiseptic smell of the vet hospital clung to the air. My eyes darted to Nate, who was sitting across from me, his elbows resting on his knees and his head tilted down like he was deep in thought.
He hated Ted. Well, hated might have been a strong word, but Nate definitely wasn't a fan of my hairless little guy. He always called him creepy, claimed Ted looked like an alien. But when the vet rattled off the treatment plan and I flinched at the number, Nate hadn't hesitated. He just pulled out his wallet like it was the easiest thing in the world.
I didn't want to take his money. It felt wrong, too intimate, like it shifted something between us that I wasn't ready to deal with. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel an overwhelming sense of relief in that moment, knowing Ted was going to be okay. And if I was being realistic, I knew this bill wasn't even a blip on Nate's radar. I could barely afford groceries half the time, and this man probably spent more on a single bottle of wine than I did on rent.
Still, it wasn't about the money. It was about the way he'd seen me panicking and stepped in without question. Nate barely knew Ted, but he knew what Ted meant to me. He knew Ted was the last piece of my mom I had left, that he was more than just a cat, he was a connection to a world I'd lost. And for all his sarcasm and his stupidly perfect smirks, Nate had cared enough to do something about it.
I glanced at him again, the hard lines of his jaw softened in the glow of the overhead lights. He looked tired too, his broad shoulders slouched forward like the weight of the night was pressing down on him. And maybe it was the exhaustion talking, or maybe it was the way he'd shown up for me without expecting anything in return, but in that moment, I'd never found him more attractive.
Not because he was handsome—though he was, in that rugged, untouchable way that always seemed to knock the air out of my lungs—but because for the first time, I saw something beyond the cocky grin and the arrogance. I saw the man who would drive across town in the middle of the night for a girl and her hairless cat. The man who would sit in a cold, uncomfortable waiting room just to make sure they weren't alone.
I swallowed hard and looked away before he could catch me staring. But I couldn't shake the thought. I'd never seen Nate as anything more than the gorgeous, infuriating guy who seemed to make my life more complicated than it needed to be. But tonight, sitting here with Ted asleep in my lap and Nate a few feet away, I wondered if I'd been wrong.
It had been three days since the longest night of my life, and Ted was finally home. He was curled up on the couch in his favorite spot, the soft fleece blanket tucked around him. His tiny chest rose and fell steadily, and every so often, one of his paws twitched like he was dreaming. The vet said it was a heart condition, something I'd have to monitor for the rest of his life. It terrified me to think how close I'd come to losing him, but for now, he was doing better. Stable. Alive. That was all I could ask for.
I glanced at my phone on the coffee table. Another text from Nate lit up the screen:
"How's Ted today? And you?"
He'd texted every day since that night, sometimes twice. Always asking about Ted first, as if he wasn't the same guy who used to look at him like he'd crawled out from under a rock. It was a small thing, but it made me smile every time.
I typed back quickly:
"He's hanging in there. Sleeping a lot, but he seems okay. Thanks for checking."
My thumb hovered over the screen, and I hesitated before adding:
"I'm okay too."
It wasn't a lie, exactly. I was okay, at least on the surface. Ted was home, the vet bills were paid (thanks to Nate), and life was settling back into some kind of normalcy. But underneath it all, there was a storm I couldn't quite name.
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
"Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need anything. Seriously."
I stared at the message longer than I should have, a warm flicker of something unfamiliar stirring in my chest. Nate didn't have to do this. He didn't have to keep checking in, didn't have to make sure I was holding it together. But he was.
I set the phone down and leaned back into the couch, watching Ted's steady breathing. It hit me, then, how rare it was to have someone show up like that. To keep showing up, even when the crisis was over. Nate didn't have to care about Ted, or me for that matter. But he did.
And, if I was being honest with myself, I liked it more than I should.
Ted stretched out across my lap, his tiny body rising and falling with every sleepy breath. The soft hum of the clock ticking on the wall filled the quiet space, but my mind was far from calm. It was spinning, caught in a loop that always seemed to circle back to him. Nate.
I didn't know when it started, this constant pull he seemed to have on me. Maybe it was that night at the carnival when he insisted on dragging me onto the Ferris wheel, teasing me for being scared of heights until I finally gave in. He'd taken a picture of me at the very top, the city lights sprawling behind me, and told me he wanted to remember the moment. I'd laughed it off, embarrassed, but now I couldn't stop thinking about how serious his voice had sounded. Like the memory meant more to him than I'd realized at the time.
Or maybe it was that night in his truck, parked just outside the ice cream shop, when everything shifted. We'd sat there for hours, the melted ice cream forgotten between us, as he opened up about his dad. He told me things I knew weren't easy for him to say, about how his father's words had cut deeper than any bruise ever could. I hadn't planned to say anything about my mom, but something about the way he listened, really listened, broke down the walls I'd been holding onto for so long. Before I knew it, I was spilling everything, how much I missed her, how I kept Ted because he was the last thing she ever gave me.
Then there was the hockey game, where he'd let me drag him around the arena, my excitement spilling over even though I barely understood the rules. And the bar, where he'd pulled me into a kiss so out of the blue I'd barely had time to breathe. But that kiss—it wasn't just heat or impulsiveness. It felt like he was saying something without words, something I hadn't been ready to hear yet.
But I thought about the fight most of all. The night he stood in my apartment, his jaw tight with frustration as he tried to convince me to quit my job at the club. I hated the way he'd made it sound so simple, like I could just walk away from the one thing keeping me afloat.
I'd snapped back, defensive, telling him he didn't understand, that I couldn't just rely on someone else like that. And then he'd said it.
"I love you."
It wasn't quiet or tender. It was sharp, raw, like he couldn't hold it in anymore.
I hadn't said it back. I'd frozen, staring at him like he'd just upended my entire world. And maybe he had. Because the truth was, I didn't know if I loved him then. Or maybe I did, but I was too scared to admit it. Too scared to believe it was real.
I couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. About everything he'd done for me. It wasn't just the big things, like paying for Ted's vet bills or staying up with me all night. It was the way he made me feel seen, like I wasn't just a girl struggling to keep it together.
Six months. That's all it had been. Six months since we met. Six months since him and his teammates walked into my place a work.
But maybe I had. Maybe I did love him. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as scared of that thought as I used to be.
The questions swirled in my mind, each one heavier than the last. I was scared—no, petrified—of what that kind of love could mean. Of what it would ask of me. Because love wasn't simple or easy. Love meant vulnerability, giving someone the power to break you and trusting them not to. Love meant letting go of the walls I'd spent years building, the ones that kept me safe and in control.
And Nate... Nate didn't do things halfway. He loved me the same way he did everything else, with everything he had. I could see it in the way he looked at me, in the way he never held back when he thought I needed to hear the truth, even if it hurt.
But what if I couldn't love him like that? What if I didn't know how? My heart felt like it was caught in a vise, torn between the part of me that wanted to fall into him and the part that screamed at me to pull back before it was too late.
What if I messed it up? What if I wasn't enough for him, or worse what if I was enough, and he stayed, and I still found a way to ruin it?
I looked down at Ted, stroking his back absentmindedly. He'd been through so much these last few days, and somehow he was still here, curled up in my lap like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Nate had changed everything.
And I didn't know what to do with that.
I wanted to call him. I wanted to hear his voice, to tell him I was thinking about him and that I didn't deserve how patient he'd been with me. But the thought of opening up like that made my chest tighten.
Because what if I let him in, really let him in, and it all fell apart anyway? What if loving him meant losing myself in the process?
I didn't have the answers. All I had was this knot of fear and longing that wouldn't go away. I pressed my face into my hands, feeling the weight of it all crash over me.
Maybe I did love Nate. Maybe I'd loved him for a while now and was just too scared to admit it. But what was I supposed to do with that? How was I supposed to handle something so big, so real, without falling apart in the process?
I didn't know. And that uncertainty was the scariest part of all.
The phone felt heavy in my hand as I stared at Nate's name on the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button. My heart was pounding, and I hated how much power he had over me without even being here.
Just call him, I told myself. It's Nate. You've talked to him a hundred times. But somehow, tonight felt different. Maybe it was because I couldn't stop thinking about him, or maybe it was because of that one stupid, terrifying thought that kept bouncing around in my head.
I tapped the button before I could chicken out. The line rang once, twice, and then—
"Billie?" His voice was deep, soft, and laced with a hint of surprise. "Hey. Everything okay?"
I let out a shaky laugh, gripping the phone a little tighter. "Yeah, everything's fine. Ted's doing great," I added quickly, as if that had been the whole reason I called. "I just... I wanted to say thank you again. For everything. You've been checking in, and it means a lot. I mean, you mean a lot... I mean..."
Stop talking.
There was a beat of silence, and then he laughed, low and warm. "You know you don't have to thank me, right? How's Ted?"
"Sleeping like a baby," I said, glancing down at him. "I think he's milking this whole heart condition thing for all the attention he can get."
"That sounds like him," Nate said. "You sure you're okay, though? You sound... different."
I bit my lip, wishing I could sound as calm and collected as I wanted to. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I guess I wanted to hear your voice."
There. I said it. And now my face was burning like I'd just admitted to something way more embarrassing.
He didn't say anything for a moment, but I could hear the soft rustle of movement on his end, like he was shifting around. "You've got my attention, Billie. What's on your mind?"
I swallowed hard, hating how nervous I felt. "I don't know. I was sitting here, thinking about everything. Ted, the last few weeks, all the stuff you've done for me, and..."
"And?"
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. "I don't know, I just... You didn't have to do any of it, Nate. You didn't have to stay with me at the vet or text me every day. You didn't have to pay for Ted's bill. And you definitely didn't have to put up with me yelling at you in my apartment."
"Billie," he said softly, cutting me off. "I wanted to. All of it."
His words hit me like a punch to the chest, and I had to take a second to breathe. I wanted to tell him I knew that. That I could see it in the way he looked at me, in the way he never hesitated to show up when I needed him. But the words stuck in my throat.
"I don't know how to handle this, Nate," I admitted instead, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Handle what?"
"This," I said, gesturing vaguely even though he couldn't see me. "You. Us. Everything."
There was another pause, and then his voice came through, steady and sure. "You don't have to handle anything, Billie. Just... let me be here. For you. That's all I want."
My throat tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't say anything. The knot of fear and longing in my chest was still there, but his voice was like a balm, easing some of the pressure.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I can try."
"Good," he said, his tone softening. "That's all I need. And for the record... I like hearing your voice too."
I smiled despite myself, the tiniest bit of the tension in my chest loosening. "Goodnight, Nate."
"Goodnight, Billie."
As I hung up, I let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the couch. I didn't know what I was doing, but maybe that was okay. Maybe, for now, it was enough just to let him be there.
The phone was still in my hand, the call barely disconnected, but my heart wouldn't stop racing. I stared at the screen, Nate's name still sitting in my call log.
I hadn't said it. I hadn't told him.
And the truth was clawing at me now, demanding to get out. My chest felt tight, like I was holding something in that was too big to keep bottled up any longer. I stood up, pacing the room with Ted watching me sleepily from the couch, his wrinkled face tilted in mild curiosity.
"What do I do, Ted?" I muttered, running a hand through my hair. He blinked at me like he didn't have a care in the world, and maybe he didn't.
But I did.
Before I could second-guess myself, I hit redial. The phone rang once before Nate picked up again, his voice coming through the line like a tether.
"Billie? Is everything okay?"
"No!" I blurted out, then immediately winced at how panicked I sounded. "I mean, yes. Everything's fine. But no, it's not, because I didn't say what I needed to say, and I just hung up like a coward, and—"
"Billie." His voice was firm but calm, cutting through my rambling. "Take a breath."
I stopped pacing, sucking in a deep breath. My hands were shaking, and I felt like I was going to combust, but I needed to do this. I wanted to do this.
"I love you."
The words tumbled out before I could overthink them, and the second they were out, I froze. The silence on the other end of the line stretched just long enough to make my stomach flip.
"I love you," I repeated, quieter this time but steadier. "I didn't say it before because... because I was scared. I still am. But it's the truth. I love you, Nate."
The silence broke with the sound of his soft, disbelieving laugh, and then his voice came through, warm and full of something that made my chest ache. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear that."
I let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over me so fast I felt lightheaded. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. I just—"
"You don't have to explain," he said, cutting me off gently. "I know you, Billie. I know this isn't easy for you. But hearing you say it now... that's more than enough."
My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the couch, clutching the phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. "You're too good to me, you know that?"
"Maybe," he said, his voice teasing now. "But you deserve it. Every bit of it."
I smiled, feeling tears prick the corners of my eyes. "I still don't know what I'm doing," I admitted softly. "But I know I don't want to mess this up."
"You won't," he said simply. "We'll figure it out. Together."
For the first time in what felt like forever, I let out a deep, steady breath, the fear in my chest finally starting to loosen its grip.
"I love you," I said again, just because I could.
"I love you too," he replied, his voice so full of certainty it made my heart skip a beat.