Page 116 of On Thin Ice

“How?” The question felt enormous, impossible.

“One step at a time.” He squeezed my hand. “You start by not creating some elaborate cover story to sell your supposed straightness. Maybe we try just existing together without announcing anything, but maybe you don’t deny it, either.”

He wasn't asking me to announce to the world that I was gay. He wasn’t asking me to make any announcement at all.

All I had to do was not deny him.

It was a frightening concept, but it seemed like the least he deserved.

I nodded, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “Yeah, okay.”

“And maybe we can find you someone to talk to. A therapist who specializes in trauma. Someone who can help you work through what happened.” His thumb traced slow, gentle circles on the back of my hand.

The suggestion still made my lungs feel tight, but I forced myself to consider it.

For Bell.

For us.

For the broken fourteen-year-old I never allowed to heal.

“I'll think about it,” I said, not quite a yes, but not the outright rejection from earlier.

Bell nodded, accepting the compromise. “I’m not asking for perfect, E. I’m just asking for progress.”

Progress. Not perfection.

The idea settled into my bones. “I can do that,” I said, and for the first time since realizing I had feelings for this man, I actually believed it might be possible.

The words felt solid, real—a promise I might actually be able to keep.

I studied his face, the hint of relief in his expression, the quiet certainty in his eyes despite everything I’d put him through. “When did you become the mature one in this relationship?” I asked, genuine wonder in my voice.

His expression softened into a gentle, knowing smile. “Somewhere between you trying to run away and me threatening to leave if you did.”

“Most twenty-three-year-olds don’t handle emotional crises this well,” I said, unable to hide my respect.

“How many times have I told you—age ain’t nothing but a number?” He shrugged, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes at my acknowledgment. “And let’s be real, E. I’ve had a lot of time—and yes, therapy—to work through my shit. I’ll never be perfect either, but I’ve got my head on straight. There’s brains behind all this beauty, too.”

I knew he was trying to play off his own trauma so as not to lessen my own, but what he’d faced was just as terrible. I didn’t hold the monopoly on fucked up childhoods, and this wasn’t a contest to see who’d had it worse.

I squeezed his hand, marveling over how giving he was.

The tension that had been building between us all morning had dissolved, leaving behind a fragile peace. For a moment, we just existed together in the quiet aftermath, neither of us needing to fill the silence.

His shoulders relaxed as he leaned slightly against me, the simple contact grounding us both. The weight of everything we’d said to one another—and everything we hadn’t—still hung in the air, but it felt lighter somehow. Manageable.

I glanced at my keys on the counter, then back at Bell. “I actually do have an errand to run.”

His expression faltered, wariness creeping back in. “Ethan,” he breathed out.

“If I told you it’s to pick up your Christmas gift, am I free to go?”

Bell blinked, his mouth opening slightly. “My … you got me a gift?”

“Yeah, the one you almost saw the claim ticket for when I not-so-smoothly palmed it off the coffee table.”

A flush crept up his neck, heat spreading across his cheeks. “You really got me something?” The wonder in his voice made my chest ache. For all his emotional maturity, in that moment, he looked every bit his twenty-three years—young and surprised and a little uncertain.

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