Page 115 of Off The Ice

“You’re not,” I told her. “You don’t have to be.”

She looked up at me with hope.

“Come on.” I nodded my head toward my bedroom. “You can hang out with me in my room.”

If she fought me on it, I’d just carry her there myself. She didn’t want to be alone, and I didn’t want to be without her.

But she saved us both from the struggle and nodded, sighing in relief as she did.

I gave her my sweatpants and a hoodie, and she disappeared into the bathroom connected to my bedroom to change. She didn’t fight me on that the way she used to. She also didn’t fight me when I tucked her under the comforter.

But when I turned to leave, she sat up abruptly, eyes wide with something close to fear.

“I’m just getting my laptop,” I assured her. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, settling back down in my bed. The sight of it was too much for my heart to handle.

I left the room, dragging in the deepest breath I could before searching for my laptop. My mind was a mess, a fucking hurricane of thoughts, and I needed to make sense of at least one of them.

When I came back, she was already asleep, her hair fanned out on the pillow I slept on every night.

I let myself look at her—the way I couldn’t when she was awake. She looked so small like this. Fragile in a way I knew she’d hate me thinking.

I’d only known her for two months, and somehow, she’d carved out the biggest piece of my heart without even lifting a damn finger.

Holy fuck, I’m in trouble.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t scare me. If it was going to be anyone, I was grateful it was her.

I changed into sweatpants before sitting on top of the covers beside her. Opening my laptop, I finally typed the search I’d been itching to make since the moment we got in the car.

For the next hour, I read everything I could about alcoholism. The disease, the traits, the fucking devastating effects it had on a person’s mind, body, and life.

By the time I got to the effects that children of alcoholics faced, my heart felt like it had been shredded to pieces.

Hypervigilance: Check.

Low-self esteem. Check.

Fear of conflict. Fucking check.

And the list went on.

Fear of abandonment, perfectionism, chronic anxiety, trust issues, and people-pleasing tendencies.

Cassie checked off every single fucking box.

All these things I’d been thinking were personality quirks were signs of fucking trauma that I hadn’t even guessed at.

She was fucking traumatized from an upbringing I couldn’t protect her from, and it bled into every area of her life.

I slammed my laptop shut, breathing heavily as I looked over to where she slept beside me.

I leaned down on my side, staring at her face only inches from mine, her features finally relaxed in the safety of sleep. I trailed my hand through her hair, feeling so beyond grateful she was here beside me and not anywhere else in the world right now.

I thought back to the promise I’d made to Maggie earlier that same night.

Promise me you won’t hurt her.

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