Page 46 of The Pucks We Freeze
I nodded, letting the silence stretch between us.
The moonlight caught the curve of her jaw. Her faded blue tank top hung off one shoulder, and her loose braid fell over her collarbone. She looked like someone who wanted to disappear but didn’t really want to be alone.
“You okay?” I asked.
Her gaze lifted, and it hit me like a punch—eyes rimmed red, heavy with everything she hadn’t said. The tears might’ve dried, but the ache in her chest hadn’t gone anywhere.
“No one’s asked me that in a while,” she said. “Not in a way that made me think they actually wanted the truth.”
“I do.”
She blinked, like I’d caught her off guard with my answer.
I didn’t push. Didn’t rush to fill the silence. I leaned back on my hands and waited, letting her take her time.
“My mom used to sit out here during the summer,” she said, her voice so soft I nearly missed it. “Said it was the only place she ever felt at peace. I never understood it.”
“But you do now,” I said quietly, finishing the thought she didn’t want to carry alone.
She gave a slow nod; her gaze fixed on the lake.
I glanced over, careful not to push. “We don’t have to talk about it… not if you don’t want to.”
Everyone in Rixton knew what happened. The headlines. The funeral. The way her dad kept the lodge running while barely holding himself together.
No one ever askedherhow she was holding up.
She gave me a sad smile, the kind that made my chest tighten. “People stop checking in after the flowers wilt. It’s like they think grief has a deadline.”
I reached over and ran my thumb along the back of her hand. She didn’t pull away.
“You ever get tired of pretending everything’s fine?” she asked, voice barely more than a breath.
“All the time,” I admitted. I turned to her, letting the honesty cut through whatever distance still lingered between us. “What if… what if for tonight you didn’t have to pretend? No masks or pressure. Just you and me.”
Her brow lifted, that flicker of disbelief dancing in her gaze. Something cracked in her expression. She leaned into me, her cheek brushing my shoulder, her body curling into mine like she’d been holding herself together for too long.
“I don’t want to think,” she whispered.
I didn’t speak at first, but after a beat, I stood and offered my hand. “Come on.”
“Where?”
I nodded toward the cabins tucked behind the trees, empty and silent. “Somewhere we canjust be.”
She hesitated only for a moment before slipping her hand into mine.
We didn’t say a word as we walked. The bonfire faded behind us, swallowed by the trees and shadows. The party faded, one step at a time. Gravel gave way to pine needles, like even the earth wanted to soften the moment.
Willow tugged gently on my hand and nodded toward a cabin set apart from the others. The porch light was out, the shutters were slightly crooked, and the steps were covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves.
“We rarely use this one. It’s a little too far out for most guests,” she explained softly.
She knelt by the edge of the porch and reached beneath a loose board. Her fingers curled around something, and when she stood, she held up a small, rusty key.
“They hide extras in case guests get locked out,” she murmured. “I used to help with check-ins.”
The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, and we stepped inside. The air was still, faintly scented with pine and a trace of dust. I shut the door behind us and flicked on the lamp near the bed. A soft amber glow lit the space, revealing wood-paneled walls, flannel curtains, and a quilted bedspread that looked barely touched.
