Page 150 of Ice Darling
“Are you okay?” I try again.
Nothing.
She’s ignoring me, locking me out. What do I say? How do I soothe a wound this deep?
I inhale shakily, feeling the weight of the moment and hoping that I can rise to the occasion and be what she needs.
“That’s probably a stupid question. I can tell you’re not okay.” I rest my head on the door, and it makes a light thudding sound on impact. “Relationships with parents can be complicated. That’s why I’m terrified of Gordie growing up and becoming a moody teenager.”
I wince when the silence darkens.
“Not that being a moody teenager is bad or anything. And I’m not calling you moody at all?—”
I cringe.
This is going terribly.
“If it helps, I understand a bit of what you’re feeling. Growing up, all I wanted to do was play hockey, but my dad didn’t see a future in being an athlete. He said ordinary guys from ordinary families in ordinary towns only do ordinary things. We’d argue all the time about it. If mom didn’t step in, we’d go days without speaking to one another.”
I lick my lips, remembering that turbulent time.
“When I got my hockey scholarship, I left Lucky Falls thinking I’d never come back. But then Dad got sick, and I went home and spent some time with him.” I stare at my hands. “Talking to him when I was older and more mature, I realized that his delivery might have been awful, but his intentions were always good. He wasn’t against hockey because he hated me. He wanted me to have a fall-back plan. He wanted me to be okay. And I think, most parents do—even if they’re crappy at saying it.”
I feel the air tense like maybe I said something wrong.
“I’m not excusing your mother or telling you that you have to ignore it when she hurts you. I hope that’s not how you’re taking this.”
Still nothing.
My stance shifts, and I soften my tone. “Cordelia?”
She ignores me.
Thinking hard, I try again.
“I know I’m not the best at comforting someone, so I’ll shut up right after I tell you this.” I speak earnestly, “You don’t have to let me in right away. I’m a very patient man. I don’t barge in when I’m not invited, but I also don’t give up easy.”
Sinking to my haunches, I press my back against the door and find a comfortable position. “I’ll be right here. No matter how long it takes. I’ll be right here outside the door, waiting for you to come out.”
“She’s not in there, son,” a male voice blurts.
I nearly fall sideways as a man emerges from the shadows. He’s slim with white hair and brown eyes.
“Who are you?” I wonder, stalking to my feet. Do I need to fight him or something? Sasha didn’t introduce us, which makes me wonder if he should be in this house.
“I’m Mills. The family’s driver.”
“Oh.” I point to the bathroom. “How do you know Cordelia’s not in there?”
He juts his chin at the doorknob.
Hesitantly, I wrap my fingers around the knob and turn it. The door opens easily, and I poke my head inside, noting that there’s no Cordelia anywhere around.
I scratch my head. So…I’ve been pouring my heart out to an empty bathroom?
Mills shuffles to me and offers me a small object.
“What’s this?” I stare at the strange key with the miniature motorcycle on the keychain. That motorcycle model looks familiar.
