Melting ice

Getting the keys

*Ava*

By eight the next morning, I have made tea I do not drink, answered three messages from the detective assigned to my report, and arranged Rasmus Dahlin's discharge medications across Virginia's kitchen counter by dosage, timing, and likelihood of making him nauseated.

The bottles sit in a straight line beside the sugar bowl.

Virginia watches me from the island, dressed for work in a cream blazer and sneakers, her dark hair pulled into a clean knot. "You know he can read labels."

"He plays defense. I'm not gambling on that."

From the doorway, Caleb snorts into his coffee. Butterscotch is sprawled across both his huge feet, shedding enough golden hair to construct a small dog.

"He can read," Caleb says. "He just gets dramatic when the pills are white."

"I heard that," Rasmus says.

The front door opens behind him. He steps in carefully, one hand locked around a crutch, the other braced against the frame. His face has gone pale under the lingering hospital color, and the tight line around his mouth tells me every movement hurts.

Then he sees me and smiles anyway.

It is an unfair smile. Warm, crooked, practiced enough to hide an entire injury behind it.

"Doctor Riley," he says. "You came to supervise my escape."

"I came to make sure you don't turn a vertebral dislocation into a season-ending mistake."

"Ah. Romance."

"Medical compliance."

His eyes brighten. "Even better."

I look down at the medication bottles, which is safer than looking at him leaning there in a gray hoodie and sweatpants, too tall for the doorway, blond hair rumpled from a night in a hospital bed. Twenty-three years old. My patient. A man who has spent weeks making my pulse do irritating things whenever he smiles over the bench.

Virginia clears her throat. "Before either of you starts, we have logistics."

"Ginnie has logistics the way other people have blood," Caleb says.

She ignores him. "The beach house is ready. Fresh sheets, groceries, camera access on both exterior doors. The police officer is coming by later for photographs and to collect the flowers from Ava's porch."

My stomach contracts. I grip the edge of the counter.

Rasmus's expression changes. The smile fades without fanfare. "They were at your house?"

"It's handled," I say.

Caleb sets his mug down. "It is being handled."

The correction lands gently, but it still lands.

Virginia picks up two brass keys from the counter and slides them toward me. "The house is yours for as long as you need it. Both of you. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. No stairs except the three at the front porch, and Caleb has already put a handrail there."

"I did it before breakfast," Caleb says. "You're welcome."

Rasmus glances at the keys, then at me. "Are you sure you want this?"

His voice is quiet. No teasing in it now.

I hate that the question makes my throat tighten. I hate more that he is the first person to ask it without turning the answer into a decision for me.

A hotel would mean unfamiliar hallways, an address on a credit-card statement, parking lots without cameras. My own little house has my clothes, my books, the chipped blue mug my mother gave me after residency. It also has a front door someone has already found.

The beach house is twenty yards from Caleb's. It has locks I can inspect myself. It has a patient who needs help standing up without twisting his back.

It has Rasmus.

"I don't want it," I say. "But I'm choosing it."

His gaze holds mine a second too long. "Okay."

Virginia's shoulders lower. "Good. Here's the clean version. Ava, you keep every message, screenshot, call log, and anything new. No replies. Rasmus, you follow discharge instructions and do not carry boxes, groceries, furniture, or Ava."

He looks offended. "I can carry a small Ava."

"I weigh more than your brain," I tell him.

Caleb coughs hard into his fist. Virginia's mouth twitches.

Rasmus looks at me, blue eyes suddenly wicked. "This is useful information."

Heat rises under my skin. "Take your medication."

Butterscotch chooses that second to lumber toward Rasmus, tail sweeping a coffee table magazine onto the floor. He noses eagerly at the crutch, then presses his large head against Rasmus's thigh.

Rasmus bends automatically to pet him and stops halfway down with a sharp inhale.

I am beside him before I decide to move. One hand finds his elbow, the other braces his forearm. His muscles jump under my fingers.

"Slowly," I say.

His breath skims my temple. "I am going slowly."

"You're attempting a forward fold after a spinal injury to greet a dog."

"He is very handsome."

Butterscotch sneezes directly on Rasmus's shoe.

Caleb smiles without mercy. "He likes you."

"Of course he does," Rasmus says, though his hand has tightened around mine. "I have a trustworthy face."

I should let go first. I do not. Not until he is steady.

Then I step back, clipboard voice returning like a shield. "No bending. No twisting. No heroic displays of strength. If your pain rises above a six, you tell me."

"Yes, Doctor Riley."

His eyes stay on mine when he says it.

Virginia grabs the keys again and drops one in my palm, one in his. The metal is cool against my skin.

Outside, the ocean is bright enough to hurt my eyes. Caleb loads Rasmus's overnight bag into the back of Virginia's SUV while I stand by the passenger door, holding a folder of discharge papers and police photographs I cannot bring myself to look at again.

It might seem weird to drive such a short way, but Rasmus can’t walk the short way over the beach and the road is to long for him in his condition… so driving it is.

Rasmus settles into the back seat with the careful, controlled movements of someone who refuses to admit he is hurting. Before Caleb closes the door, Rasmus looks past him at me.

"We will be good roommates," he says.

The words are light. His face is not.

I slide into the front passenger seat and hold my key so tightly its teeth press half-moons into my palm.

"Temporary," I say.

Behind me, there is a brief silence.

"Of course," Rasmus replies.

But when the SUV turns onto the road toward the beach house, I feel his attention like warmth between my shoulder blades.