Melting ice

The aftermatch

*Rasmus*

The ride back to the beach house is quiet until Butterscotch sneezes on Caleb's shoulder.

Caleb swears under his breath. Ginnie twists in the passenger seat to hand Ava a bottle of water. Ava is beside me in the back, still holding my hand.

Not tightly. Her fingers rest inside mine as if she has forgotten they are there.

I do not remind her.

Streetlights move across her face as Caleb drives over the bridge. She looks exhausted, eyes fixed on the dark water below us. There is a red mark around her wrist. I keep seeing Ethan's hand there.

My back hurts from getting out of the truck at the harbor. I do not mention it. It seems selfish to have a body at all tonight.

Ginnie speaks into the silence. "Morales called the prosecutor. They are filing in the morning, and she believes the court will request a no-contact order immediately."

Ava nods.

"He will not be able to contact you," Ginnie continues. "He will not be able to come near your place, the rink, or this house."

"Okay."

Her voice barely makes it past her throat.

Caleb glances at us in the rearview mirror. "You hungry, Doc?"

"No."

"That wasn't a vote."

"I am not hungry."

"Fine. You can eat toast and call it a meal. I will allow it once."

Ava gives a small, tired laugh. It disappears quickly.

At the house, Ginnie takes charge of the locks before anyone can stop her. Caleb checks the cameras. Butterscotch patrols the living room with a stuffed turtle in his mouth, apparently certain that the arrest has made him head of security.

Ava stands at the kitchen sink and washes her hands.

She has already washed them twice since we came in.

I watch water run over her wrists. She scrubs carefully between every finger, then reaches for the soap again.

"Ava."

She turns off the faucet.

Her hands remain under the stream for a second longer.

"I am fine," she says.

"Okay."

She looks at me over her shoulder, waiting for an argument.

I do not give her one. I have learned that pushing her when she says she is fine only makes the walls go up faster.

Ginnie puts two slices of bread in the toaster. "I am making tea. Caleb, please take the dog before he steals the evidence bag."

"He has good legal instincts."

"He eats lint."

"Also true."

Caleb scoops Butterscotch up beneath the front legs. The dog drops the turtle with a squeak of protest and licks Caleb's chin.

Ava watches them. Her mouth trembles.

She turns away too quickly.

I cross the kitchen slowly. My back pulls, but I keep my face still. When I reach her, I stop an arm's length away.

"You do not have to talk," I say.

Her shoulders rise.

"I know."

"You also do not have to stand there until your hands bleed."

She looks down.

The skin around her knuckles is pink.

For a while, neither of us speaks. The toaster clicks. Ginnie moves around the kitchen, deliberately noisy. Caleb opens the back door for Butterscotch and follows him onto the porch.

Ava's breathing changes.

Not crying. She is trying very hard not to.

I hold out my hand.

She stares at it.

Then she steps closer and presses her forehead against my chest.

The first touch almost knocks the air from me.

I put my arms around her carefully. One hand settles between her shoulder blades. The other cups the back of her head, fingers catching softly in her braids. She is warm and shaking, smaller against me than she ever seems in the rink.

"I was so angry," she says into my shirt.

"I know."

"I wanted him to be scared."

"He was."

Her breath catches.

"I hated that he looked at me like I had done something to him."

My hand moves once over her back. "He wanted you to feel guilty."

"I did."

"That does not mean you should."

She pulls away enough to look up at me. Her eyes are wet, and there is no doctor voice left in her face. No clipped instruction. No careful distance.

"You came anyway," she says.

"I stayed at a distance."

She gives a small shrug, "You got out of the truck."

"Only after they took him."

"Your back."

"It is fine."

Her expression sharpens automatically. Even now. "Do not say that."

I almost smile. "Sorry."

"You should be lying down."

"I will."

"You need ice."

"I will do that too."

She looks at my mouth.

I feel it happen. The quiet shift in the kitchen. The way her breath pauses. My own hands going still against her.

I should step back.

She is my doctor. She is tired and frightened, and I have spent too many nights wanting things I have no right to ask from her.

But Ava lifts one hand and touches the side of my face.

Her thumb brushes my cheekbone.

"Rasmus," she says.

It is barely a sound.

I lower my head slowly enough that she can move away.

She does not.

Her mouth meets mine.

For one second, I cannot think beyond the soft pressure of her lips and the faint taste of peppermint. Then she kisses me again, harder this time, her fingers curling into my shirt.

I make a low sound before I can stop it.

My hand slides to her waist. I pull her closer, careful of the ache in my back, careful of everything except the fact that she is kissing me like she has been trying not to for a very long time.

Ava breaks away first.

Her eyes are wide.

The kitchen comes back in pieces. The kettle boiling. Ginnie and Caleb quiet somewhere outside. Butterscotch scratching once at the screen door.

I let my hands fall from her waist.

"Ava," I say.

"It was a mistake."

The words hit with a clean, brutal force.

She looks sick as soon as she says them. That should make it easier. It does not.

"A mistake," I repeat.

"I should not have done that." Her hands shake as she presses them together. "You are my patient. You are twenty-three. I am responsible for your care, and I am standing in a kitchen after a police arrest, apparently making terrible decisions."

I stare at the floorboards between us.

There are many things I could say. That I am not a child. That I know what I want. That she kissed me too.

None of them would help her breathe.

"Okay," I say.

Her face changes again. Hurt, maybe. She expected me to fight.

I want to. God, I want to.

Instead, I take one careful step back.

"You do not have to explain it more," I tell her. "I understand."

That is a lie, but it is the kindest thing I have.

Ava swallows. "Rasmus..."

"It is late." I pick up my crutch from beside the counter. "You should sleep."

I leave before she can answer.

***

The next morning, there is a mug outside Ava's bedroom door.

Blue ceramic. Cinnamon tea. Two sugar packets beside it because she takes one and a half, then pretends she does not care.

I stand at the kitchen island in my hoodie, staring at my phone.

Coach has sent a message.

Need an answer today. Can you push for clearance before the road trip? We are thin on blue line.

My thumb hovers over the screen.

From the hallway, Ava's door opens.

I turn the phone facedown.