Page 211 of Wild Card 13

“Emotional support is labor.”

Lucy looked down into her glass. “She’s better at it than most people.” She laughed under her breath.

God, I missed that. The little sound. The way it escaped before she could inspect it. I missed being the person who could get to that part of her without a map.

The firelight moved over her face. Outside, the lake sat frozen and dark, a wide quiet thing pressing against the windows. I had sat on the dock in August with teammates shouting behind me. Had stood at that glass during storms. Had eaten takeout at the island after games, sweat still drying in my hair, film paused on the TV while I pretended studying a defensive breakdown was the same as having plans.

Lucy shifted slightly, tucking one foot beneath her on the couch. Not fully curled up. Not comfortable enough to forget herself. But softer than she had been at the office. Her shoulder angled toward mine. Her hair fell across one side of her face, and before I could stop myself, I remembered her at seventeen, sitting beside me on the frozen lake with skates unlaced and cheeks pink from cold.

I looked at my drink. “Do you remember the lake skate?”

Lucy stilled. “Which one?” she asked.

“Junior year. Behind the Kellers’ place because Mase swore the ice was fine.”

“Oh my God.” Lucy’s mouth opened slightly. Then she laughed. “I remember you saying, ‘It’s definitely safe,’ while standing beside a hand-painted sign that said Thin Ice.”

“In my defense, the sign was old.”

“In your defense, you were an idiot.”

“Also true.”

She took another small sip of bourbon, eyes on the fire now. “Naomi refused to skate past the dock.”

“Naomi was the smartest person there.” I leaned back against the couch, letting the memory find its shape without forcing it. “You had those green mittens.”

Lucy glanced over. “You remember my mittens?”

I shrugged, trying to look like the question did not expose me down to bone. “They were hard to miss. You kept hitting me with them.”

“Because you kept pulling me.”

“You were slow.”

“I was cautious.” She laughed again, brighter this time, and Dottie snorted in her sleep at the far end of the couch. Lucy looked over at the dog. “Even she disagrees with you.”

Lucy’s smile lingered. She looked younger for half a second. Not eighteen. Not untouched by everything. Just less armored. Like the adult version of her and the girl from the lake had briefly occupied the same breath.

I wanted to touch her so badly my hand ached around the glass. Instead, I set the bourbon on the low table and leaned back again, keeping my hands where they could not do anything stupid. “You fell,” I said.

Her head snapped toward me. “I did not fall.”

“You absolutely fell.”

“I was testing the ice.”

“With your entire body?”

She narrowed her eyes, but there was laughter there. Real warmth. “You were the one who tried to hockey stop in figure skates.”

A full-body cringe moved through me. “I was experimenting.”

“You nearly took out a twelve-year-old.”

“He came out of nowhere.”

“He was stationary.”