Page 85 of Ice Me Out

I sank into the couch, surrounded by frogs in every shade of green and size imaginable. One wore a tiny lab coat—already my favorite.

Vera was still laughing, curled up on the other end of the couch, proud and unbothered. She’d pulled off a full-blown plush invasion and somehow made it feel like a love letter.

I looked down at the frog in my hand and squeezed it again. Another croak was followed by another flush of embarrassment.

Was I embarrassed? Absolutely.

But beneath the teasing, something settled in my chest. A warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. Like someone had reached into the weird corners of my past and said, I see you.

And damn, that meant more than I knew how to say.

Letting You In

Vera

It happened so fast. One moment, Hart was squeezing a frog plushy in his hand, and the next, he was sobbing.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I whispered as I ran around the living room, gathering an armful of frogs while searching for tissues. I tripped over a few that squeaked when I stepped on them. “Dammit,” I hissed, recovering from nearly faceplanting into the coffee table. “It’s okay, Sweet Hart. I’ll take care of them,” I announced, wrapping the life-sized frog into a headlock and attempting to pull it off the couch. That ended disastrously when the frog’s weight caught me off guard, and I took a tumble.

Hart’s sobs broke with laughter, and I was mildly relieved until the embarrassment settled in. I was sure I looked like Marlon Wayans in White Chicks, running around looking for tissues for Shawn.

“I’m sorry, Sweet Hart. I’ll get rid of them,” I declared, climbing off the floor.

“Stop, Vera. C-come here,” he demanded, waving me over with a hand.

I sighed, abandoned a frog dressed like a superhero, and sat beside him. He pulled up the hem of his shirt and wiped his red face and nose.

“Do you want some water or something stronger?”

“Something stronger, please.”

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, shooting off the couch and crossing the room to raid the bar. I returned seconds later with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. I screwed off the cap and poured two fingers. We raised our glasses, clinking them together before downing them. I held back my grimace as the liquor did its job. I poured Hart another glass and fidgeted while waiting for him to share or kick me out and tell me he needed space.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, leaned back against the couch, and started tugging on the earring I’d gifted him.

“I’m gonna tell you something that DeAndre doesn’t even know.”

“Don’t feel pressured to tell—”

“No, I want to tell you. Consider this trauma-dumping 2.0,” he mumbled, gazing into the distance as he continued fidgeting with his earring.

I braced myself for impact.

He sniffed and folded his arms over his chest, staring at the frogs that lay at his feet.

“I don’t even like frogs. It was my mom who was obsessed with them.”

Oh… shit.

“I’m sorry, Hart. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He shook his head.

“Stop apologizing, Sugar. Your gesture was thoughtful and sweet. You didn’t mean anything by it. And honestly, it made me happy that you went out of your way to surprise me, and then I sat here looking at the frogs and imagining how my mom would’ve been over the moon. I could picture her naming them and finding a special place for each one. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wish she were here.”

A lump formed in my throat, and silence fell between us as I thought about my own mother.

She would’ve been here if it weren’t for me…