All Chapters of Breaking The Ice Between Us : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

I kicked the door open with my foot, bags of groceries weighing down both my arms. The apartment was dim, the late afternoon sun bleeding through the windows and casting soft lines of gold across the floorboards. “Home sweet home,” I muttered, shoving the door shut behind me with my heel and trudging toward the kitchen. Andrew trailed behind, lazily carrying the lighter bags, the kind that only held spinach and tomatoes and made him feel like he helped. I heard him yawn behind me and toss something onto the couch. I dumped the first bag on the counter and started unpacking. Pasta. Garlic. Spinach. Butter. My little comfort spread. Cooking always helped me unwind, helped me feel in control—especially after a long day like this one. After what happened at the hospital, I figured we could use something warm and calm and grounded. I had just started placing the cherry tomatoes into a bowl when my phone rang from my back pocket. I frowned, pulling it out with one hand and squinting a

I drove like I had a ghost breathing down my neck. James wasn’t at his apartment. Wasn’t picking up his phone. And every second that passed just made my skin crawl a little more. So I did the only thing I could think of, I hit every damn place he usually went when he wanted to “clear his head.” First stop: that little run-down cafe near the west side of campus. The one with the mismatched furniture, the sticky floors, and the barista who had way too much eyeliner and a voice like gravel. James liked it there. Said it “smelled like caffeine.” Whatever the hell that meant. But when I parked and walked in, he wasn’t there. I scanned every face, every seat by the window. Not a single messy head of dark hair or crooked smirk in sight. Just a bunch of tired college kids with half-dead laptops and overfilled mugs. I waited for a second by the door, hoping maybe he'd come strolling out of the bathroom or wave at me from some hidden corner. Nothing. Second stop: the skate park. Becaus

I didn’t remember falling asleep. One minute, I was staring at the ceiling, and the next, I was being shaken awake by a nurse with a soft voice and warm hands. “James? You have a visitor,” she said. I blinked groggily, my ribs aching as I sat up. “Who?” “Detective Albright,” she answered. “He needs to take a statement.” Of course. The nurse adjusted the blanket over me before she left, and a man in a gray suit stepped into the curtained-off room. Detective Albright looked tired, late forties, salt-and-pepper hair, eyes sharp but heavy with the weight of seeing too much. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me, setting a leather notepad on his knee. “How are you feeling, James?” he asked, his voice even. I shrugged, wincing. “In pain.” Albright offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I imagine you do. You’ve been through a lot.” “Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing at my eyes. “You could say that.” He flipped open his notepad, clicked his pen. “I won’t tak

The jolt of the wheels hitting the tarmac woke me up. I sat upright, blinking hard as the plane slowed, the cabin lights flicking on like they were trying to blind me. My neck ached from sleeping crooked against the window, and my mouth was dry, the kind of dry you only get from hours of recycled air. “We’ve arrived at Greenville Regional Airport,” the flight attendant said cheerfully through the intercom, like it was some great accomplishment. “Please remain seated until the seatbelt sign is off.” I stared at the glowing sign until it finally blinked out. Around me, everyone else was moving, grabbing their bags, stretching, chatting like this was just another trip. But I stayed seated for a second longer, clutching the strap of my duffel bag with both hands. Because this wasn’t just another trip. I’d left here with the world caving in around me. Now I was back, and nothing had really changed except that I’d almost sold my kidney to a group of criminals. “Sir?” the flight atten

The knock came soft at first, just a dull thunk-thunk against the wood. My eyes flew open instantly. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed it. I’d been half-asleep, drifting somewhere between exhaustion and dread, my brain caught up in the kind of restless haze that doesn’t let you rest even when you’re dead tired. But then it came again. Louder this time. Three firm knocks that echoed through the quiet apartment like gunshots. I sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. No. It was too soon. They’d said five days. Five. I hadn’t even been back home a full twenty-four hours. I scrubbed a hand over my face, wiping away the dampness around my eyes before I even realized I’d been tearing up. The knock came again, sharper this time. “Hold on,” I muttered, my voice rough, cracking. I stood on legs that felt like they were made of stone and shuffled toward the door, every step louder than it should h