All Chapters of Breaking The Ice Between Us : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

It was noon before James finally got his lazy ass off my couch.The apartment still smelled like smoke and leftover pizza, and my head was pounding from the half-sleep I’d managed after shoving him off me that morning. The TV was off now. Silence sat heavy between us as he pulled on his hoodie, rubbing the back of his neck like he hadn’t just accused me of being secretly into him in the most awkward, annoying way possible.“I’ll get outta your hair,” James muttered, dragging his ass toward the door. “Not that you’re the sentimental type, but... you’re welcome for staying with your gloomy ass.”I didn’t say anything. Just grabbed my keys and followed him out. Not because I wanted to see him off like some sad spouse, but because I didn’t trust him not to steal something on the way out. The sun outside was offensive. Bright and loud and in my face, making me squint like I hadn’t seen daylight in three years. We walked through the lot, asphalt already hot under our shoes, and I jammed my

The light bleeding in through the blinds was already too fucking bright when I opened my eyes the next day. I groaned and sat up slowly, squinting at the sun like it had personally offended me. My body felt heavy, like I’d been dragging it through wet cement all night. Not that I’d slept well. I never did when shit was gnawing at the back of my skull. But I was up. And somehow—God help me—I was still thinking about the damn hospital. I stared at the ceiling again, same cracks, same peeling paint, same old pathetic thoughts sloshing around behind my eyes. My father’s voice still echoed in my head like cigarette smoke I couldn’t cough out. That fake chuckle. That easy “Hey, champ.” That casual-as-hell Your stepmother’s in the hospital and I need your help with some cash line like we were just two college buddies splitting rent. I sat there for a long minute, scratching at my jaw, then let out a sigh and muttered, “Fuck it.” My conscience was a bitch. Sometimes I wished I didn’t ha

By the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot, I was cooked. Literally. My back was soaked in sweat, my thighs stuck to the seat, and my hands were slick on the wheel. My hair was clinging to my forehead like it had just been baptized in frustration. I parked the car crooked between two faded yellow lines and sat there for a moment, engine ticking softly like it was mocking me. My jaw ached from clenching it the whole way here. I stared at the sterile white building in front of me. Saint Elora General Hospital. The name itself was a joke. There was nothing Sainty about this place. It looked like every other hospital—tall, pale, humorless. Rows of windows reflected the sun back in my face like it was trying to blind me as some final test of will before I stepped inside. My fingers drummed once on the wheel. Then again. Then stopped. I didn’t want to go in. Didn’t want to deal with fake sympathy or sanitized hallways that reeked of antiseptic and too much hope. Didn’t want

I didn’t even look back as I stormed out of that goddamn hospital room. My sneakers squeaked against the polished linoleum, the overhead lights too bright, too clinical—like they were judging me with every goddamn step I took. My fists were clenched so tight my nails were digging half-moons into my palms. I shoved the glass doors open hard enough that the hinges screamed, and I stepped into the burning daylight. It was so bright it slapped me straight in the face. I squinted, jaw tight, stomach rolling. I hated that I was even here. That I’d actually considered doing it. That somewhere, some part of me still gave a shit.My car was sitting there in the lot like it knew what kind of mood I was in. The black paint was already heating up under the afternoon sun, and I half expected the damn thing to spontaneously combust just to match the fire in my chest.I marched up to it, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind me like that would make me feel better. It didn’t.I just sat t

We were quiet for a while. Not the tense kind of quiet, either. Just… still. The kind of silence that creeps in when you’ve both run out of excuses and you’re just sitting there in your own awkward humanity. My car smelled like stale smoke, citrus air freshener, and stress. I cracked the window a bit more, letting the breeze tease the edges of my sweat-damp shirt. Andrew sat beside me like he wasn’t quite sure if he should speak or just sit there and disappear into the seat. His hands were tucked beneath his thighs again, his shoulders hunched like he was expecting a hit that wasn’t coming. The street noise filtered in—a honk, a distant siren, the buzz of life continuing while the two of us paused like some weird VHS tape glitch. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke. “I noticed you haven’t uploaded anything new on OnlyFans.” I coughed. Almost choked on the smoke I’d just pulled into my lungs. It hit my throat like sandpaper and I leaned forward, fist to my chest, hacking. Andrew froze