CHAPTER SEVEN #2
"Bullshit." Beck's voice was quiet but firm.
"I've known you for four years. I've never seen you like this.
This isn't just Wednesday dinners and community service.
This is something more than that, E." He gestured around the house.
"This is you already living the life you're too scared to admit you want. "
I didn't answer.
"What's stopping you?" Beck asked.
"It's complicated."
"It always is,” he sighed, looking around again.
"But from where I'm sitting? You're happier than I've seen you in years.
Casey clearly worships you. And Palisade—" He shook his head.
"Man, the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not paying attention?
She's already yours. You're both pretending you're not all in. "
"What if I screw it up?" The words came out before I could stop them. "What if I'm not enough?"
"That's bullshit, and you know it. I just watched you be exactly what they need. Patient. Present. Real."
Footsteps on the stairs cut the conversation short. Palisade appeared, and Beck's expression shifted to something lighter.
"Thanks for having me," Beck said to Palisade with a grin. "Best Wednesday night I've had in months."
"You're welcome back anytime," Palisade said, and I could tell she meant it.
Beck clapped me on the shoulder as he headed for the door. "Think about what I said, Henley."
After he left, Palisade turned to me. "What did he say?"
She looked beautiful standing in her kitchen, at ease in the home she'd built. Something unreadable crossed her face, maybe hope or even fear.
"That I should stop being an idiot," I said muttered.
She smiled, just a little. "Beck's pretty perceptive."
I grunted. "He's a pain in the ass."
"He's your best friend."
"That too."
With a shake of my head, I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door. "I should head out."
"Easton, wait." Palisade dried her hands on a towel, hesitating. "Casey keeps asking if you want to come skating with us this weekend. At Lake Chambeau."
My heart rate kicked up. "Yeah? What'd you tell her?"
"I said I'd ask you." She met my eyes. "I know the boundaries are getting blurry. I know this is complicated. But she wants you there, and I…"
"You?"
"I think it might be nice," she admitted quietly, looking away. "For all of us."
There were a thousand reasons to say no. To maintain my distance, to protect myself from getting more attached, to avoid the inevitable pain when my community service ended, and I had to step back from their lives.
But looking at Palisade, seeing the hope and fear warring in her expression, I couldn't find it in myself to refuse.
"Saturday?" I asked.
A small smile crossed her face. "Saturday. Four o'clock? The sunset makes the ice beautiful."
"I'll be there."
As I drove home that night, I couldn't shake the warm feeling in my chest. Wednesday dinners had become the highlight of my week, and now I'd get to spend a Saturday afternoon with them too.
Strange how quickly they'd both worked their way into my life.
Strange how much I wanted them to stay there.
Palisade
Saturday arrived with perfect skating weather. It was cold enough to keep the ice solid, but warm enough to make the afternoon pleasant. Casey had been bouncing off the walls all morning, asking every five minutes if it was time to go yet.
"He said four o'clock, honey," I reminded her for what felt like the hundredth time. "We still have two hours."
"But what if he forgets?" Casey worried, clutching her skates to her chest.
"He won't forget." I said it with more confidence than I felt. I was nervous, too. This felt different from the Wednesday dinners. More… intentional. Like we were crossing some invisible line from community service supervisor and her daughter to something else entirely.
We arrived at Lake Chambeau at ten minutes to four. The frozen lake stretched before us, surface gleaming in the afternoon sun. A few families dotted the ice in the distance, but this end of the lake was relatively quiet.
A handwritten sign near the shore caught my eye.
CAUTION: The warm spell has weakened the ice past the marker buoys. Stay within the designated safe zone.
I frowned, scanning the lake. Orange buoys marked a large oval area near the shore, which was the safe zone. Beyond that, the ice looked the same, but appearances could be deceiving.
"Stay close to shore today, okay, Casey?" I said, pointing to the buoys. "The sign says the ice is thinner out there."
"I know, Mom," Casey said, already scanning the parking lot for Easton's car. "I'm not a baby."
"I know you're not. Just reminding you."
"Mom, I see his car!" Casey pointed to the parking area where Easton's SUV was pulling in.
My stomach did an unexpected flip. Get it together, Palisade.
Easton stepped out of his vehicle, carrying his skates and wearing jeans with a Shadow Wolves hoodie. When he spotted us, his face lit up. A smile curled his lips, and he looked younger with those eyes bright and shining, reflecting the sunset. He made my breath catch.
"Right on time," I called out, trying to sound casual.
"Wouldn't miss it." He walked over, and Casey immediately grabbed his hand.
"Uncle Easton! I've been practicing my crossovers all week like you taught me!"
"Have you now?" He grinned down at her. "Well, I definitely need to see those."
We found a bench near the ice to put on our skates. Casey chattered the entire time, telling Easton about her week at school, her latest homework assignment, and how she'd practiced passing with her grandfather.
"Your mom skating, too?" Easton asked, glancing at me as I laced up my own skates.
"Thought I would," I said. "It's been a while, but I used to love it."
"She's really good," Casey announced proudly. "She taught me how to skate when I was three."
"Is that right?" Something warm flickered in Easton's eyes as he looked at me. "I'd like to see that."
Heat flushed my cheeks at his words. It was difficult keeping the smile off my face.
We made our way onto the ice, and Casey immediately took off, showing Easton her improved crossovers. He skated beside her, offering encouragement and gentle corrections to her form.
I hung back, watching them together. The way Easton was so patient with her, so genuinely interested in her progress. The way Casey glowed under his attention, trying her absolute hardest to impress him.
It should have been like this all along, I thought, then immediately pushed the guilt away. Not now. Just enjoy this moment.
"Mom, come skate with us!" Casey called.
I glided over to them, and for a while, we skated together. The three of us made lazy loops around our section of the lake, Casey between us, occasionally grabbing both our hands.
"I want to show you the spin from the middle!" Casey called suddenly, pointing toward the center of the lake beyond the marker buoys. "It's so much prettier out there! You can see everything!"
My stomach tightened. "Casey, stay in the safe zone. The sign said—"
"But Mom, I want Uncle Easton to see it perfectly!"
"Your mom's right," Easton said gently but firmly. "Ice thickness varies, especially after warm weather. Safer to stay near shore, kiddo."
Casey's face fell, but she nodded reluctantly. "Okay."
We continued skating, and gradually Casey seemed to forget her disappointment.
Easton's outlandish remarks echoed across the rink as they pretended to be figure skaters, their laughter filling the air as they comically grabbed at each other while gliding across the ice. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself as much as I did tonight.
"This is perfect," Casey sighed happily.
The words hung in the air. Easton's eyes met mine over Casey's head, and I saw the same complicated emotions I was feeling reflected there that neither of us was ready to name.
"Hey, Casey," Easton said after a moment, his voice slightly rough, "how about you show me that spin you were working on? The one you told me about on Wednesday?"
"Okay!" Casey's face lit up. She skated ahead to set up, concentration creasing her forehead.
Easton moved closer to me, his voice low. "She's amazing, Palisade. You've done an incredible job with her."
"Thank you," I managed, my throat tight. "But she gets a lot of that from my dad. He's been teaching her since—"
Movement in my peripheral vision made me glance toward Casey.
My heart stopped.
She was still skating. Further. Past where we'd been. Past the marker buoys.
Toward the center of the lake, where she'd wanted to go earlier.
"Casey!" I shouted. "Not so far out!"
But she was already positioning herself, too focused on getting the spin perfect for Easton to hear me. Or maybe she'd heard me and was pretending she hadn't.
A sharp crack echoed across the ice.
My head snapped toward the sound, and everything else disappeared.
Casey stood frozen, eyes wide, directly over a spiderweb of cracks spreading beneath her feet.
"Casey!" I screamed. "Don't move!"
But it was too late. She felt the ice shifting beneath her and tried to step backward. It was the worst thing she could have done.
The ice gave way with a sound like breaking glass.
And my daughter plunged into the freezing water.
Time seemed to slow and speed up simultaneously. I heard myself screaming Casey's name, saw Easton already moving, his skates cutting across the ice with terrifying speed.
"Stay back, Palisade!" he shouted at me as I tried to follow. "The ice won't hold both of us!"
I skidded to a stop several feet away, close enough to see the jagged hole where Casey had disappeared, close enough to see the dark water, but not close enough to help her.
Not close enough to save my baby.
Easton reached the edge of the broken ice, already pulling off his jacket. He dropped to his stomach, distributing his weight, and slid toward the hole.
"Casey!" he called out. "Can you hear me?"
A small hand broke the surface, fingers grasping desperately at the edge of the ice. But the ice crumbled away in her grip. Then her head emerged, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wide with pure terror.
"I've got you!" Easton yelled. "Casey, look at me! I've got you!"
After he plunged into the water, I watched in frozen horror as he caught hold of Casey's jacket. She was thrashing, panicking, making it harder for him to get a solid grip.
"Casey, stop fighting!" Easton's voice was firm, authoritative. "Trust me, kiddo. Stop fighting and let me pull you up!"
Something in his tone must have gotten through to her because Casey went still. Easton hauled her up with a strength I didn't know existed outside of movies, dragging her out of the water and onto the more solid ice beside him.
But they weren't safe yet. Not on that weakened section.
Easton wrapped Casey in his jacket, then gathered her into his arms and crawled backward, crab-walking away from the danger zone, distributing their combined weight as much as possible.
The entire time, Casey was coughing, water streaming from her hair and clothes, her small body convulsing with shivers.
"Casey! Oh my God, Casey!" I pulled her from Easton's arms into mine as soon as they were on thicker ice. Her icy wet clothes soaked through to my skin, but I didn't care. She was breathing. She was alive.
"M-M-Mom," Casey chattered through blue lips. "I'm s-s-sorry. I d-didn't mean—"
"Shhh, baby, it's okay. You're okay." I looked up at Easton, who was breathing hard, his own clothes soaked from plunging his arms into the water. "Thank you. God, Easton, thank you…"
"We need to get her warm," Easton said, already moving. "Now. She's most likely hypothermic."
Other skaters had noticed the commotion and were heading our way. Some of them pale.
"Someone call 911," a man shouted, already pulling out his phone.
Easton was faster. His phone at his ear as he scooped Casey into his arms. "Lake Chambeau, east parking area. My friend’s daughter, six years old, she fell through the ice, and was submerged for less than a minute. She’s conscious and breathing but might be severely hypothermic."
Casey was shaking so violently I could hear her teeth chattering.
"Come on," Easton said, already moving toward the parking area after getting off the phone. "My car."
"Get in with her," he ordered as we sat on the long bench seat. "Body heat. It's the fastest way."
I climbed in without question, pulling Casey onto my lap. Easton grabbed an emergency blanket from his trunk and wrapped it around both of us, tucking it tight.
"M-Mom," Casey's teeth chattered. "I'm s-so c-cold."
"I know, baby. I know." I held her tighter, trying to transfer every bit of my warmth to her small, shivering body. "You're going to be fine."
Easton crouched by the open door, phone still pressed to his ear, giving the dispatcher more information. Then, he hung up and turned to Casey.
"Ambulance is two minutes out, kiddo. You're doing great."
Casey turned her head to look at him through the blanket, her eyes glassy but focused. "Uncle E-Easton saved m-me," she whispered to me.
"He did," I managed through my tears. "He jumped right in after you."
"Th-thank you," Casey said, her small voice barely audible.
Easton's hand found hers under the blanket, squeezing gently. "Always, kiddo. Always."
I held my daughter closer and prayed she'd be okay. That this wouldn't leave lasting damage. That I'd get to watch her grow up, watch her play hockey, watch her live the life she deserved.
The life that almost ended today.
The sirens grew deafening, and then red and blue lights flooded the parking area as the ambulance pulled in, followed closely by a police car.
Easton stood back as the paramedics rushed over with their equipment, but his eyes never left Casey.
"We've got her from here," a female paramedic said gently, reaching for Casey.
I didn't want to let her go. My arms locked around my daughter.
"Ma'am," the paramedic said, "we need to get her stable. You can ride with us."
I forced myself to release Casey into their capable hands, watching as they moved with practiced efficiency. They checked vitals, wrapped her in heated blankets, and loaded her onto the gurney.
"I'm coming with you," I said.
"Of course. This way."
I started to follow, then turned back. Easton stood by his car, soaked and shivering, watching us with an expression I'd never seen before.
Raw. Terrified. Protective.
"Easton—"
"Go," he said firmly. "I'll follow you to the hospital."
"But you're freezing!"
"I'm fine. Go with Casey. It will keep her calm."
I climbed into the ambulance, and the doors closed behind me. Through the back window, I watched Easton standing in the parking lot, arms wrapped around himself, watching us drive away.