I NEVER WANTED to be the man fighting his way through a store on Christmas Eve, but here I am.
I’m surrounded by panicked-looking men, frantically pointing at every surface, clearly buying things they were supposed to buy weeks ago.
I’d ordered Stassie’s main present to be delivered to the house, so I didn’t have to try to travel with it, but the delivery driver arrived when Sasha wasn’t in, and Dad rejected the delivery saying it was a mistake.
So it’s been two weeks of arguing with various companies, but they finally emailed last night to say I could pick it up in the store, meaning I reluctantly dragged myself here.
I know she’s going to lose her shit about how much iPads cost, but I have thought this through. And she can’t be mad if I’ve thought it through, right?
She does therapy through video calls since her doctor is in Washington, but because she doesn’t have her own, she has to borrow Sabrina’s. I can’t always let her borrow mine because I use it to take notes in class and it’s got my entire schedule built into it.
That brings me to the second bonus: a digital planner. I already know that her planner evolved from a sticker chart, but I feel like it’s time for it to evolve again. I think, no, I’m convinced that if she can easily move around her plans—like she’d be able to with a iPad—she’ll be more inclined to be flexible with herself.
It’s some psychology shit, I know, but once she stops stressing about it and uses it, it’ll be a gift she can benefit from.
I understand her worry. Our disposable income is not the same, they’re not even close. She once said she couldn’t skip work because we don’t all have trust funds, and she’s right. I’m not expecting her to buy me something expensive, though. I’m not expecting her to buy me anything because her being here is more than enough.
She sobbed at the idea of me being alone on Christmas. I have a girlfriend that cries over my hypothetical unhappiness. How is this real life? She must care about me a lot, or that’s what I’ve convinced myself, anyway, so I’m going to tell her I’m in love with her tomorrow. Christmas feels like the right time to be expressing feelings, right?
Right?
The drive back to the house takes far too long for my liking. There isn’t any traffic, I’m just impatient and itching to get back to my girl. I wonder how much of the house she’s snooped through while I’ve been gone. I’m fully expecting her to be in the living room with a collection of things she wants an explanation for when I get back. I know she’s desperate to see some baby pictures, or at least some evidence that I was once a child, since there aren’t any pictures of me in the house.
Luckily, she’s nowhere to be found when I finally walk through the door, which gives me the chance to stash the bag under my bed, ready to be wrapped later.
I plod through the rest of the house, listening out for her, but each place I check, she’s not there. Eventually, having lost all patience, I pull out my phone and click her name.
“Hello?” she huffs.
“Hey, where are you?” I ask, trying to listen for a response over the sound of wind on her side of the phone. “I just got back, and I can’t find you.”
“I’m trying to make friends with a deer, but your call scared it off,” she grumbles quietly.
“A deer? Where are you?”
“Skating by the edge of the woods,” she says, making my heart sink to my stomach. “I was going to have a Snow White moment and everything.”
I feel sick as I start rushing to the back of the house, heading toward the lake as quickly as my body will take me. “Anastasia, it isn’t safe. Carefully move away from there.”
But I don’t think she hears me, because the phone goes dead and, in the distance, I hear a bloodcurdling scream.
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THEY SAY that when something traumatic happens, time stands still, but I don’t agree.
I can feel every single second fly by me as my boots crunch into the snow. Every thought in my head seems to be occurring at the exact same time and I can’t concentrate through the chaos.
She’s strong, she’s so fucking strong, and she can swim; I’ve seen her swim with my own eyes. The luminous orange life ring catches my eye as I approach the lake. Mom made Dad install it when Sasha started walking; she was terrified that having this much water so close by was an accident waiting to happen. I tug it off its stand and carry on toward the woods.
I couldn’t even say how long it’s been since I heard her scream.
The life ring is bouncing off my hip and I’m sprinting faster than I ever have before, my breath in front of me clouding my view, but then I see it. A big gaping hole in the ice, fractured pieces floating around on the water. Every safety video, article, or presentation—anyone with a bit of common sense—will tell you that you don’t run on thin or uncertain ice. But I’m not uncertain, I know this water better than anyone, which is how I knew she was in danger.
I fall to my knees where I know the ice thins and crawl toward the hole, my heart is beating so hard it might beat right out of my chest. The only thing I can think is, For fuck’s sake, please be alive.
I’m inches from where the ice has splintered when the water begins to ripple, and her head emerges, her terrified eyes locking with mine before her head submerges again. She’s panicking. I’m fucking panicking as I reach my arm into the water, feeling for any part of her that I can latch on to.
Nothing.
I’m trying to keep my weight even, off my front, all the shit I’m supposed to do as I throw the ring onto the water, hoping that somehow she can find it. Going in after her isn’t the smartest decision, my body could go
into shock, too, but it’s the only one I have right now, so not being weighed down by clothes is the best way for me to survive this.
For us both to survive this.
My jacket is off when the rope of the life ring starts to move beside me. I roll over, careful not to crack the ice beneath me, and gasp when I see her tiny hand clinging to the edge of the ring, skin blue against the bright orange surface. Her other hand joins it and I see the crown of her head, so I pull the rope and watch her travel to the edge.
“Stas, are you okay? Can you say something? You need to hold on, I’m going to pull you out,” I tell her frantically, voice wobbling with every syllable.
Nothing.
I shuffle backward, edging myself closer to safer ground, ignoring the sting of the cold through my clothes, pulling the rope tightly until I feel the resistance of her body against the edge. I’m panting, swearing, close to tears, but I keep tugging and finally, finally, her body begins to slide across the ice. I keep going until I see her skates and I know her whole body is out. When we’re far enough away from the danger, I stand and rip the ring off her, rolling her onto her back.
Her lips are blue, delicate features deathly pale with her eyes closed tight.
“Anastasia?” I cry, pressing my ear to her to listen for a murmur, a breath, anything.
She isn’t breathing.
My body starts moving on its own, tilting her chin up and pinching her nose, lowering my mouth to hers and blowing until her chest rises. I tug at the zip of her jacket, but it’s frozen, so I pull until it splits apart, placing my linked hands on her sternum, pressing down rhythmically until it’s time to blow again.
Her chest rises and falls, but then it rises again, and she begins to splutter, coughing and retching, choking out all the water.
“Oh my God. I thought I’d lost you,” I whisper, scooping her up in my arms. Her eyes close again, but she’s breathing on her own, which gives me enough time to cover her in the coat I’d pulled off earlier and run toward the house.
Taking two stairs at a time, I speed toward the bathroom, wanting more than anything to stop her violently shivering in my arms. She still hasn’t
said anything; I have no choice but to place her on the bath edge to pull off her skates. Ensuring she’s stable, I turn toward the shower to turn it on at the right temperature.
“Nate,” she whispers, lips a slightly more human shade compared to the blue.
“I’m here.” I try to reassure her, desperately trying to keep the emotion from my voice. I usher her under the warm water, focusing on the center of her body, wincing when she hisses and begins to cry. “I know it stings. I’m so sorry, baby.” The shower is only on a mildly warm setting, but to her, it’ll be like standing under a boiled kettle.
Stripping off her coat and sweatshirt, I wish more than anything that we could go back in time to yesterday, when undressing her was fun and filled with laughter.
She lifts her arms slowly, allowing me to rid her of underlayers. “You’re doing so good, Stas, so good. I’m so fucking proud of you, it’s going to be okay. We will get you warmed up and I’ll get you a doctor. You’re okay.”
I up the temperature a little and crouch to pull off her pants and socks until she’s naked under the spray, her skin still freezing cold under my hands.
The adrenaline is subsiding, the reality of what happened kicking in as she stands before me sobbing, holding onto her body. I shed my own clothes until I’m naked, too, and step toward her, pulling her body to mine, cranking the temperature up a bit more, trying to soothe her as she cries.
Her head tilts up and her eyes meet mine properly for the first time, they’re swimming in tears, but the terror from earlier is gone, replaced with confusion. “I thought I was going to die.”
I can’t stop my own eyes from streaming, because I thought she was going to die too.
I press my lips against hers gently, letting my forehead rest against the crown of her head when we break apart. “I promised you I’d never drop you or let you drown, Anastasia. I will always be there to save you.”
Her arms tighten around my waist and her breath hitches as I turn the shower up a little more. The color is returning to her cheeks and the tears are slowing down. She gnaws on her lip as I wipe beneath her eyes.
“I love you, Nathan.” She clears her throat a few times, trying to clear the raw, gravelly sound. “And this isn’t some, I don’t know, trauma response. I’m in love with you, and that’s what I thought when I fell
through that ice. How I’ve known for so long and I hadn’t even told you. How I was going to die and you weren’t going to know, and I was so mad at myself. I love you and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I realized.”
Three times she said it and my brain still hasn’t processed it.
“I love you too.” I finally manage to stammer out. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Anastasia.”
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I WAKE from my nightmare with a jump, frantically looking around me. Stassie is fast asleep, hooked up to multiple machines that tell me she’s okay, not dead like she was in my dream.
Vail Health Hospital is not where I was expecting to wake up on Christmas morning, but I wasn’t expecting my girlfriend to drown, either, so I’ll let the impromptu trip to the ER slide.
As soon as she stopped shivering, I redressed her with as many layers as her fragile body could support and bundled her into the car to take her to the hospital.
I was expecting to be yelled at for not ringing an ambulance, which is what I should have done, but I imagine they took one look at my stressed face and thought better of it.
The doctor commended me for safely bringing her body temperature back up and gave her the all clear after checking her over.
She heard all clear and thought it was time to go home, not realizing that neither the medical staff nor I was letting her go anywhere. I haven’t left her side since yesterday; I even resorted to waving my card around until the hospital upgraded her and provided me with a bed for her room so I didn’t need to leave.
The bed is still perfectly made, because as soon as we were alone, I climbed in beside Stas. I pretended to be asleep when the nurse came in to check her vitals so she wouldn’t make me get out.
“Merry Christmas,” Stassie whispers.
“Good morning, baby,” I say, kissing her temple. “How’re you feeling?” “Like I don’t need to be attached to a fluid drip and I’d rather be at home with you in our onesies.” Her fingers dig into my sides playfully. “I feel good, Nathan, I promise. It’s Christmas, can we please get out of here?”
“Not until you’ve been looked over.”
“I’ve been looked over. I’m a picture of health, let’s go.”
My eyes flit to the fluid line sticking out of her hand. “Oh yeah, you look it.”
“At least I’m not dead.” She giggles at my shocked face. “Too soon?” “It’s always going to be too soon.”
