Page 122 of ICED
“Then maybe you don’t leave.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest. I’m not ready to answer. Not yet. But I look around his house and Iimagine Lila running down the stairs in the morning. Imagine her hanging drawings on the fridge. Imagine baking here with Owen, without looking over my shoulder. And the ache ofwantingfeels dangerous. But also hopeful.
“Do you think,” I whisper, “we could let her help decorate? Pick the colour? Choose where her bed goes?”
“Absolutely. She can boss us both around.”
“She’ll love that.”
“She already does.”
I laugh. It’s small and broken, but it’s real. He leans closer and brushes his fingers across mine. “You deserve a home you don’t have to defend,” he says. “And Lila deserves to know what safetyfeelslike, not just what it’s not.”
“I’ve spent so long surviving,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to justlive.”
“I do,” he says. “So let me show you.”
Later, when we’re curled up under a blanket on the couch, Owen pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. “Wallpaper options,” he says. “Thought we’d get ahead of the planning.”
I peer over his shoulder. One option has pastel clouds. Another has bold rockets. Then he scrolls to one with soft clouds, and I still.
“That one,” I say.
He looks at me. “You sure?”
I nod. “She’ll love it. And maybe…I will too.”
He leans in and kisses my temple. And in that moment, I let myself want it. A room of her own. A door that’s never slammed in anger. A home full of stars, and quiet, and arms strong enough to carry us both.
Not borrowed. Not temporary.
Ours.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
JACKO
Lila’s voice floats down the hall like a sleepy song. “Bear…?”
I sit up, disoriented for a second before I remember they’re here. Safe. In my house. The light slants golden through the blinds, and Maya’s still curled next to me, one hand fisted in the sheets like she’s mid-dream. I press a kiss to her temple and slip out of bed.
I find Lila standing in the hallway, wrapped in her Raptors hoodie that nearly touches the floor. She looks around like she’s not quite sure if she’s still dreaming. “This isn’t our house,” she says, soft and frowning.
“Nope. You’re in mine. Just for a bit,” I say, crouching to her level. “Your window’s getting fixed, remember? So you’re here until everything’s safe again.”
She blinks. “Does Dave live here too?”
I grin. “Sure does. Want to feed him?”
Her nod is slow, like she’s not quite sure what that means, but she takes my hand anyway and lets me lead her into the kitchen. I lift her onto the counter and then remove the cloth off my sourdough starter. “Meet Dave. He’s very high maintenance.”
Lila leans in, squinting at the bubbly mess. “He looks like slime.”
“He’s basically bread slime. But magical. He eats flour and water and farts bubbles.”
She giggles. “Bread farts?”
“The very best kind.”
