Page 125 of ICED
It’s colder inside than it is outside. The hallway smells like burnt toast and old carpet cleaner. The glass from the broken window has been swept into a pile in the corner, but the jagged edges still glare like teeth.
“Jesus,” Ollie mutters, hands on his hips.
“I know,” I say.
He lifts the board from the back of my truck and helps me hold it in place while I drill into the frame. We work mostly in silence, aside from the buzz of the drill and the occasional grunt. Then, once it’s secure, Ollie leans back, wipes his hands on his jeans, and says, “So, you gonna tell me what the plan is?”
I grab the broom and sweep the last of the glass into the dustpan. “What plan?”
“Don’t ‘what plan’ me, mate. You’ve got that look. The ‘I’ve already decided but haven’t told anyone yet’ look.”
I huff a laugh. “What gave me away?”
“The fact that you didn’t say anything for more than twenty seconds.”
I toss the broom aside. “I don’t want them coming back here.”
Ollie doesn’t say anything right away. Just nods, slow and thoughtful.
“I mean it,” I add. “The locks, the alarm, it’s still not enough. She was scared, Ollie. Proper scared. And Lila doesn’t need to wake up to broken glass and sirens. She needs cloud wallpaper and a rainbow lamp and pancakes with a side of bread farts.”
He snorts. “Classic Jacko logic.”
I scrub a hand through my hair. “I’m not saying she has to move in forever. I get it, she’s proud. She’s been through hell and fought her way to her own roof. But I don’t care. I just want them safe. Happy. Fuck, I want them.”
Ollie folds his arms. “Then tell her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is. You’re not asking her to give up anything. You’re offering something. That’s different.”
I pause, leaning against the doorframe, staring at the patched-up window.
“You think she’ll say no?”
“I think she’ll be scared. Because it’s big. Because you’re big. Because everything’s new. But shewantsto say yes. You can see it all over her.”
“Yeah?”
“Mate, she let Lila pick out a bed with a slide. That’s practically a marriage proposal.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
We pack up the rest of Lila’s things; books, her star projector, the soft grey rabbit she sleeps with. I grab a few more of Maya’s clothes, a couple of cookbooks, and the folder of papers she keeps in the top kitchen drawer with emergency contacts and Lila’s drawings.
When we’re loading it all into the truck, Ollie nudges me with his elbow.
“Tell her soon,” he says. “Before someone else builds her a bunk bed with a damn drawbridge.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
JACKO
Ipull up outside the bakery, the engine idling as Maya unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to check on Lila in the backseat. She’s still got toast crumbs on her jumper and a soft crease from her pillow on her cheek. It makes my chest twist, how fiercely I want them safe. How easily mornings like this could be permanent.
“Don’t forget your book bag,” Maya says, smoothing Lila’s hair.
Lila yawns and frowns. “Can we have pasta for dinner?”
