Page 153 of ICED
I wipe my hands and pull her in, right there in the middle of the kitchen, aprons and all. Lila hums behind us, unfazed.
“I’m proud of you,” I murmur against her hair.
“I’m proud of me too,” she whispers back. Then she pullsaway. “Okay. Enough feelings. You’re going to be late for the rink and Murph is going to cry if these meals don’t get there by tonight.”
I kiss her once, quick and soft, then duck out to get my gear.
At the rink, Murphy is already there, staring blankly at a coffee machine that’s not plugged in.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve asked if he’s recently visited the moon.
“I dream of sleep,” he says. “Sometimes I hallucinate it. Sophie sent me out for nappies and I came home with carpet samples.”
Dylan pats his shoulder. “Hang in there, soldier.”
I pass him a muffin. “Maya made this for you.”
He sniffs it like it might be poison, then takes a bite and immediately tears up.
“Oh my God,” he says, mouth full. “Tell her I love her. Tell her she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Pretty sure Sophie would fight you,” Ollie says, laughing.
Murph shrugs. “She can take it. She gave birth with no drugs and called me a soggy crouton.”
Training is brutal, and the guys are ruthless, but I feel good. Settled. Not because everything’s perfect. But because we’re not pretending anymore.
After drills, I sit on the bench, unwrapping my wrist. Ollie plops down beside me.
“You look different,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Less bear-on-a-rampage, more bear-in-a-sweater, sipping tea.”
I snort. “Maya moved the last of her stuff in yesterday. Said she wants Lila to feel like the house is hers too.”
Ollie nudges me. “That’s because it is. You know that, right?”
I do.
I really do.
Back home, the house smells of baked goods. Lila greets me at the door with a plastic tiara and a demand to be spun.
Maya watches us from the couch, feet up, hair down, eyes soft.
And for the first time in a long, long time everything is where it should be.
That evening, after baths and stories and a very dramatic reenactment ofThe Great Unicorn Rescue, we all pile into the big armchair in the lounge. Lila wedges herself between us, warm and wriggly in her bunny pyjamas, still damp at the temples from her bath.
Maya glances at me, and I nod. It’s time.
“Hey, Jellybean,” I say, brushing a curl off her forehead. “Can we ask you something?”
Lila perks up instantly. “Is it about pudding?”
