Page 12 of ICED
“I skated today,” I offer. “First time in what feels like weeks. Not full contact, but...”
“Felt good?”
“Felt like a start.”
She nods, wiping her hands. “Good. You looked like you were going stir-crazy yesterday.”
“I was. Until I met you.”
She stills for a second. Then she nods again, more cautious this time. “Well. Dave and the muffins helped.”
I want to ask about her past, about the scar I think I saw when she reached up for a mixing bowl earlier. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I say, “Want a tea?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “You drink tea?”
I smirk. “I’m not a savage.”
She laughs. “Alright. One tea. Then you’ve got to go. The kids are making pizza from scratch in an hour and I’m already ten minutes behind on prep.”
“Deal.”
I stay until the kettle whistles and the kitchen smells like herbs and home.
And for a little while, I forget about rehab, the playoffs, the ache in my shoulder.
For a little while, it’s just Maya, warm tea, and a honey oat roll between us.
And the steady, slow sense that something good is finally beginning.
CHAPTER SIX
MAYA
The kettle screams just as Lila launches herself off the sofa, a blur of pyjamas and wild hair. “Mummy, can I have the purple cup today? Not the orange, it’s bad luck.”
“Orange is not bad luck, sweetheart,” I say, grabbing the kettle before it wakes the entire building. Steam billows up as I pour hot water over the chamomile tea bag. “It’s just a cup.”
“Then why did Daddy spill juice when I used it?”
I freeze, the mug trembling slightly in my grip.
Not Daddy. Not anymore.
I paste on a smile before I turn around. “That wasn’t the cup’s fault, Lila. Sometimes things just happen, okay? But you can have the purple one if it makes you happy.”
She nods solemnly, climbing back onto the sofa with a worn Paddington bear tucked under her arm. The fleece blanket she claimed from the donations bin is bunched around her feet, and her toes wiggle like they’ve got minds of their own.
I carry the two mugs, mine in chipped navy, hers in beloved purple, and set them down on the coffee table.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
Lila gives me a thumbs-up, all serious and dramatic, like a tiny, sleepy soldier. “Okay.”
I laugh, ruffling her curls before settling beside her. Sheleans into my side, warm and wriggly, and lets out a sigh so deep it tugs at something in my chest.
This is everything. Every bruise, every night lying awake wondering if I could do this, it’s all for this. A safe space. A quiet cup of tea. My daughter safe and happy beside me.
