Page 144 of ICED
I nod. “Yeah. She deserves to know.”
“She’ll be here soon, not even a due date could keep her away,” Murphy says. “Already told me to put the kettle on.”
I shake my head in disbelief, these guys have become my family in such a short space of time and I don’t know what I did to deserve them. “Murphy, you can’t let her come over, she could go into labour any second!”
Murphy shakes his head and lets out a laugh. “And she’d thank you for that, trust me. That kid is too comfy in there.”
“You got anything you need from your flat?” Dylan asks. “We can go get it. Quietly. In and out.”
I shake my head. “Most of it’s here now. Just... photos, maybe. And Lila’s blanket.”
“We’ll get it,” Jacko says. “You don’t need to go back there.”
A new wave of tears threatens, but I bite it down. “Thank you. All of you.”
Murphy waves a hand. “You’re family.”
Ollie adds, “Anyone messes with Lila’s bedtime stories again, they answer to me.”
Jacko smirks. “Still traumatised from last night?”
“She made me doshadow puppets,Jacko.”
Dylan snorts. I laugh, watery and small, but real. And just like that, the panic starts to fade. Not gone. Not fully. But wrapped in something stronger. Something like hope.
Later that afternoon, Sophie arrives with Mia and a stack of baby slings in case I “suddenly need to wear Lila like a tactical backpack.”
We sit around the kitchen table. The mood is tense, but threaded with love. Lila comes home from nursery and is immediately distracted by Mia’s glitter nails and Ollie’s promise of a new bedtime song. I watch her dance throughthe kitchen with zero idea that her whole world almost shifted again.
Jacko catches me looking. He crosses the room and kisses the top of my head. “You still packed the go-bag?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
“Keep it by the door. Just in case.”
I nod. “But I don’t want to run anymore.”
His eyes shine. “You won’t have to.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
JACKO
By the time the sun starts dipping behind the neighbour’s roof, the kitchen is packed and humming with energy. The Raptors are everywhere. Murphy’s on a stool by the counter, still fielding text updates from Coach and the league. Dylan’s cross-legged on the floor, playing some kind of hand-clapping game with Lila that he’s losing badly. Ollie, God bless him, is sitting in my armchair with a spiral notebook and a colour-coded plan for “Operation: Lockdown.”
Maya moves between everyone, quiet but present, like a thread stitching the room together. She’s got Lila’s hair tied up in a messy bun, a soft jumper over her dress, and her eyes, though tired, look less hollow than they did this morning.
That’s a fucking win.
“Food?” Ollie calls. “We need carbs. And protein. And cake.”
“I’ll bake something,” Maya says.
“She’s been through enough,” I mutter. “Let’s order in.”
Dylan raises his hand like he’s in school. “Pizza.”
Murphy says, “Thai.”
