Page 31 of ICED
“And you always sleep in your daughter’s bed after a glitch?”
She flinches. Just slightly. But it’s enough.
I shake my head, slow and steady. “I’m not trying to dig, Maya. Just... you don’t have to lie to me.”
She finally looks up, and for a second, I see the fear. The raw, unshielded part of her she usually keeps tucked away. And then it’s gone again, locked behind sarcasm and a raised brow.
“You always turn up with baked goods when you call someone out?”
“Only the ones I really like.”
That earns me a blink. And thenfinallya small smile. Not the full, wide kind she gives Lila, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward and it’s enough to make my chest feel like it might split.
“You’re such a sap,” she mutters, but her voice is softer now.
“Guilty. Been watching too muchBake Offagain.”
Maya leans her hip against the counter, arms folded. “You’re not what I expected.”
I snort. “You thought I was a brute.”
“I did,” she says, no hesitation. “Big, tattooed hockey guy who probably growls instead of speaking and smashes things for fun.”
“Well. I do growl. Usually when there’s no chocolate left in the locker room.”
That earns me a real laugh. Quick and surprised, like she didn’t mean to let it out. She claps a hand over her mouth, as if it slipped.
“Sorry,” she says quickly.
“Don’t be.” I grin. “It’s nice.”
We lapse into a quiet rhythm after that. She makes tea, I clear the sink like a weird houseguest who doesn’t know hisplace. But she doesn’t stop me. She lets me move through her kitchen, lets me exist in her space, and that feels big.
“Got cleared to play today,” I say after a beat.
She glances over. “Really?”
“Yeah. Mia gave me the all-clear this morning. Said my shoulder’s boring now, which is apparently physio speak for ‘healed enough to throw myself at people again.’”
Maya lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re happy about that?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s my job. But I’ve missed playing.”
“Do they know you bake angry gingerbread men in your spare time?”
“They do,” I mutter. “Murphy took a bite of one and told me it tasted like repressed emotional damage. He’s not wrong.”
She laughs again, this time it’s less guarded. The kind that sticks in my ribs and stays there.
I don’t say anything. Just soak in the sound like it might vanish if I try too hard to hold onto it.
Then she sets her mug down. Wraps both arms around herself, even though the flat isn’t cold. Her voice shifts. “Sometimes I hate how much you notice.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know.” She tips her head back, eyes closed for a second like she’s bracing herself. “But it’s easier when people don’t.”
She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. I’m not pushingtonight, not when she’s already letting me in more than I expected.
