Page 98 of ICED
Owen grins fondly at the nickname, crouching down beside me. “Hey, Jellybean. Ready for our pizza party?”
Her eyes go wide. “Pizza?! For real?”
“For real,” he says solemnly. “Cheesy, gooey, probably too hot. But we’ll blow on it, yeah?”
Lila wiggles with excitement. “Can we have garlic bread too?”
Owen grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Back in the truck, Lila hums to herself in her new car seat Owen bought for her, kicking her legs like she’s already had a triple espresso. She keeps poking her head between the seats to update us on her “pizza plan,” which so far includes one slice for Mummy, one for Bear, five for her, and maybe a chocolate milk if she eats a vegetable.
Owen meets my eyes across the console and mouths,five?I laugh, and it’s real and light and free. It feels good to laugh. Like I haven’t done it properly in days.
We eat at a little place down the street from the rink, one with sticky red booths and wobbly salt shakers and a waitress who gives Lila extra napkins for her “pizza fingers.” Lila makes a mess and tells Owen a story about a class pet who escaped and bit someone’s shoelace. Owen listens with the full gravity of a man hearing state secrets.
When the bill comes, he insists on paying, ruffling Lila’s hair and saying, “Can’t break a promise to my favourite girl.”
“You promised pizza,” she says, licking sauce off her thumb. “You didn’t promise pudding.”
Owen leans in close, voice conspiratorial. “Think I can be convinced.”
She gasps like he’s just handed her a treasure map.
Later, back in the truck, she’s asleep before we’re halfway home. Her head slumps to the side, lips slightly parted, one hand still clutching a paper napkin like a trophy.
“She had a good night,” I whisper.
“She deserved it,” Owen whispers back. “And so did you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JACKO
It’s game day. The first one where I know, without a doubt, she’ll be there.
It’s stupid how much it does to me, knowing Maya and Lila will be in the stands tonight. Not just somewhere in the building, but right there by the glass, wearing Raptors merch and probably clutching snacks bigger than their heads. Well, Lila will be clutching snacks. Maya will be pretending she didn’t eat three mini donuts before puck drop while claiming she “just had one.”
I glance at my phone as I lace up my skates. No texts. No emergencies. No alarm malfunctions. Just peace.
It’s been two weeks since that night Daz came over to fix the system. Two weeks of me sleeping on Maya’s sofa with a crick in my neck and her floral throw blanket tangled around my legs. Two weeks of morning tea and shared smiles and the soft sound of Lila’s feet pattering across the floor before she demands breakfast and cartoon time.
I’d sleep on that sofa for the rest of my life if she asked me to.
I pull my jersey over my pads just as Ollie struts in like he owns the place, flipping his stick like it owes him money.
“You ready, mate?” he grins. “Heard your girls are in the stands tonight. Big moment.”
“You say that like I’m meeting her parents,” I mutter, but my smile gives me away.
Murphy slaps me on the back as he passes. “Worse. Hockey family’s got higher standards. You screw it up, we keep her and Lila and boot you to the minors.”
“Fair enough,” I say. Because honestly? That tracks.
The boys fall into their usual pre-game rhythm with music blaring, tape flying, chirps and banter pinging across the room like pucks. But there’s a low thrum in my chest that wasn’t there before. Anticipation. Something bigger than adrenaline.
I glance at my phone one last time.
Still no text.
