Page 138 of ICED
Inside, the house smells like popcorn. The TV is off. A few empty bowls scattered on the coffee table. One unicorn blanket folded with shocking precision.
I crack open Lila’s bedroom door and peek in. She’s fast asleep, bunny clutched to her chest, one arm flung above her head. The nightlight casts soft constellations across the ceiling. Owen steps behind me, resting a hand on my lower back. “She’s happy,” he whispers. “Safe. And very lucky.”
“So am I,” I say. And I mean that, too.
We don’t do more than kiss that night. We’re too full, tootired, too emotionally wrung out in the best way. But when he walks me back to the bedroom I now refer to as ours and wraps me in his arms, I feel something settle deep in my chest.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to choose between being a mother and being me.
I get to be both with him.
And I don’t feel guilty for wanting it anymore.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
JACKO
Ollie’s snoring sounds like a malfunctioning leaf blower.
I stand over him with a coffee in each hand, one eye twitching from the sheer volume of it, and contemplate whether or not it’s morally wrong to pour hot espresso on his face.
Instead, I kick the edge of the sofa. “Morning, sunshine.”
He snorts awake, flailing like he’s just been ejected from a rollercoaster. “Wha-? Is it Thursday? Am I dead?”
I offer him a mug. “Not yet. But if you keep snoring like that, Maya might smother you with a tea towel.”
Ollie takes the coffee like it’s a sacred gift. “You’re a good man, Jacko. A gentle, sexy coffee-bringing man.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you get any sleep, or did Lila run you into the ground?”
He grins around a sip. “She’s a menace. A pink, glittery, almost-four-year-old menace with the negotiating skills of a hostage lawyer.”
That makes me laugh. “That bad?”
He sits up, blanket sliding to the floor. “She hit me with the triple-whammy bedtime stalling technique. First it was, ‘Just one more story.’ Then it was, ‘I’m too thirsty for bed.’ And then, and I quote, ‘I have to teach Bunny his bedtime routine or he’ll grow up wild.’”
I laugh harder. “Wild bunnies. The horror.”
“She made me brush his invisible teeth,” Ollie says solemnly. “Twice.”
I can picture it perfectly. Lila in her pyjamas, wielding her tiny authority like royalty. Ollie playing along with exaggerated drama, giving her all the patience she never got from her own father. My chest squeezes, too full of something soft.
“She okay, though?” I ask. Quiet now. “No nightmares?”
“Nope.” Ollie’s face softens. “Out cold after the third lullaby. Kid’s got pipes, by the way. SangPart of Your Worldat me with such conviction I teared up.”
A noise interrupts us, it’s soft footsteps on hardwood.
We both look up as Lila pads into the living room in her unicorn pyjamas, curls a mess and eyes squinting like a sleepy raccoon.
She spots Ollie and beams. “Ollie!You’re still here!”
She barrels into him before either of us can react. He catches her easily, coffee miraculously unspilled, and swings her into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Where else would I be?” he says.
“You have to stay for breakfast,” she declares, snuggling into his chest.
