Page 25 of ICED
I’m upright before I even register the movement, breath caught in my throat, heart hammering like it’s trying to break through my ribs. The wailing from the hall is deafening; high-pitched, mechanical, and wrong.
I grab the rolling pin from under my pillow and slide out of bed on shaking legs.
Lila.
I run to her room first.
She’s still asleep, somehow, one hand fisted in her bunny’s ear, the other tucked beneath her cheek. I flick the light on just to be sure.
Still breathing.
Safe.
My hands are trembling so badly I almost drop the rolling pin. I force myself down the hall, every footstep like a weight. I can’t hear anything except the alarm. Can’t see anything through the peephole. I press my back to the wall and use the remote on the alarm panel. The sound cuts out, leaving only a ringing in my ears.
I stand there, panting, listening.
Nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. No shadow under the door.
Just silence.
The app on my phone confirms it; fault in the system. Glitch. Motion sensor error.
But my body doesn’t believe it. My body still thinks I’m in danger.
I check every window. Every door. I reset the alarm. I lock and re-lock and triple check. Still, I can’t stop shaking.
Back in Lila’s room, the warmth hits me like a wave. She’s so small. So soft. She doesn’t know any of this. I want to keep it that way.
I slide into bed beside her and pull the blanket over us both.
She stirs just slightly, turning into me, her head resting against my chest.
My eyes sting.
I won’t cry. I won’t fall apart. I just need the sun to come up. I just need to make it until morning.
My hand rests gently on her back, feeling each tiny breath she takes.
For tonight, this is where I’ll stay. Right here.
Where I can keep her safe.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACKO
The problem with researching car seats is that it makes you feel like a moron.
There are five-point harnesses and ISOFIX bases and rear-facing versus forward-facing arguments that sound like they’ve been debated since the dawn of time. I don’t even know what half the acronyms mean. I’m two videos deep into a parenting YouTube channel called “Tots and Travel,” and I’ve learned that apparently, some people haveentire spreadsheetsfor car seat comparisons.
I rub a hand over my beard and lean back in the chair, the office one Murphy lent me for the flat. It creaks in protest. On the table in front of me is a notepad filled with scribbles likeGroup 1/2/3? 9kg+??andcheck compatibility with my truck??and a very clear underlined phrase:SAFETY FIRST.
I’m not planning to take Lila anywhere, not unless Maya asks. But I still want to be ready. Prepared. Responsible. I hated that I had to put them in a taxi last night. I wanted to drive them home, make sure they were safe.
If I ever do drive her somewhere, she deserves the safest seat I can find. No cutting corners. No guessing.
