Page 53 of ICED
“She okay?” Maya asks, voice soft and raw.
“She’s brilliant,” I say. “And braver than most grown-ups I know.”
Maya swipes her cheek. “She told you something?”
“Yeah.”
She nods, eyes full of ache and something else; fear maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
“She remembers more than I hoped,” she whispers. “She was so little.”
“She feels safe enough to talk now,” I say. “That’s down to you.”
She shakes her head. “It’s down toyou,too. She doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else.”
I glance at Lila, who’s now curled into me like a koala, cheek pressed to my shoulder.
“She’s got good taste,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
Maya laughs wetly. Then, after a pause she says, “Thank you. For catching her.”
“I always will.”
Her eyes meet mine. Something shifts there. Something big.
And I know, without her saying it, that she’s starting to believe it.
Lila’s warm against my chest, her breath fogging the collar of my jacket. She’s still holding on tight, fingers curled into the fabric like little anchors. I can feel her heart beating fast, like a hummingbird’s. She’s quiet now in that way kids are when they’re not sure what comes next. Waiting to see if the fall changed everything.
I glance toward the ice, then back down at her.
“Hey, Jellybean,” I say softly. “What do you think? Want to try again?”
She stiffens a little. “But I fell.”
“You did,” I say. “And I caught you.”
She looks up at me, her eyes big and uncertain. “What if I fall again?”
“Then I’ll catch you again,” I say without missing a beat. “Every time.”
She studies me, like she’s weighing the truth of it. Like maybe no one’s ever told her that before and meant it.
I crouch down with her still in my arms, until we’re back at ice level. “You’re already the bravest skater I know. But falling once doesn’t mean you stop trying. It just means you’ve started.”
Her bottom lip sticks out. “Falling’s not fun.”
“No,” I say. “But getting back up? That’s the part that makes you strong.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she whispers, “Will you hold both my hands?”
“Both,” I promise.
“And go slow?”
“Like treacle in winter.”
She snorts. “That’s silly.”
