Page 59 of ICED
After a while, her voice breaks the stillness. Soft. Careful. As though she’s testing how much the air can hold.
“He used to hate when I cooked dinner.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe too loud. I just nod once,slowly. She’s not looking at me, her gaze is fixed on a smudge on the table, but I know she feels me listening.
“Never said why. Just didn’t like it. The smell, the mess. If I forgot to wipe the counters down before he got home…” She trails off. Clears her throat.
My hand rests on the table between us, palm up. I don’t push it toward her, but I don’t take it away either.
She glances down, her gaze flicking to my hand. Then she exhales. Not quite a sigh. More like letting go of something.
“I got good at guessing moods. At pretending it was all normal. Especially once Lila came along. You do stupid things to survive that feel smart at the time. Like making yourself smaller. Quieter.”
She finally looks up at me then, eyes shining, not with tears, but the kind of raw honesty that feels braver than anything else.
“I’m scared,” she says. “Of how easy it feels with you. How Lila looks at you. How I look at you. How fast this has all turned around.”
I keep my voice low. Gentle. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak, Maya.”
She smiles. It’s sad, but real. “That’s the thing. I know I’m not weak. Not anymore. But sometimes I still feel like I’m walking through a minefield. Even when the ground is solid.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
Her brows lift, surprised that I didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t rush in with reassurances or platitudes.
“I won’t step on any mines,” I say simply. “And if I do, I’ll sit in the crater with you until it’s safe to climb out.”
A quiet sound escapes her, it’s part laugh, part exhale. She reaches out, her fingers brushing mine. This time, she links them.
“I don’t want you to save me,” she says. “I just want to feel like I can stand beside you.”
“You already are.”
She squeezes my hand, eyes shining in the low light of the kitchen. And I see the faintest shift. Not the walls coming down completely. But a door, cracked open enough for trust to peek through.
She lets go first. Pushes her chair back. “C’mon,” she murmurs. “We should both try and sleep. You’ve got training tomorrow and I have to open the bakery.”
“Yeah,” I say, rising too.
I don’t press for more. I don’t ask what else she’s survived or how deep the scars go. She’s told me just enough. And that’s more than I hoped for.
As she turns out the kitchen light and walks past me toward the hall, she pauses. Looks back over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Owen.”
My name in her voice lands soft as a whisper. Strong as a promise.
“Anytime, Maya,” I say. And I mean it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JACKO
The gym smells like sweat and a regular Thursday morning. I’m benching beside Dylan, who’s more interested in flexing in the mirror than finishing his reps. Murphy’s across the room doing rows like he’s personally offended by the dumbbells.
“Oi, Jacko,” Dylan huffs, setting his bar down with a loud clang. “You bring your baked gains today or what?”
I nudge the Tupperware on the bench next to me. “Protein muffins and chocolate chip peanut butter bars.”
