Page 105 of ICED
An hour later, the kitchen looks like a protein bomb exploded.
They’ve got three kinds of bars in progress; peanut butter oat, chocolate almond, and something Lila invented that’s mostly marshmallows and crushed cornflakes.
“Owen,” I say from the doorway, arms folded, “did youlether open the cocoa powder?”
“She opened it withintention.” He hold up his hands, which are sticky with honey. “We’re in the zone.”
Lila’s on a sugar high, dancing around the kitchen with oat paste in her hair.
“Protein power!” she yells, doing a lap around the table with a wooden spoon held like a sword.
I lean on the counter, smiling in that quiet, awe-filled way. “You’re really doing this,” I say softly.
“What? Turning your child into a protein bar entrepreneur?”
“No,” I say, walking over, brushing flour off his cheek. “All of it. Us. Her. This.”
He kisses me before I say something else stupid. Lila shouts “GROSS” and chucks a raisin at us.
Owen catches it midair and eats it. “Five second rule.”
We finish the morning sticky, exhausted, and high on sugar. The bars go in the fridge. The dishes get sort of washed. Lila curls up on the sofa, rabbit in one hand, and knocked out cold.
I tuck her in, then slips my arms around Owen from behind as he loads the last tray.
“You know,” I say, chin on his shoulder, “you’ve ruined all my standards forever.”
“Happy to be the last man you ruin them for.”
I laugh into his back. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “I’m staying.”
Because if this is what forever looks like, flour in the floorboards, pancakes shaped like bears, and a happy daughter, then I want it all.
CHAPTER FORTY
JACKO
Monday mornings at the rink are brutal.
Doesn’t matter how good the weekend was, or how mind-meltingly perfect it felt to wake up next to Maya and Lila this morning, all tangled sheets and pancake crumbs in bed, because the second I walk through those doors, Jonno and Coach become demons in whistle form.
“On the line!” Jonno’s voice echoes across the ice, sharp and unforgiving. “You lot moved like pensioners in quicksand yesterday. That ends today.”
Ollie groans beside me. “Remind me why we didn’t just fake food poisoning?”
I grunt, dragging my helmet on. “Because then he’d make us do twice the drills tomorrow.”
He nods solemnly. “True. Evil never sleeps.”
We line up for suicides, blades biting into the clean sheet of ice. It’s early, barely eight, but we’ve already done off-ice warmups, weight room circuits, and half an hour of tactical review. Now it’s time for the punishment portion of our regularly scheduled programming.
“Go!”
We sprint.
Skate to the blue line and back. Red line and back. Far blue and back. Full length. Again. Again.
