Page 113 of ICED
Eventually, the pool party winds down. We head back to the hotel to start gearing up for the game. The atmosphere shifts from playful to focused. In the team meeting room, the lights are dim, and the low buzz of chatter floats above the sound of sneakers squeaking on the carpet. The projector hums to life, casting clips of the opposing team onto the wall as Coach starts his breakdown. A few of the guys are already stretching on the mats, others nursing protein shakes or half-heartedly rolling out their quads with foam rollers.
I settle into one of the chairs near the back, tablet in hand, flicking through power play formations. I try to focus, try toabsorb the angles and passing patterns, but my mind keeps drifting.
To this morning. To Lila’s proud little face when she strapped Ollie’s knee like a pro. To Maya, sitting in the bleachers, clapping like she belonged here.
Because she does. They both do.
“Oi, Jacko,” Dylan calls from across the room, a wicked grin on his face. “You offering swim lessons at the hotel again tomorrow, or was today a one-time miracle?”
“Miracle’s right,” Murphy mutters, massaging his calf with a wince. “My hamstring still hasn’t forgiven me for whatever that dolphin move was.”
“You belly-flopped into the shallow end,” Ollie points out, limping past me toward the mat. “That wasn’t a dolphin. That was a man giving up on life midair.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
I just shake my head, grinning. “You were all useless. Lila was the only one actually listening.”
“She was also the only one under four feet tall in floaties,” Dylan says, flopping onto his back and doing lazy bicycle kicks. “What’s your excuse, Jacko? Hiding your talents this whole time?”
I smirk. “Just a humble man trying to teach a kid how not to drown.”
“Yeah, well, pretty sure you drowned in feelings instead,” Murphy calls from the floor, hand to his heart. “All that dad energy radiating off you like steam.”
“Leave the man alone,” Ollie cuts in, dropping onto the mat beside me with a wince. He grabs a band and starts pulling gentle tension on his knee. “You lot don’t get it. That’s not just ‘dad energy’, that’s a man who’s found his person.”
The guys go quiet for a beat. Not awkward, just surprised. Ollie doesn’t usually get sentimental.
I glance at him. “You alright, mate?”
He shrugs, but his tone is sincere when he says, “I mean it.Maya and Lila, they’re good for you. You’re different now. Calmer. Lighter. You’re still a brick shithouse, obviously, but…” He pauses, smirking. “She’s softened your edges.”
“I didn’t have edges,” I mutter.
“Mate,” he deadpans. “You were all edges. Like an angry fridge.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“No, seriously.” He stretches his leg again and winces, then adds quieter, “We all noticed. You’ve always been loyal. Solid. But you’ve been carrying something heavy for a long time. And now… I dunno. It’s like Maya came in and just started unpacking it all without asking.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say much. He’s not wrong.
Ollie looks over at me, voice dropping so it doesn’t carry. “Don’t let her go, yeah?”
“I won’t.”
A quiet promise. One I’ve already made to myself a hundred times.
Ollie claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good. ’Cause Lila already thinks you hung the moon, and frankly, so do most of us after watching you try to wrangle eight grown men in a hotel pool.”
Coach clears his throat and brings us back to the screen. “Focus up. Game’s in two hours. I want sharp heads and quicker feet. Jackson, Murphy — you’re starting second line tonight. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Yes, Coach,” we mutter in unison, like schoolboys caught passing notes.
I check the time and make a mental note; taxi for Maya and Lila is booked for an hour before puck drop. She didn’t want a fuss or an escort. Just a ride to the arena and a seat in the stands. She’s always like that, quiet strength, fierce independence.
Still, I’ll be checking my phone like a maniac until I know they’re there.
As Coach moves on to the next clip, I glance around the room, surrounded by my brothers, feeling more grounded than I have in years.
