Page 117 of ICED
We pull up outside the hotel just past eleven. A cold wind cuts off the parking lot, slicing through my hoodie and sweat-damp shirt. Ollie steps off first, then turns and grabs my kit bag from the undercarriage. He slings it over his shoulder without aword and nods at me.
“I got it,” he says, quietly. “Go.”
I reach down and lift Lila into my arms. She’s heavy with sleep, arms flopping like noodles, her face tucked into my neck. She smells like candy floss and child shampoo, and something inside me, something old and bruised, aches with how much I want this to last forever.
Maya walks beside me into the lobby. Her hand brushes my lower back, featherlight. “You okay?” she asks.
I nod, but I’m not really. I’m rattled. The game was vicious. The win hard-earned. I gave more than I should’ve, left it all on the ice, because I knew she was watching. Because I wanted her to see me protect what’s mine.
And now I’m walking through a quiet hotel hallway with Lila asleep in my arms and Maya at my side, and the only thing I’m thinking is, how do I not fuck this up?
Our suite is at the end of the corridor. Lila’s door is already cracked open from earlier. I ease her down into the kid-sized bed the hotel arranged, gently pulling the Raptors hoodie over her head so she doesn’t overheat, and tucking her in with her unicorn plushie.
Maya watches from the doorway, arms wrapped tight around her middle.
“She’s getting used to this,” she murmurs. “Travelling. New beds. You.”
Her voice breaks a little on the last word.
I straighten and step into the space beside her. “She’s a rock star.”
“She loves you,” Maya says, voice thick.
I swallow. “I love her back.”
And then, quietly I add, “And you.” It’s not the first time I’ve said it but tonight it somehow feels different. Deeper.
Maya blinks. For a moment, she doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move. Then she steps into my arms and presses her forehead against my chest.
She stays like that for a long time. Silent. Still.
“I need to tell you something,” she whispers.
I curl my arms around her. “Okay.”
“It’s not just what I’ve hinted at,” she says, voice low and rough. “About Jamie. About… the past. You deserve the full picture. Not just the pieces I’ve been brave enough to hand you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“No. I do. Because you keep giving me safety. Trust. And I want to be able to give you that back.”
She leads me to the couch in the living room. We sit close and she holds one of my hands in both of hers, fingers cold and tight.
“I thought I loved him,” she begins, staring at the floor. “At first, it felt like something out of a book. He was charming. Intense. Said all the right things. But it turned so fast. He started isolating me, little by little. Friends stopped calling. My phone would disappear. He’d tell me I was imagining things. That I was too sensitive. Too emotional.”
I squeeze her hand. She keeps going.
“The first time he hit me, I’d just told him I was pregnant. He said I did it on purpose. That I was trying to trap him.”
“Jesus,” I whisper.
She nods. “He cried after. Said he was scared. Said it wouldn’t happen again. But it did. It got worse. He never hit Lila, not once. But he’d scream around her. Slam things. Threaten. I started leaving the lights on at night so I could see him coming. I stopped sleeping. Started hiding cash in her room, amongst her toys.”
Tears slip down her cheeks. She doesn’t wipe them away.
“I waited until he left for a work trip. Took what I could fit in the car and left. Lila wasn’t two. I know I’ve already told you some of this but I’ve never told anyone he was physically violent.” Her fingertips rub over the cigarette burn I saw weeks ago and then she breaks.
I pull her into my chest. She sobs. Quiet, gasping sobs that shake through both of us. I rock her gently, kissing the crown of her head.
