Page 126 of ICED
Maya kisses her temple. “If Owen’s okay with that.”
“I think I can manage pasta,” I say with a grin, reaching back to squeeze Lila’s sock-covered foot. “Especially if we add cheese.”
Lila beams. Maya’s smile is slower, quieter, but it reaches her eyes. It still feels new, seeing her soften like that. Trusting me, a little more every day.
She kisses Lila goodbye, then climbs out. I round the truck to open the back door, lifting Lila out and settling her backpack on her shoulders. She’s in a puffer jacket with rainbow zips, her mittened hand tight in mine.
“I’ll pick you both up later,” I say, brushing my hand against Maya’s arm as she heads toward the bakery. “Text me if you want lunch.”
“I always want lunch,” she murmurs, and the glint in her eyes warms me all the way down.
I walk Lila down the street to the nursery she attends three days a week. She skips toward the nursery doors, and I pull the door open and head into the room she spends her day in. Once I’ve handed her over to the keyworker she waves and says “Bye Bear, see you later!” And she heads off to hang up her coat and bag, her curls bouncing behind her. Then I turn the truck toward the rink, the quiet closing in around me.
Baking is something I used to do with my grandmother when she was still alive. I have fond memories of Sunday mornings spent kneading dough and mixing batter. Now I bake when I’m anxious. It calms me and helps me feel centred when the hockey has me like a coiled spring 24/7.
I know the guys know it, even if they never say it outright. I show up to morning skate with Tupperware full of protein bars and a carrot cake still warm in the tin, and I’m barely through the dressing room door before Murphy starts in.
“Christ, Bear, you baking through your feelings again?” Murphy grins, flipping a towel over his shoulder as he rifles through his locker.
“Wouldn’t have to if you lot weren’t such a stress hazard,” I mutter, setting the cake down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “You want a slice or not?”
“Course I do,” he says. “Just checking what flavour your breakdown is today.”
The room bursts into laughter, Dylan smirking, Ollie shaking his head, Jonno lifting the Tupperware like treasure. Murphy’s got a mouth on him, always has, but underneath it is the kind of loyalty that’s held this team together through worse.
I pull on my gear and nod at the cake. “Carrot. With walnuts.”
“Fancy,” Dylan says. “Is that cream cheese frosting?”
“Obviously.”
Murphy slaps me on the back hard enough to nearly dislocate something. “You keep feeding us like this, we’re gonna lose you toBake Off.”
“Only if they let me fight Paul Hollywood after round two.”
That gets a fresh round of laughter. The air shifts, lighter, easier. These mornings always sneak up on me, the way this team pulls me back from the edge. It’s not the ice that settles me. It’s them. The banter. The normality.
Coach walks in a few minutes later and rolls his eyes when he sees the tin. “We running a bloody bakery or a hockey team?”
“Both,” Ollie says through a mouthful of cake.
Skate is good. I feel solid. Strong. Like I’m working my way back to myself. But the second I’m off the ice, I’m pulling out my phone to check it. One missed call from Maya and a text.
MAYA: You okay to get Lila after nursery? Busy afternoon here.
JACKO: Of course. Want me to bring food?
She doesn’t reply right away, but that’s not unusual. The bakery gets manic when the deliveries come in, and the community kitchen runs weekday prep. I lean against the wall of the dressing room and open a bottle of water, still thinking about her when Murphy flops down next to me and steals a protein bar.
“You bake when you’re worried. You clean your locker when you’re spiralling. What’s next; knitting?”
I shoot him a look, but he just raises his brows. “You alright, mate?”
I nod. “Just… trying to keep things steady.”
He sobers a bit at that. “She doing okay? Maya?”
“She’s trying,” I say. “New place. New rhythm. I think it’s helping her to breathe.”
