Page 128 of ICED
She’s shaking harder now, her eyes wide and wild. “You have to go. You have to go right now.”
“I’ll get her,” I say instantly, grabbing Ollie’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Murphy says, already steering Maya toward the back office. “We’ve got her, Jacko. Go.”
I hesitate for only a second before sprinting back to the truck. We peel away from the curb like we’re being chased, tyres screeching, sirens wailing in my head.
“Do you think he’d actually…?” Ollie starts, but doesn’t finish.
“I don’t know,” I grit out, my hands locked around the wheel. “But I’m not taking the fucking chance.”
The drive to the nursery is minutes, but it feels like a lifetime. Every red light is a personal insult. Every slow-moving van in front of us a direct threat. My hands are clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white, jaw tight.
“She’s fine,” Ollie says beside me. He’s trying to be calm. “She’s there. Safe. This is precaution, yeah?”
But I can’t answer. I can’t speak past the tightness in my throat. All I can think about is Maya’s voice, the way it broke when she said his name. The way her whole body trembled like a leaf in the wind.
If Jamie touched her, if he so much as looked at Lila, I’ll kill him. I take the next corner too fast. Ollie braces himself, one hand on the dash.
“Jesus, Jacko.”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not. Not even close.
We pull up outside the nursery and I throw the truck into park before the engine’s even off. I’m out of the cab in a heartbeat, pushing through the front gate and heading straight for the main door.
Inside, the woman at the reception desk blinks up at me. “Can I help?”
“I’m here for Lila. Lila Dawson.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again when Ollie steps in behind me. We’re both still in half our gear, sweat-damp from morning skate, and I must look like a man about to lose it.
“She’s fine,” the woman says gently. “She’s just gone into the quiet corner with some books. One moment.”
I nod, fists clenched at my sides. I scan every face, every door. The rational part of me knows this place is secure, there’s coded locks, sign-in books, constant supervision. There’s even a safe list of who can collect Lila. But the rest of me, the part that has fallen in love with a tiny girl who calls me Bear, won’t believe she’s safe until I see her with my own eyes.
And then she’s there. Curls bouncing, cheeks flushed, her little backpack slightly askew. “Bear!” she yells, delighted.
My heart caves in. I drop to my knees as she barrels into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You came!”
“I came,” I choke out, hugging her tight. “Of course I did.”
She leans back and beams. “You brought Ollie too!”
Ollie gives a tired grin. “Couldn’t let Bear have all the fun, could I?”
“Are we going home early?” she asks, utterly unfazed, and I kiss the top of her head and breathe for the first time in twenty minutes.
“Yeah, Jellybean. Change of plans.”
We sign her out with the stunned staff and walk her back to the truck. She chatters the whole way about glitter glue and pasta necklaces and how someone brought in a giant cucumber for Show and Tell. I keep glancing around the street, eyes scanning for anything suspicious, but everything is quiet. Ordinary.
When I strap her into her car seat and she swings her legs in her rainbow tights, I take another deep breath. My heart is still thudding, but she’s here. She’s okay.
Ollie’s already texting the group chat.
OLLIE: Got her. All safe. On our way.
