Page 51 of ICED
Murphy finally claps a hand to my shoulder. “You’re doing everything right. Just keep showing up.”
I nod, throat tight.
He stands. “Come on. Let’s find the tiniest skates in the bloody kingdom.”
The Raptors’ equipment room is a disorganised treasure cave. Rows of sticks. Crates of pucks. Gloves that smell like death and broken dreams.
We start digging through the shelves, Murphy tossing me items as we go.
“Helmet,” he says, chucking a pink one. “Small enough for a bobblehead.”
“Elbow pads the size of tacos,” I mutter, catching them. “Excellent.”
“Knee pads. Gloves. You’re going to turn this kid into a walking marshmallow.”
“That’s the idea.”
We find a pair of tiny white skates with rainbow laces tucked in a dusty bin near the back. Murphy holds them up like a trophy.
“Got ‘em,” he grins. “And bonus, there’s no blood stains.”
I laugh, nerves buzzing under the surface.
She’s coming. They’re both coming. Soon.
I line everything up by the rink’s edge. The arena’s quiet, lights on, ice freshly resurfaced, and the low hum of the refrigeration system echoing through the space. It feels peaceful here. Like somewhere beginnings can happen.
Then I hear it.
“Mummy! Mummy, look! Bear’s here! He’sreally here!”
Lila barrels through the door at full speed, coat flapping behind her like a cape, Maya hurrying after her, breathless.
Lila reaches me and slams into my legs, arms flung around my thighs.
“You’re here!” she says like it’s a miracle.
I crouch down. “Always am, Little Miss.”
She giggles, eyes wide as she sees the mountain of gear behind me. “Is all thatmine?!”
“If it fits,” I say, “then yeah. We’ll turn you into a professional wobbler in no time.”
Maya smiles, tucked back near the entrance, arms folded. She looks tired. Braced. But she meets my eyes and nods. It’s permission. Trust.
And I don’t take it lightly.
I get Lila suited up while Maya watches from the stands, close enough to swoop in, far enough to let us find our own rhythm. The helmet slips over her curls and she giggles when I tighten the chin strap.
“I look like a jellybean,” she declares.
“The fiercest jellybean I’ve ever seen,” I say.
She steps onto the mat near the ice, and I take her hand gently.
“You ready, Jellybean?”
She nods. “Let’s go.”
