Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MAYA
Lila’s laughing again.
Real, hiccupy little giggles that bounce off the rink’s cold walls and wrap themselves around my heart like a scarf. I press a hand to my mouth, because if I don’t, the tears might sneak out instead.
She’s back on the ice, wobbling, holding tight to Owen’s massive hands, but moving. Trying. Smiling.
Like she didn’t just whisper something that shattered me into a thousand pieces.
“Daddy made us cry when Mummy fell.”
It wasn’t much. Just a scrap of memory. But it hit like a freight train.
I thought she was too young to remember the worst bits. I spent so long convincing myself she’d been shielded from it, that she’d slept through the shouting, that she’d been too little to notice the bruises I painted over with makeup and smiles.
But kids see everything, don’t they?
Even when we try to hide it.
My eyes blur and I blink fast, trying to stay focused on the present, the now. Owen and Lila, just a few feet away, inching along the ice with all the grace of baby penguins. He’s talking to her the whole time, low and steady. Reassuring her. Letting her lead. Never pushing.
She slips again. Not badly. Just a wobble.
But before her knees can hit the ice, he’s got her. Again.
She grins. “You’re a magic catcher,” she says, voice high and breathless.
He just chuckles. “Best job I’ve ever had.”
And somehow that undoes me more than anything else.
He could be anywhere. Doing anything. And he’s here. Catching my daughter before she falls. Teaching her it’s safe to try again.
God help me, I think she believes him.
And worse still, I think I do, too.
By the time we get her skates off and wrestle her back into her boots, she’s full of stories and syrupy pride. She demands we make a sign for her wall that says LILA SKATED TODAY in pink glitter. I promise we’ll do it.
Owen offers to drive us back to the flat. I almost say no automatically. Old reflexes. It’s not far, and I’m used to walking, used to doing everything myself. But the sun’s dropping fast and Lila’s getting that glazed look she gets before she crashes into nap mode.
“Sure,” I say, before I can overthink it. “Thanks.”
He unlocks his truck and opens the back door.
I freeze.
There’s a car seat.
Pink. Padded. Safety checked. Installed.
My heart stutters.
“You…” I start, then stop. My voice cracks weirdly. “You got a car seat?”
Owen rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just thought it might be useful. For today. Or other days, if you ever…” He shrugs, sheepish. “I looked up the safest ones. Made sure it had side impact stuff. Didn’t want her riding without one.”
I stare at him. At the seat. At Lila, who has already climbed in like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
She pats the harness. “It’s squishy! Can we keep it, Mummy?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, baby. I think we can.”
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t say anything else. Just gently checks the straps, adjusts the headrest with big careful hands.
It’s nothing and everything all at once.
It’s more than anyone’s ever done for us without wanting something in return.
And it makes something ache deep in my chest.
Once Owen’s made sure that Lila is strapped in safely, he carefully closes her door and then opens the passenger door and waits for me to climb in.
No one has ever opened a door for me before today.
Flustered, I pull the seat belt across my chest and plug it in with a brief smile in his direction.
Once he’s satisfied I’m safe, he closes the door and jogs around the front of his truck.
We’re halfway back when Lila starts humming in the back seat. It’s not a song I recognise, just something soft and tuneless. Her fingers curl around the stuffed unicorn she brought with her, now wearing a makeshift skating ribbon tied around her neck.
Owen glances at me as we hit a red light. “She did great today.”
I nod. “She did.”
“She’s brave. Like you.”
That makes me snort softly. “I’m not brave.”
He doesn’t argue. Just says, “You stayed.”
I look at him.
“You stayed,” he says again, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “Even when it was hard. You protected her. You kept going. That’s what brave is.”
I press my lips together, because if I answer, my voice might crack. And I’ve cried enough for one day.
Outside the window, kids are playing in the fading light. Leaves skitter across the pavement in small whirlwinds. Everything looks soft, safe, gentle.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a day that felt like this.
Maybe I’m allowed to exhale. Maybe we’re not waiting for the next awful thing to drop.
I steal a glance at him. At the way his hands rest on the wheel. Calm. Steady. Present.
“You’re good with her,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can manage.
He gives a quiet laugh. “She’s a joy to be around.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“So are you.”
My breath hitches.
He doesn’t look over. Just says it like he means it. No games. No pressure. Just the truth dropped gently into the space between us.
I don’t reply. I can’t.
But when we pull up in front of the flat and he cuts the engine, I glance at him and say, “Do you want to come up? For a bit?”
He lifts his eyebrows, surprised. “Sure. If you’re okay with that.”
“I am,” I say. “Hot chocolate all round. Non-negotiable.”
Lila cheers from the back. “Can Bear have whipped cream?”
Owen grins. “Only if you promise not to judge me for using half the can.”
She gasps. “I would never.”
I laugh. I actually laugh.
It feels like the first real one in forever.
And as I climb out of the truck, and open the back door to unbuckle Lila from her brand-new car seat, I realise something that scares me in the best possible way.
I don’t want him to leave.
Not just tonight.
Not ever.