Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JACKO
The gym smells like sweat and a regular Thursday morning. I’m benching beside Dylan, who’s more interested in flexing in the mirror than finishing his reps. Murphy’s across the room doing rows like he’s personally offended by the dumbbells.
“Oi, Jacko,” Dylan huffs, setting his bar down with a loud clang. “You bring your baked gains today or what?”
I nudge the Tupperware on the bench next to me. “Protein muffins and chocolate chip peanut butter bars.”
Murphy perks up immediately. “Are these the ones with that Himalayan salt on top?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing a towel to wipe down the bench. “And I used oat flour this time instead of almond. Better texture.”
Dylan shakes his head. “Mate, you do realise you’re a professional athlete and not a contestant on Bake Off, right?”
“Says the guy who only eats chicken and broccoli unless Jacko brings treats,” Murphy mutters around a mouthful of muffin.
“It’s called discipline,” Dylan counters. “Unlike some of us who emotionally eat banana bread.”
I smile and unwrap my wrist wraps. I’ve learned not to argue with the team’s resident model-slash-wingman. He means well. Mostly.
Murphy grabs another protein bar and drops into the seat next to me. “So,” he says, tone changing from joking to something quieter, more intentional. “How’d it go? With the little one. The skating.”
I take a long drink from my bottle, considering. “She was scared at first. Fell pretty quick. But I caught her.”
Murphy nods slowly. “And?”
“She told me something.” I look down at my hands. “About her dad. About Maya falling once and it making them cry. She didn’t say much, but enough for me to know that maybe Maya didn’t actually fall on her own.”
Murphy doesn’t speak for a beat. He just leans back, chewing slowly. “Christ.”
“Yeah.”
“You doing alright with all that?” he asks, quieter now.
“I think so. I mean, it’s not about me. But it’s hard, seeing her carry so much and still smile like she’s okay.”
“And Maya?”
I smile, but it feels fragile. “She’s letting me in. Bit by bit. Told me a little about him last night. Enough to make me want to drive a thousand miles and knock the guy out, but I won’t. I just want to be someone she doesn’t have to tiptoe around.”
Murphy claps me on the shoulder. “You already are, big man. Lila trusts you. Maya let you teach her daughter to skate. That’s not small.”
“I just want to be safe for them. Unshakably safe. No pressure. No noise. Just solid ground.”
Ollie returns, towel around his neck, grinning. “Did I miss the emotional heart-to-heart? Damn it. I was hoping for tears.”
Murphy tosses a towel at him. “Jacko’s in love, Ol. Be respectful.”
Ollie gasps dramatically. “Does this mean you’re going to bake wedding cupcakes now? Maybe a protein-infused wedding cake?”
“I’m not in love,” I mumble.
Murphy snorts. “Mate. You made her kid hot chocolate with extra cream and marshmallows. You’re gone.”
I don’t argue. Because maybe I am.
By the end of training, I’m half-wiped, but I pack up a separate container of muffins I tucked aside. The ones with cinnamon and extra banana, Lila’s favourite.
I tell the guys I’ll see them tomorrow, and head to the bakery.
My chest tightens a little as I park outside. Not nerves but the kind of anticipation that feels like something good could happen.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll smile when she sees me walk through the door.
She does. That smile, small, surprised, the kind that starts in her eyes and slowly takes over her whole face, it’s better than any goal horn.
“You always show up with muffins?” she asks, wiping flour from her hands.
“Only for people who deserve them,” I say, holding up the Tupperware.
She arches a brow. “Flattery and banana muffins? Dangerous combination.”
I step behind the counter before she can stop me and set the container down. Lila’s sitting on a stool near the back, colouring with pink-stained fingers.
“Hi, Bear!” she chirps, grinning.
“Hey, Jellybean.” I ruffle her hair. “You hungry?”
She nods like a bobblehead. Maya gives me a mock stern look. “You’re going to spoil her.”
“Good,” I say, peeling back the lid and offering the container like its sacred treasure. “Spoiling is kind of my thing.”
Maya laughs, that low, rich sound that makes my chest go soft. “Is it? I thought baking was your thing.”
“Multi-talented,” I say. “Want to see how good I am at cleaning counters?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, but her eyes are warm.
We move around each other easily. I wipe flour, she pipes icing. Lila chatters about rainbows and unicorns and how I made her not fall yesterday. I glance at Maya when she says that. She’s not smiling, but she’s not stiff either.
After a while, Maya drops onto the stool next to me, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Thanks for coming by.”
“I like it here,” I say simply. “Feels good.”
She watches me. Not guarded. Just thoughtful.
“Would it be weird,” I add, “if I said I missed you this morning?”
Her mouth quirks. “A little.”
“But still flattering?”
“Possibly.”
We’re quiet for a second. Then she leans forward and nudges the muffins toward me. “You’re going to make me fat.”
“I doubt that. You’ve got the metabolism of a hummingbird.”
Maya rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush, and I decide I’d give up every puck I’ve ever hit just to see that pink there again.
I reach over slowly, brushing a smudge of icing from the tip of her nose. “You missed a spot.”
“Oh?” Her breath catches slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.
I swipe the icing away gently with my thumb, then let it linger, just for a moment, before dropping my hand to hers on the counter. “I’m partial to messy bakers.”
She swallows, and I can see her thinking, processing, assessing, trying not to bolt.
“You’re very sure of yourself today,” she murmurs.
“Only because you’re smiling.”
That gets me a real one. A little crooked, all mischief. “That so?”
“Mhm.” I lean in, tilting my head just enough. “Might try my luck, if that’s alright.”
She doesn’t stop me. In fact, she tilts up first, slightly, and I meet her halfway.
The kiss is soft. No heat behind it, not yet. Just warm lips, a brush of breath, a shared stillness in the middle of a flour-dusted chaos. It’s over in a second, but my heart thunders like I just scored in overtime.
Maya pulls back, blinking, and gives me a look that’s all mock-stern. “You kissed me in front of my child.”
“Barely.” I grin. “Besides, she’s focused on her unicorn with wings.”
“Pegacorn,” Lila calls helpfully without looking up.
I grin wider. “Exactly.”
Maya huffs, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. “You’re trouble.”
“Yeah,” I say, brushing her knuckles with my thumb, “but the good kind, right?”
She leans in again, bolder this time, and kisses me quick and sweet. “Don’t push it, Owen.”
I pretend to zip my lips. “Silent as a scone.”
She snorts. “That’s not a saying.”
“It is now.”
I reach into the container and hand her one of the muffins I saved specially. “Eat. Before you faint dramatically into the buttercream.”
She rolls her eyes, but she takes it. Takes a bite, then groans quietly. “You’re actually evil.”
I wink. “Diabolically soft-hearted.”
Lila’s humming to herself as she sticks star-shaped stickers all over an empty muffin box like it’s a prized art project.
I glance over, and my chest does that quiet thud it always does when I see them like this, like they’re already mine, even if I haven’t earned the right to say so yet.
She sees me watching and quirks a brow. “You always clean like you’re auditioning for the tidy Olympics?”
“Only when I’m trying to impress the head judge,” I say, flicking the tea towel over my shoulder.
She smirks but looks away too fast, cheeks pink. And for a moment, I let myself look, at the soft slope of her shoulders, the tired edge to her smile, the way her hair keeps falling in her eyes and she doesn’t bother fixing it.
She catches me staring and rolls her eyes. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like I’m a cake you want to eat but are too polite to touch.”
I grin, walking over slowly. “Maybe I’m trying to figure out your recipe.”
“Good luck. I’m full of unpredictable ingredients.”
“That’s my favourite kind,” I murmur, stepping between her knees.
She doesn’t move away. If anything, she leans in, just a breath closer. I swear I can feel her heartbeat matching mine.
But before I can say something completely ridiculous, Lila pipes up, “Bear?”
I turn. “Yeah, Jellybean?”
She abandons her sticker project, walking over with her hands clasped behind her back like she’s about to deliver a formal presentation.
“When are we going skating again?” she asks, blinking up at me.
Maya gently shifts on the counter. “Lila…”
Lila turns to her mum, wide-eyed. “I’m not askin’ for a toy or sweets, I promise. Just skatin’. That’s not the same.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence.
Maya’s lip’s part, like she wants to say no on principle, but then she looks at me. At the way I kneel down, open arms, waiting for Lila like it’s second nature now.
Lila climbs straight into my lap, fits there like she’s done it a hundred times. Her small hands rest on my chest. Her curls tickle my chin.
I glance up at Maya. “Anytime she wants,” I say softly. “Anytime either of you want.”
Her expression shifts, something fragile and fierce flickering through it all at once. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. And finally, she just nods.
Lila rests her head against me, thumb in her mouth now. Safe. Settled.
“Bear makes me not fall,” she murmurs, eyes already drifting shut.
My throat goes tight.
“I got you, Jellybean,” I whisper into her curls. “Always.”
When I glance back at Maya, her arms are folded tight across her chest, but not in that guarded way she used to carry herself. No, this is something else. Bracing against the swell of feeling she’s not sure she can hold. Her eyes are glassy, and she won’t meet mine.
I don’t push her.
I just stay there on the bakery floor, holding her daughter like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched.
And in that quiet moment, full of sugar and flour and the hush of a long day ending, something unspoken passes between the three of us.
Hope. Or the start of something that feels a lot like it.