Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
MAYA
There’s a war zone on my bed.
Well, less blood, more cotton.
Dresses, jeans, a polka-dot skirt I didn’t even know I still owned. Lila’s clothes are piled beside mine in tiny, colourful heaps, like a rainbow exploded in miniature. She’s currently modelling a tutu and butterfly wings, spinning in circles with one sock on.
“You think we’re overdressed?” I ask her, biting my lip as I hold up a pale pink blouse and a navy wrap dress, trying to see which one makes me look less like someone who hasn’t slept properly in four years.
Lila stops spinning. “It’s a party.”
“Right,” I sigh. “But it’s also a hockey party. So, they probably just wear tracksuits. And protein powder. And testosterone.” I mutter to myself.
Lila gasps. “What’s testrone?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, sweetie.”
She climbs onto the bed and pats my hand. “Wear the blue dress. You look like a princess.”
My heart does a funny lurch.
God help me, my daughter’s going to rule the world one day.
I glance at the time. Owen said he’d pick us up at noon, and it’s already eleven-thirty. That gives me thirty minutes to spiral further and consider faking a migraine.
I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale shakily. I don’t do events like this. Baby showers. Gender reveals. Crowds of beautiful women in coordinated pastel tones who know how to contour and walk in heels without looking like a newborn deer.
It’s not that I don’t want to go. Sophie invited my herself, after Owen had asked me and I said I’d think about it. She’s been nothing but lovely, texting me updates on her morning sickness and asking about the cupcakes with actual excitement.
But still.
I don’t belong in that world. Not really. I’ve lived too many years in the shadows, blending in, making myself small. I don’t know how to stand next to a man like Owen and not feel like everyone’s wondering what the hell he’s doing with me.
“Mummy?”
Lila’s voice breaks through the storm in my head.
She tilts her head, frowning. “Are we not going?”
I swallow. “We are.”
And just like that, there’s a knock at the door.
My pulse spikes. “That’ll be…”
“BEAR!” Lila squeals, launching herself off the bed like a tiny cannonball.
I follow her down the hall, heart tap dancing in my chest. I open the door to find Owen standing there with a box of cupcakes balanced on one hand and a grin that hits me square in the ribs.
He’s in a navy jumper and jeans. Hair still damp from a shower. He looks unfairly good for a man who once told me he owns seven identical black t-shirts.
“Morning, girls.”
Lila is already clinging to his leg. “Bear, look! I’ve got wings!”
“I see that,” he chuckles, squatting to her level. “Are you going to fly around the party and sprinkle fairy dust on everyone?”
“I might.”
He winks. “You’re my favourite fairy.”
She beams, and my chest does that soft ache again.
When he straightens, he turns to me, eyes raking over the navy wrap dress I finally chose.
“You look…” He whistles, low and admiring. “Maya. You’re gonna start a riot.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Not even a little.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling.
And then his voice softens. “You okay?”
I don’t answer right away.
Instead, I gesture to the tray of cupcakes, all carefully iced and filled with blue or pink cream depending on the gender Sophie and Murphy gave us last week. “If I say no, do you still want the cupcakes?”
He grins. “Always. But I’d rather have you.”
God. I hate how he does that. Cuts through all the noise in my head as though it’s nothing. Like my worry isn’t the loudest thing in the room.
“You don’t have to come if you’re not up for it,” he says gently. “I’ll tell them something came up.”
I glance at Lila, who’s now spinning again, wings catching the light. And then at Owen, who’s holding out his free hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I slide mine into his. Warm, solid, grounding.
“I want to,” I say. “I’m just…”
“Nervous?”
“Terrified.”
He lifts my knuckles to his lips. “Then I’ll be your safety net.”
And that’s enough.
By the time we arrive at the event, I’ve taken roughly thirty calming breaths, wiped Lila’s sticky fingers twice, and listened to Owen hum along to Fleetwood Mac like the world’s least threatening bodyguard.
He carries the cupcakes in like they’re made of gold, nodding hellos to teammates and partners as we pass. The room is decked out in soft balloons and pastel bunting, a table full of gifts near the back, and a glittering banner that says Pucks or Pearls?
It’s beautiful.
It’s also mildly overwhelming.
Sophie spots us instantly, belly bump and all, and waves us over with a huge smile.
“Maya! You came!” She pulls me into a gentle hug, careful not to crush the box of cupcakes. “You look amazing,” she says, eyes wide. “And oh my God, Lila! Look at your wings!”
Lila beams. “I’m a party fairy.”
“I love it.”
Sophie ushers us toward the main table where the reveal cupcakes are placed front and centre. Owen leans down and whispers in my ear, “You’re already a hit.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah,” he grins. “I can barely hear the protein powder judging you.”
I elbow him, but it makes me laugh.
And then he does something that stops me cold.
He takes my hand. In front of everyone. Like it’s not even a question. Like I’m not a maybe. Like I belong. And the tension in my chest, months and years of it, softens.
Ollie and Dylan wander over, both grinning like idiots.
“Mate,” Ollie says, “you didn’t say the cupcakes came with the baker.”
“She’s not a freebie,” Owen warns, wrapping an arm around my waist.
Dylan holds out a hand. “Maya, right? I’ve heard so much about you. This guy never shuts up.”
“Has he told you about the time he overwhipped the cream and called it frosting soup?” I ask sweetly.
Owen groans. “Don’t turn them against me.”
Too late. Ollie’s already laughing.
Lila tugs on Owen’s jumper. “Can I show everyone my wings?”
He nods. “Absolutely. Go dazzle them, Jellybean.”
She flutters off, and just like that, she breaks the ice.
She twirls. She compliments someone’s earrings. She offers a grown man a plastic tiara.
Everyone melts.
And when I glance around, I realise I’m not out of place anymore.
Because my daughter just owns the room.
And because Owen’s next me like I’m someone worth standing beside.
The shower unfolds in a soft blur of games I barely understand, a bingo sheet I lose in my bag, a moment where Sophie opens a gift and cries because it’s her late grandmother’s baby blanket. We clap, we laugh, we eat far too many mini sausage rolls.
And then it’s time for the reveal.
Sophie holds the cupcake tray like it’s a sacred relic.
“Alright,” she announces. “On the count of three…”
Everyone leans in. Lila claps.
“One… two… three!”
Teeth sink into icing. And then…
Blue.
Cheers erupt. Murphy fist-pumps and Sophie cries again.
And beside me, Owen just smiles.
He leans close. “Wanna try one?”
“I already know what’s inside,” I tease.
“Humour me.”
He feeds me a bite, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. And suddenly, the whole world narrows to this moment. Sugar on my lips. His hand on my hip.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmurs.
I glance up. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth he’s ever known. “And I’m lucky you let me near you.”
I don’t answer.
I just lean into him and let the safety net catch me again.
Later, when the party winds down and the lights grow soft, I find Lila asleep in a pile of balloons and streamers. Owen picks her up like she weighs nothing, her wings askew and her curls damp from all the dancing.
“She had fun,” he murmurs.
“She’s never met a room she couldn’t charm.”
He pauses by the door, Lila’s cheek resting on his shoulder.
“I’m proud of you, you know.”
I blink. “Why?”
“For showing up. For staying. For being brave.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “It wasn’t just me.”
“No,” he agrees. “It was us.”
We drive home with soft music playing and silence that doesn’t feel heavy anymore.
When he walks us to the door, he doesn’t rush. He just stands there, Lila snoring softly against his chest, and waits for me to meet his eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Maya.”
“I know. But I want to.”
He smiles.
And then he kisses me and its gentle, sweet and lingering. A promise made in frosting and fairy wings.
And I’m not afraid anymore. Because this, this is real. And I’m ready.