Chapter 46
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
JACKO
Lila’s voice floats down the hall like a sleepy song. “Bear…?”
I sit up, disoriented for a second before I remember they’re here. Safe. In my house. The light slants golden through the blinds, and Maya’s still curled next to me, one hand fisted in the sheets like she’s mid-dream. I press a kiss to her temple and slip out of bed.
I find Lila standing in the hallway, wrapped in her Raptors hoodie that nearly touches the floor. She looks around like she’s not quite sure if she’s still dreaming. “This isn’t our house,” she says, soft and frowning.
“Nope. You’re in mine. Just for a bit,” I say, crouching to her level. “Your window’s getting fixed, remember? So you’re here until everything’s safe again.”
She blinks. “Does Dave live here too?”
I grin. “Sure does. Want to feed him?”
Her nod is slow, like she’s not quite sure what that means, but she takes my hand anyway and lets me lead her into the kitchen. I lift her onto the counter and then remove the cloth off my sourdough starter. “Meet Dave. He’s very high maintenance.”
Lila leans in, squinting at the bubbly mess. “He looks like slime.”
“He’s basically bread slime. But magical. He eats flour and water and farts bubbles.”
She giggles. “Bread farts?”
“The very best kind.”
We mix up his morning meal together, measuring out the flour, adding warm water, stirring with an old wooden spoon. Lila gets flour on her nose and looks very serious when I tell her she’s officially Dave’s new stepmama.
By the time Maya wanders in, barefoot and sleepy-eyed in my hoodie, Lila’s giggling over pancake batter and explaining to Dave that he can’t eat syrup because “he’s already too bubbly.”
Maya stops in the doorway, eyes wide and soft like maybe this is all too good to be real.
“Hey,” I say.
She simply smiles. “I’ve never seen her like this in the morning. She’s usually a gremlin.”
“I bribed her with pancakes and bread farts,” I say, flipping a pancake. “Works every time.”
After breakfast, we pile onto the couch, laptop open and balanced on my knees while Lila scrolls through an endless stream of kids’ beds.
“This one has a slide and a tent!” she exclaims, pointing.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a whole fortress.”
But beside me, Maya shifts slightly. Just enough for me to feel it.
“How about this one?” she says gently, nudging the laptop toward a plain white wooden bed. No bells. No whistles. Half the price.
Lila frowns. “But that one’s boring.”
“It’s still really nice,” Maya says. “And we could decorate it with some stickers, maybe. Or fairy lights.”
My stomach twists. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s worrying about money. About depending on me. About asking for too much. I close the laptop gently and look at both of them.
“Lila, sweetheart,” I say, “you can have whichever bed you want. Even the one with the slide and the tent.” Maya opens her mouth, but I cut in gently before she can argue.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I tell her softly.
“But I want to do this. I can do this. And honestly, I want her to have the kind of room that makes her light up like she just did.”
Maya’s quiet. Lila’s watching both of us with wide eyes.
I reach out, cup Maya’s hand in mine. “You’ve done everything on your own for so long. But you don’t have to anymore. Let me do this. For her. For you.”
She blinks hard, and I see the way her throat works like she’s trying to swallow the part of her that always says no. Always says she doesn’t deserve this.
Finally, she nods. Just once. But it’s everything.
Lila crawls into her lap with a victorious squeal. “I get the bed with the slide!”
“I’ll order it right now,” I say.
And I do.
An hour later, we’re in my truck headed to the home store. Lila’s in the back seat with my phone, scrolling through pictures of unicorn duvets. Maya’s beside me, still a little dazed, her hand curled in mine on the console.
“I haven’t been wallpaper shopping since I was a kid,” she murmurs.
“Did you pick something fun then?”
She lets out a tiny huff of laughter. “I wanted clouds. My mum promised we’d do it together after her night shift. She never got the chance.”
I glance over, heart aching.
“Then clouds it is,” I say.
At the store, Lila dashes between aisles like she’s on a treasure hunt. She picks out rainbow bedding, a matching cloud pillow, and a set of glow-in-the-dark stars. Maya trails behind her, watching like she’s afraid to breathe too loud and shatter the moment.
When we get to the wallpaper aisle, Maya stops in front of a roll with soft watercolour clouds in dusky pastels.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask her quietly.
She nods, fingers brushing over the paper. “Exactly.”
“Then let’s make sure it goes up on her walls.”
She looks at me, eyes shining. “You’re going to make me cry in the middle of B books, her star projector, the soft grey rabbit she sleeps with. I grab a few more of Maya’s clothes, a couple of cookbooks, and the folder of papers she keeps in the top kitchen drawer with emergency contacts and Lila’s drawings.
When we’re loading it all into the truck, Ollie nudges me with his elbow.
“Tell her soon,” he says. “Before someone else builds her a bunk bed with a damn drawbridge.”