Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
JACKO
Ispot her the second I skate out for warmups.
Front row, right behind the Raptors bench.
Maya, wrapped up in my hoodie, and Lila beside her in full kit; jersey, beanie, even a foam finger almost as big as her head.
She waves it wildly the second she sees me.
My chest tightens and stretches all at once.
I tap my stick against the boards as I skate by. She beams. Maya mouths, “Good luck,” but it’s Lila who steals it.
“GO BEAR!” she screams, like her little lungs were built for it.
I grin under my helmet. Yeah, I hear you, kiddo.
It’s a big one tonight. Second to last game before playoffs. We need this win to lock in a spot in the championship. The other team knows it. They’ve come out swinging.
By the second period, we’re tied 2-2 and the game’s gone feral.
I’ve taken three hits I wouldn’t call clean. Neither would Jonno. He’s barking from the bench, jaw tight, eyes scanning like he wants to suit up and go in himself.
Murphy’s already bleeding from the lip. Dylan’s got a slash across his shinpad that split the tape. And I’m seeing red, not just from the scoreboard.
They’ve got a guy on the other team, number 57. Big, greasy, and smug. He’s been targeting our rookies all night, chirping, elbowing, getting under everyone’s skin. He checks Ollie hard behind the net and skates away grinning.
Ollie pops up. Tough. But I can see the wince.
That’s it.
Jonno gives me one look and a sharp nod.
I drop the gloves.
Meet him centre ice. The crowd surges to their feet. I can hear the roar through the boards. Hear Lila yelling somewhere in the chaos.
57 turns, smug expression fading fast.
Good.
He throws the first punch. Mistake.
I take it. Absorb it like breath. Then I hit back. Hard. Left, right, another left. Blood at his lip now. We spin, fists flying, jerseys stretched. I plant my feet and drop him with a clean uppercut.
The ref dives in and the crowd’s electric. I raise a fist toward our bench, toward the glass.
Lila’s waving her foam hand like mad. Maya has one hand over her mouth, but she’s smiling with relief, pride, or maybe something else.
The penalty box smells like sweat and rubber. I sit, helmet off, chest heaving. The adrenaline crashes in waves, but I watch the ice, even from behind plexi. Coach doesn’t look mad. Jonno nods once in my direction.
Murphy scores the go-ahead goal while I’m still in the box. Ollie assists. Our bench goes wild.
By the time I’m back on the ice, we’re up by one, five minutes to go. The other team’s gone quiet. We’ve taken control. We’re us again.
I skate like my bones remember why we do this. Every stride is power. Every pass is clean. When I check a guy into the boards, the whole rink vibrates. With seconds to go Dylan scores again and the stadium erupts.
Final buzzer. 4-2. Raptors win.
I lift my stick and skate toward our end. The guys pile in, all yells and back slaps. Jonno squeezes my shoulder. “That was for the team. Good fight.”
But I’m already looking toward the stands.
Maya’s still there with Lila on her hip, little foam finger waving like mad. I skate to the glass, press a gloved hand against it. Lila does the same. Her tiny palm pressed to mine through the plexi.
My throat aches.
Maya mouths, “We’re proud of you.”
I nod because I can’t quite speak yet.
Later, in the tunnel, I pull off my gear with shaking hands. Dylan claps me on the back. Murphy hands me a protein bar.
“Might make you angrier next time,” he says. “You fight better hungry.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, mate.”
Ollie grins as he passes. “Lila said you looked like a superhero.”
That hits me harder than any punch tonight.
After the post-game press and a quick shower, I find them in the hallway. Maya in that same hoodie, arms around Lila, who’s half-asleep.
“Tough game,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer, voice rough. “You okay?”
She nods. “Better now.”
I kiss Lila’s forehead. She blinks up at me.
“We win?” she mumbles.
“We did, Jellybean.”
Her smile is soft. Safe.
And I think, this is the only scoreboard I care about.
Because winning’s good. But coming home to them, that’s everything.
Lila’s out cold before we hit the main road. She’s still clutching the foam finger in one hand, cheek smushed against the side of her carseat.
Maya brushes a stray hair from her face, distracted. Her eyes are on the window, but I can feel the tension rolling off her, like she’s bracing for something, even in the silence.
I flick the blinker and clear my throat. “Hey,” I say softly. “I’ve been thinking.”
Her head turns. Just enough for her to glance at me, wary. “That’s never good.”
I huff a laugh. “I want to take you out. Just you and me.”
She blinks. “Like… on a date?”
“Yeah. A proper one. Not takeaway containers after bedtime or pizza on the couch while we fold laundry. A real night out. Food, drinks, maybe dessert that I didn’t bake.”
Her laugh is faint but real. “You want to go somewhere you don’t control the kitchen?”
I grin. “Risky, I know.”
She shifts in her seat slightly to face me, the movement careful. “And who’s going to watch Lila?”
“I already asked Ollie.”
That gets her attention. She twists to face me properly now, brow furrowed. “You what?”
“Don’t worry. I ran it by him first. He said he’s in. Reckons they can build a pillow fort and watch Moana. He’s bringing snacks.”
“Ollie?” she echoes, uncertain. “To babysit?”
“Yeah. Look, I wouldn’t trust just anyone with her. You know that. But Ollie’s solid. She knows him. He’s gentle, and he once cried during Finding Nemo. The man’s got a squishy core.”
Maya exhales, tension held in that breath. “It’s not that I don’t trust him. I just… I don’t leave her. Not with anyone really.”
“I know.” I reach across the console, let my hand rest lightly on her knee. “But I want this. Just a couple hours. You and me. Nothing complicated. Just time.”
She’s quiet a moment. I can see the argument forming behind her eyes. Fear. Guilt. Habit.
Then she looks at Lila, soft and safe in her arms. And back at me.
“You’re sure he’s okay with it? You sure Lila will be safe?”
“Yeah. He said, and I quote, ‘Tell Maya she’s overdue for a night off, and Lila’s overdue for the Ollie Experience.’ He’s already picked a playlist.”
Her lips twitch.
“I promise, if she so much as yawns weird, he’ll call us.”
Another pause. Then she nods, slow and small. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, turning to check on Lila in the rear of the truck. “But I’m texting him a six-page emergency protocol.”
“Sounds about right.”
I glance at her again. This time, she’s not looking out the window. She’s looking at me. And there’s a softness there that makes something in my chest ease.
I turn onto our road.
Coming home never felt like this before.