Page 3 of Hockey Nanny

“You’re so cool!” Henry grinned up at me, “I wish you were my dad.”

I was stunned for a moment, but Henry didn’t seem to notice. He and the girl Boone had skated with hobbled off to join their friends, all of them yapping about how fast the two of them had been moving.

Beside me, Boone watched them go, tossing damp hair from his eyes. “That one seems to have taken a liking to you. Good job, you’re not a complete Grinch,” but his compliment fell flat when he added, “You know… Angie seems to like you too—”

“God, go choke on a hockey puck.” I rolled my eyes before my gaze travelled back to Henry. “I wish there was something more I could do for him.”

“Don’t we all,” Boone sighed, ruffling my hair the way heknewgot on my nerves. “You can’t take on everyone’s problems, dude. You do way too much as is.”

I slapped his hand away, and Boone chuckled, lazily skating off. Probably to go bother Gage, wherever the guy was hiding. I didn’t watch him go; instead, I watched Henry, who was currently putting everything I’d taught him to good use, while also teaching the rest of his crew how to keep steady on their feet.

He was a bright kid, a sweet kid, and I meant what I said before. I wished I could somehow do more for him…

I wish you were my dad.

The idea crept in softly. I didn’t even know it was there until it had taken root. Until the answer seemed obvious.

2

~

Carissa

3 Months Later

“Has it ever occurred to you, Carissa, that you might be a workaholic?”

I balanced the cellphone between my ear and shoulder as I merged into late-morning traffic. “No, Dad.” I kept my tone chipper despite rolling my eyes. “Not even once. And if I am, I got it from you.”

“Smartass.” Was the disgruntled, albeit fond, reply.

I stared at the blinker, tapping an impatient finger on the steering wheel. My father wasn’t pressing the topic, but I felt the need to defend my choices anyway.

“I can handle this, and besides, school won’t pay for itself.” I switched lanes, side-eyeing a speeding delivery van. “And, this gig means a place to live while I’m between apartments. It’s a win-win, really.”

My father hemmed and hawed on the other end of the line before finally saying what I had hoped he wouldn’t. “You know I’m happy to help you out financially, right? You should be focusing on school, not running yourself ragged taking care of someone’s kid.”

“I’m good, Dad, really.” I softened my voice. “You do too much for me already.”

My dad, ever the overachiever, grunted at that. “Not possible.”

“Yes, it is.” I scolded while the GPS announced my next turn. “You bought me that headset I needed for flight training, you spend all of your spare time coaching me, you even fixed my car when the mechanic called it a lost cause.” I took the turn gently and switched the cell to my other ear. “And Ilikemy job, thank you very much.”

The faint muttering on the other end of the line told me I’d won that argument. And it was true, I liked being a nanny. Growing up, Dad had done his job as a single parent, and he’d done it well, but somehow I’d still ended up lonely. He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Being a nanny allowed me to be the person I needed back then, a friend and confidant to another lonely little kid.

Coasting down the road in what seemed to be an obscenely wealthy neighborhood, my GPS announced my destination coming up on the right.

“Uh, Dad? I gotta go,” I murmured, stunned by the sprawling lawns and fancy gates, every house standing three stories high and no doubt exorbitantly expensive.

“Alright, good luck, Whirlybird,” my dad grumbled, using the only pet name I approved of. “Just don’t let your studies fall by the wayside, okay? You’re so close to getting that pilot's license, and you promised me a helicopter trip, remember?”

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “I won’t get distracted, I promise.”

I hung up and took a corner, turning into the long, winding driveway that took me to a tall, white gate. Spying an intercom set up just outside, I wound the window down and was immediately hit with the dry, scorching impact of the Arizona summer heat.

“God,” I groaned as I hit the button on the intercom, already sweating in my modest shirt and skirt.

To my absolute horror, the intercom buzzed to life faster than expected, and a bored voice crackled over the line. “God? Sorry, you must have the wrong gate.”