I’m transported back to the first time I ever held her in my arms—just hours after she was born, her tiny body swaddled in a blue and pink striped blanket, her face barely visible beneath the little striped hat they stuck on her head. I remember my first thought as I looked down at her sleeping face:What the fuck am I doing?
I was just twenty years old. A rookie still with theSan Diego Suns. Barely able to take care of myself. Financially, I had plenty of money, but in every other way I still felt like a kid. I didn’t know how to cook a single meal for myself. Didn’t know how to be a husband to my new wife let alone a good dad. But her mom had promised we’d figure it out together. She was two years older than me. Wiser, steadier. A good mother. And maybe that’s part of why I married her. I felt like she would always make up for what I lacked. And then three years later, she was gone.
I shake my head, shoving the memory down. I didn’t come home to get lost in the past; I came home to fire Brianna.
I step back from the couch, catching her eye again. I jerk my chin toward the kitchen, silently telling her to follow me. She quirks an eyebrow, then motions something back at me—a little flick of her hand that makes no fucking sense.
I narrow my eyes. “Just talk. She’s a deep sleeper.”
She exhales, a long, noisy breath, like she’d been holding it in the entire time Sawyer was curled up next to her. Something about that makes me huff out a quiet laugh.
“Should you help her to bed?” she asks in a hushed voice, looking up at me.
“Yeah.” I step around the couch and scoop her into my arms.
The weight of her hits me instantly. It’s heavier than I remember, solid and warm against my chest. The ache isn’t just in my muscles now; it’s deeper than that, something raw and unspoken that’s clawing at my ribs. She’s so damn big.
When did this happen? No matter how much she grows, when I look at her, I still see the little two-year-old who used to sprint toward me the second I walked through the door after a stretch of away games, arms up, eyes alight with joy as she would shout outdaddy!Now she’s all limbs and soft angles, her once-round cheeks are hollowing out, her features shifting into something more mature, something that terrifies the hell out of me because it means I’m running out of time. Time to influence her to make smarter choices than I have. Time to teach her that all men are shit and she shouldn’t trust a single one of them.
I carry her upstairs to her room and tuck her in, watching as she melts into the blankets without so much as a twitch. She’s always been like this—able to fall asleep anywhere, dead to the world until morning. I’m jealous of it, wish I was able to relax that easily. It’s unusual for her to knock out this early, though. Which means she must have had a lot of fun with Bri today.
I hesitate for a second before smoothing her hair back, then turn and head to the bathroom off the primary bedroom to collect myself before I go downstairs and face Bri. The moment I flick on the bathroom light, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Yikes.I look rough.
Practice drained the hell out of me today, and we’re only a week out from our season opener, a home game next weekend. I can’t afford to be dragging ass now when the whole team is depending on me to somehow shine as the newest Tremblay brother to the team.
I splash some water on my face, rake a hand through my already-messy hair, then freeze when I realize what’s happening. What the fuck am I doing? Am I...primpingfor my talk with Bri?
I stare at my reflection, my jaw clenches. Why am I fixing my hair before going back downstairs?
Because you can’t stop thinking about her naked, dumbass, and your dick thinks you’re about to walk into her pussy again.
I grip the counter, exhaling sharply.
Get your shit together.
Just go down there and fire her.
It’s not personal. It’s business.Well, it’s a little personal too.
I yank at the drawstring on my sweatpants as if I can somehow tighten them to the point of cutting the blood supply off to my dick then stand up taller and roll my shoulders back. When I make it downstairs, she’s in the kitchen, busying herself like she belongs here. Wiping down countertops, pressing the start button on the dishwasher. I should say something. But instead, I just…watch her.
Like a fucking creep.
The tight jeans she’s wearing hug her ass in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything but her out of them. And her soft brown hair is currently spilling out of the bun she had it in this morning and down over her shoulders. Even though she’s probably exhausted, she’s moving about with a smile on her face like she’s thinking about something happy which makes what I need to do now ten times worse.
“You don’t have to do all that,” I say finally breaking the silence.
Her brows dip but she doesn’t stop cleaning. “Have you ever hired a professional nanny before?”
I step closer as she grabs a glass, drying it with a towel. “Yeah. Once, right after Sawyer’s mom died.” My voice comes out rough. It isn’t hard to talk about Sawyer’s mom anymore. It’s been a long time since she passed away. But I know it can make other people uncomfortable. “Nine years ago.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t look at me. She just keeps drying the glass with extra attention, then moves to the cupboard and puts it away like she already knows where everything belongs. And I bet she does. She seems like the type to come in and scope out the place before she starts working. Like a modern-daySnow White and I’m just one of the dwarfs, caught up in her allure.
Dopey or Grumpy if I had to pick one.
“Well, then you should know that cleaning is just part of the gig,” she responds.
