Page 23 of Pucking Daddy

"You made me happy breakfast!" She scrambles onto her chair, still in her dragon pajamas.

"I did. But we have to eat fast, okay? We need to leave in forty-five minutes.”

"Daddy already left." Lily stabs a pancake with her fork. "He leaves super early on practice days."

"I know." I keep my voice light, casual. Like I haven't spent half the night replaying that tense moment in the kitchen when Jaxon and I stood three feet apart, both of us clearly remembering things neither of us could acknowledge. "That's why I'm here, remember? To help out."

"I'm glad you're here." Lily grins at me with chocolate smeared on her chin. "You're way more fun than Mrs. Henriksen. She doesn't make happy pancakes."

Something warm unfurls in my chest. Kids. They have this way of cutting through all the complicated adult nonsense and making everything simple again.

"Well, Mrs. Henriksen has other talents. She keeps this place running like a well-oiled machine."

"What's a well-oiled machine?"

"Something that works really smoothly."

"Like Daddy's team?"

I pause with my coffee mug halfway to my lips. "I don't know much about hockey, actually."

Lily's eyes go wide. "You don't know about hockey?"

"Nope."

"But it's the best sport ever!" She launches into an explanation that involves a lot of hand gestures and sound effects, and I find myself smiling despite the anxious knot that has taken up permanent residence in my stomach.

After I get Lily ready—pigtails secured, backpack checked for homework—we head out together, and I drop her off at school before making my way back to the apartment, trying to figure out what exactly my job looks like here.

Mrs. Henriksen handles the cleaning and most of the cooking, and she’ll still support with childcare as needed. My contract specifies childcare, school pickup, activity coordination, and “household management as needed.”

Whatever that means in a household run by a single dad who also happens to coach professional hockey.

I am reorganizing Lily's art supplies when my phone buzzes. Danny's face pops up on the screen.

"Tell me everything," he says the second I answer. "You've been there since yesterday and I've only gotten like three texts."

"I've been busy." I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, sorting crayons by color. "The job is... intense."

"Intense how? Rich people intense or actually difficult intense?"

Both. Neither. I don't know how to explain that the real intensity has nothing to do with the job itself.

"The little girl is great," I say instead. "Lily. She's six, really smart, obsessed with dragons and hockey."

"And the dad? You said he’s a famous hockey coach guy?"

My hand tightens around a purple crayon. "He's fine. Professional. We haven't talked much. I only saw him last night."

I leave out the part where we definitely did more than just talk two nights ago. My stomach clenches.

Danny and I don't keep secrets from each other—we've been through too much for that. But how am I supposed to tell my baby brother that I slept with my boss before he became my boss?

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Danny's voice softens. "I know you wanted this fresh start, Z. But if it's not working out—"

"It's working out." I make myself smile, hoping he can hear it. "I promise. This is exactly what I need."

After we hang up, I finish organizing and then tackle the kitchen. Meal planning for the week. A grocery list that accounts for Lily's preferences and what I assume are Jaxon's nutritional needs as a former athlete.