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“I’m buying you earmuffs for Christmas.”
She snorts—like that’s gonna stop me. “She’s mad at you too.”
“Your mom.”
“Uh-hh. ‘Cause you’re gonna play at the All Star thingy even though your doctor said you might hurt yourself again.”
“How does she know about that?”
“August told Isaac about it, and he told Auntie Luna and she told Mom.”
Jesus, it’s like a never ending game of Telephone around here.
“Why would you play if you’re gonna get hurt?”
“It’s complicated, kid.”
“Is it ‘cause you miss it?”
“A little.” When Rory shifts, scowling at her lap, I shake her gently. “What’s that face?”
Reluctantly, she grumbles. “I don’t miss it. I like when you’re here.”
My arm tightens around her, my heart aching. “I like being here. But it’s my job, Ro.”
“Get a different job.”
I reign in a snort, fighting to keep my expression matching her oh-so-serious one. “I kinda love this one.”
“More than you love Sunday?”
Fuck me. “It’s complicated,” I repeat, immediately sensing how much she doesn’t like that answer, but luckily, she doesn’t get to express her dislike.
“Aurora Cassandra Silva.” A deep, accented voice has her mouth snapping shut, her golden eyes opening wide. “O que está fazendo?”
“Nada, Papai.” Rapidly blinking the eyes she inherited from her father, the long, dark lashes she got from him too fluttering, Rory executes a perfectly pitiful pout. “I couldn’t sleep.”
It’s hilarious, really, watching Nick’s internal struggle; the knowledge that he’s being manipulated fighting against the enormous soft spot he has for his eldest daughter.
A little less hilarious, then, when I realize that’s going to be me.
“Vamos, minha luzinha.” Nick holds out a hand, jerking his head towards the front door. “Before your mother wakes up and finds you gone.”
Equal parts fear of reprimand—who knew Amelia would be the strict parent?—and the matching enormous soft spot Rory has for her father drives her off my lap and towards Nick, who gestures for her to go on ahead without him. “I wanna talk to your uncle.”
“Am I in trouble, Nicolas?”
Watching his daughter through the window as she disappears inside the house across the street, Nick smirks. “For once, no.” Only when the door closes behind Rory does he look at me. “Just heard the news and wanted to check you’re okay.”
The news. Right.
I snicker as I slump lower, my head hitting the back of the sofa with a thud. “Let’s see. I’m perfectly healthy—unless I stretch the wrong one and my shoulder rips apart. I’m playing at the All Star Game—with my rival team. And I have a contract sitting in my inbox—that, if I sign it, means I’m an eight-hour drive away from the mother of my child and our kid and August for half the year. Does that sound okay to you?”
Nick remains uncharacteristically silent for a long time before blowing out a whistling breath. “Jesus.” He flops down beside me. “This all happened today?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t know you were in talks with the Devils.”
