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22

JESS

Liam is out late which is not at all like him. I imagine him brooding in a dimly lit bar over an amber-colored drink with ice cubes in it.

Fast asleep, KJ is probably dreaming of puppies and playdough. I wish I could say I was halfway there myself—I’ll keep the puppies. Could do without the playdough. I’ve been finding little dried pieces of it everywhere, including in my hair. Instead, I’ve been stewing on the sofa.

That rascal has no right to tell me what to wear. But that’s the least of it. We were there because we had important news to share. The man’s priorities are off.

All he thinks about is hockey this, hockey that. All hockey all the time.

I text Cara, wondering if Pierre is like that too. Not that I’m thinking about having anything more than a working relationship with Liam. The janitorial job in the locker room isn’t looking so bad. Unless the entire team are clones of number forty-five.

Me: Ellis had a temper fit in the hallway earlier.

Cara: I heard. I was going to call.

Me: Why is he so moody?

Cara: Well, you were wearing someone else’s jersey.

Me: First, I was showing team spirit. Second, he explicitly told me NOT to wear his jersey.

Then again, I have been intent on breaking his stupid rules.

Cara: That tells you everything you need to know.

Before I can ask her to elaborate, the key sounds in the lock. I startle as if caught doing something naughty. Gathering my things, I make a beeline for the door.

Liam with his massive frame blocks it and doesn’t say a word.

“Pardon me, I’ll be getting out of here , Mr. Ellis,” I say, parroting his dismissal earlier.

He doesn’t budge.

I usually give him a rundown of what he missed while gone. Maybe he’s waiting to hear it. I remind myself to be professional. “There’s a celebration cake on the counter. I hope you eat all of it and get a stomach ache.” My tone is normal even though the words are anything but, yet they just spilled out of me.

His eyebrows lift as if surprised to hear me say something that’s not sweet.

Lifting my gaze to his and doing my best to straighten to my full height, I punctuate my comment with a sunny smile.

He rubs the back of his neck and winces. “I messed up.”

Dropping back slightly with surprise, I nod in agreement. “You did.”

“I wasn’t ready. No one knows.”

“No one knows that hockey’s biggest baddie is a dad?”

Liam’s expression tightens as if stubbornly trying to fit into a pair of skates he’s outgrown. “It’s none of their business.”

“I don’t understand why it’s a secret. KJ is great.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “I’m not.”

“What about your family?”

“Were you listening?”

I narrow my eyes at him, prepared to explain why we showed up at the arena even though I now regret it. Even though I don’t feel like I owe him an explanation. “We received the results of your son’s audiology testing today. Got really good news. I couldn’t get ahold of you. We told Grandma Dolly, baked a cake, and wanted to surprise you.”

“So you showed up at the Ice Palace wearing some loser’s jersey.”

My jaw tightens. “That was your takeaway?”

He grunts.

“Also, if I’m not mistaken, that loser is on your team and so am I. Er, was. Despite being a captain, you really don’t play well with others.”

“My job is to lead.”

“I don’t know how your coach evaluates your performance, but if it were up to me, you’d get maybe one gold star instead of five. The example you’re setting for your son could use improvement.”

“Good thing you’re not my coach.”

The comment reminds me that I’m nothing to this man other than the person who fetches his coffee, makes his appointments, and takes care of the son he may very well be ashamed of.

My nose twitches and my eyes tingle. “I thought it would be nice for you, for us, to be there to tell you that KJ has some hearing ability.” I start to tell him the prognosis and the super positive outlook the doctor had for some hearing with assistance in KJ’s future. Grandma Dolly was ecstatic. It was, dare I say, music to her ears.

How does Mr. Meanie respond? With a curt nod.

Liquid brims in my eyes. “You don’t care, do you?”

Liam’s nostrils flare.

Anger burns through all the positive slogans, affirmations, and upbeat quips I arm myself with to combat the ever-present shadow of pain from my own childhood, where no one cared until Grandma Dolly came along.

Squaring up to him, I say, “If it weren’t for KJ, I’d quit and write you a strongly worded letter, including but not limited to I hope you’re happy with your stupid, solitary existence where the only thing that keeps you company is the ice which will never keep you warm at night.”

Liam’s chest heaves like he’s going to explode.

I stand my ground, unafraid. “You try to be all big and intimidating. When really you’re just a miserable, lonely, sad, sad man.”

His face hardens and he remains unmoved, a stony pillar of ice, chilling everything around him.

“There’s nothing you could do to me that hasn’t already been done and yet I am still standing, Liam Ellis. I will stand up for your son and kids like him, like me, until I take my last breath. Kids who were abandoned, unwanted.” Each word I speak is a promise.

He blinks a few times as if coming out of a trance or surfacing from his thoughts—probably replaying the game in his mind. Stupid hockey. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I do. You’ve made how little you care abundantly clear.”

He shakes his head, somehow warming the room with the movement. His voice is tight when he says, “No, Jessica. The problem is I care too much.”

And just like that, his mood goes from cold to hot. Not hot like hubba hubba , #MrDarcysAbs, but overcome with emotion as his eyes glass over. However, just as soon as I notice, he blinks it away.

I lift my chin, not done with this showdown. “If that’s the case, you could work on showing it better. Maybe even a smile from time to time. A kind word goes a long way. You could also talk about what’s on your mind. Let people in a little. I mean, even a hint could help.”

He scrubs his palm along his stubble as if trying to massage out an explanation. “If I mess up …”

I lift my eyebrows, hoping that by showing interest in what he has to say, I’ll coax him into using his words.

“If I make a mistake—” He shakes his head.

“Let me see if I can help you. When you saw us at the arena, the proper response was to gather KJ into your arms, give him a big papa bear hug, and show him how happy you were to see him.”

Liam’s expression returns to a careful mask, but he’s listening, so that’s progress.

“Then you’d exclaim your surprise at seeing us there with smiles and a cake. You’d ask about the special occasion.”

His grunt sounds slightly more like an invitation to continue like he’s taking notes, or maybe that’s just the hopeful optimist in me.

“I’d tell you the good news. We’d do an ASL cheer, maybe share a family hug?—”

His eyebrow lifts sharply.

My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.

Liam’s blue-gray stare burns cold into me.

“I mean, you’d hug KJ again because of what this means for his future. Then you’d sign to him about how much you like seeing him in Knights gear and that someday he’ll wear a big jersey just like you, but instead of having number forty-five across the back, it’ll be his own number.”

Liam’s eyes darken and his fist clenches the same way it did earlier. “Don’t ever wear anyone’s jersey again.”

I cock a hip. “First, the fun police and now the fashion police? Who do you think you are? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” I brush past him and out the door, thankful when I get outside and the cold air dries my eyes.

* * *

The next few days are turbulent. Liam isn’t so much cranky as he is sullen. Meanwhile, KJ and I tour childcare facilities. The first one emphasizes exploration and is a hit. He especially enjoys the indoor and outdoor climbing areas.

The second one is a “child-led” center and a bit chaotic. Feathers float in the air, tinny music blasts from a small speaker, and I trip over a cardboard tube that I think contains something alive. I imagine Liam would disapprove, which is why I move that one up on the list. Kidding.

The third smells like damp socks and raw onions. KJ clings to my side.

We return home for lunch to find Liam storming around, claiming that he can’t find a box.

He thunders, “Have you seen it?”

“What kind of box? A hat box? A box of oatmeal?”

“It’s small and velvet.”

Oh. That kind of box.

“It was here and now it’s not.” There is no mistaking the accusation in his eyes.

Jealously rings through me at the idea of someone special in Liam’s life. Someone who gets the nice side of him. Then memories flood back. I was always the outsider.

The first person a foster family turned to if something went missing or was unusual. I never belonged, didn’t have a family team in my corner. No one to defend me, to look out for me. Color rises to my cheeks. My lips part, but words don’t form.

“Have you seen it, Jessica?”

“I’m sorry, no.” Presuming I’m right about the contents of a box like that, I’d never have touched it. This also highlights everything I don’t know about his personal life. I’m just the help.

I shake my head and hurry KJ to his room for a nap. Phantom guilt follows me even though I didn’t do anything wrong. Then again, when it comes to Liam, it’s like I can’t do anything right either.

He doesn’t say another word to me. For five days.

KJ and I visit a few more nursery schools and settle on the first one with him attending two mornings a week until he turns four.

Grandma Dolly and I are sitting in her kitchen with KJ as we all work on a puzzle. I tell her that he’s come so far since we first met. I sign that he’s so much happier and well-adjusted.

She replies, “That’s easy when around you, Sunshine. You spread it everywhere you go.”

I snort. “Tell that to his father.”

“Ignore him.”

It’s hard to. But instead, I simply sign, “The man is a brute.” A handsome one that I’m irrationally attracted to.

My phone rings. It’s Liam. The guy probably sensed I was talking about him and wants to make me as miserable as he is. I answer, feeling like an egg about to crack.

He orders, “Come home. Now.”

Clearing my throat and summoning patience, because let’s be real, it’s starting to wear thin, I use my most pleasant voice. “What’s the magic word?”

“Jessica,” he warns.

“KJ and I are at Grandma Dolly’s finishing a puzzle.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

I close my eyes, summoning the dregs of patience. “Be there soon.”

Thankfully, my grandmother didn’t overhear the conversation, but she must recognize the apprehension in my expression.

She asks, “Do you want me to come?”

I reply, “Thank you, but no. It’ll be fine.”

I’m done with Liam and his bad moods, demands, and lack of manners. Most of all, I don’t want Grandma Dolly to know I’ve failed, again. It’s time for me to part ways with this man. To leave, exit stage left. It breaks my heart to imagine leaving KJ, but the childcare center seems like a great place, and he can still see Grandma Dolly twice a week.

When we get to the elevator in the Old Mill building, Mrs. Kirby approaches with her dog.

“Good morning,” I say with a little less sparkle than usual.

She looks me up and down, and the dog immediately proceeds to try to pee on my foot. I yank it away and am careful not to step in the puddle.

Mrs. Kirby says, “Looks like the kid had an accident.”

I scoop KJ into my arms. He is dry and great with the bathroom. I tell myself to be kind and rewind to the moment before her dig.

“It’s chilly for early April. A great day for baking.”

“Don’t bother bringing me any of that cake.” She makes a face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say airily.

When the elevator dings, she bustles past me. I sign to KJ that I’m going to get some towels to clean up the dog’s mess when something washes over me.

The woman rejected my cake. Said my kid, er, Liam’s kid, peed on the floor and didn’t return my friendly greeting. Maybe it doesn’t pay to be nice.

By the time I unlock the door, I’m cranky, no I’m raging .

That’s it. No more Miss Nice Gal.

After KJ settles in for his nap, I march to the new workout room I had installed here in the loft where I find Liam bench-pressing what may very well be several hundred pounds. Shirtless. Abs on display.

Doing my best to minimize the distraction, I say, “What?”

He racks the bar, towels off his face, and slowly rises to standing. “We need to talk.”

“I’ll say.”

He looks me over as if seeing me for the first time, or in a new light. Maybe it’s because I didn’t bounce in here riding a unicorn and bow before his royal majesty while wearing a radiant smile.

Dripping with sweat, he says, “I have to shower.”

That means I’ll have to wait. Typical. He disappears into the bathroom.

Oh, this means war. I’m done. It’s over. Instead of retreating, I go to the kitchen, take out a carton of heavy cream, and whip it into a frenzy.

“Liam Ellis, you are going down in a blaze of creamy glory.” I lick my finger. “It’ll be a shame to waste this on him.”

No sooner do I have it layered in an aluminum pie tin—I don’t want to use ceramic and break his nose or anything—does he stalk toward me. I advance, lift the pie plate, and before he realizes what’s happening, I mash it into his face.

I expect him to growl and possibly attack, but he lets out a yell of surprise.

Glaring, he wipes it from his face. “What was that all about? Did one of the guys put you up to this?”

“No, Liam. I’m done. Totally over the moodiness, the crankiness, the grumpiness. Grow up or I’m getting out. For good.” I didn’t mean for that to come out as an ultimatum but am certain this man wouldn’t hear me otherwise.

He swabs his cheek with his finger and then makes a show of licking the whipped cream off of it. “Mmm. Tasty.”

I scowl … and maybe drool a little. It’s hard to ignore my body’s reaction to this man, to the awareness that he has a soft side that I want to tease out.

The left corner of his lip twitches.

“This isn’t funny.”

“By definition, you mashing a pie, er, cream, into my face is.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. The whipped cream was me sending a message.”

“That I need to take myself less seriously? Message received. I also wanted to let you know that I found the box I’d been looking for. Grady called while I was on my way home. Said he found it in his hockey skate.”

Sobered because that wasn’t what I expected to hear, I say, “Oh. Good. I thought that you thought?—”

Liam’s expression is surprisingly open, light. “That you took it? No way, Jessica. You’re the one who finds things. Fixes things. Brightens the day, the night, you are a force of light I’ve needed in my life. You forgive and—” He goes abruptly quiet because something is happening.

I was not expecting that.

My face feels hot. My nose stings. Jaw tight. Eyes wet. It’s then that I come apart. It all comes flooding out of me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed.

“I’m not crying. I do not cry.” I don’t know where this comes from, but a lot of salty liquid spills from my eyes.

“Was it something I said?”

“Yes,” I whisper through a sniffle. “It’s everything you’ve said and how you’ve said it.”

I have thick skin and don’t need praise from someone like Liam. I know who I am—I do bring light—and I guess all these tears needed to get out of the way so I could continue to shine it.

And there was that little thing about forgiving, so when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest, I don’t resist.

Liam Ellis has never had a hug from me before and it’s going to change his life.