Page 18

I don’t get scared. Not many things in this world make me nervous. I’m a big guy, and I can hold my own in a dark alley at night. But apparently a cryptic message from my babysitter where I learn that my daughter might be broken has me running.

When I arrived during the opening act of the concert I parked my blacked-out SUV in a dark, hidden corner of the amphitheater parking lot, hoping to remain anonymous. Now I wish I had left it front and center so I could get out of here faster. I’m dragging Sunny behind me to the car, but she seems to be keeping up just fine.

Yanking the key fob out of my pocket, I unlock the doors and reach for the passenger door handle to let Sunny in.

She brushes me away. “I got it. Let’s just go.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. While I drive, Sunny calls Mercer and directs her to take Immy to the clinic closest to the resort. Those two have a shorthand that works well in emergencies, but I barely understand a word of it. The whole time they’re on the phone, Sunny gives driving directions to me with her hands. When I almost turn the wrong way in a roundabout she smacks my arm and gestures in the right direction .

“We might beat you there. See you in a sec.” She throws her phone onto her lap.

“What happened?”

“All she said was Immy fell off her skateboard and landed wrong on her arm.” She leans forward in her seat. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

“Immy doesn’t have a skateboard.”

“Mercer’s skateboard. Turn left here.”

A white minivan honks when I turn in front of it. “How far away are they?”

“Right behind us. The clinic is on your right. Right here. That’s the driveway.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and the metal buckle clanks against her window.

I nod. “It’s okay, Sunny. I’m sure she’s fine.” If it had been a near-death experience for Immy, we would have received a very different phone call. Of course I’m worried, but now that I’ve heard Mercer on the other end of the line I’m thinking more clearly.

I park next to the curb outside the entrance just as a little green junker car sputters up behind us.

“That’s them,” Sunny says, slamming her door after her.

By the time I lock my car, Sunny has a weepy Imogen in a reverse-backpack bear hug and they’re walking into the clinic with Immy’s arm resting on a pillow I recognize from the suite. I jog to catch up, feeling like yesterday’s leftovers. Since when does Immy run to someone else when she’s upset?

“Hello? Did you forget someone?” I tease, rubbing Immy’s back.

Her face is buried in Sunny’s shoulder, but I hear her whimper.

“Anders.” It’s all Sunny says, but her tone conveys an entire lecture. This isn’t the time. “We’ll get you all fixed up, kiddo. I promise.”

“Okay.” Imogen sniffs. “My arm hurts really bad.”

Her little voice muffled by Sunny’s t-shirt makes my heart squeeze and I take in the sight of them out of the corner of my eye. Sunny rubs a circle on Immy’s back. Something in my brain rewires as I watch her comfort my daughter. I can’t name it, but I know my future is not the same one I had planned a month ago. I am stunned speechless.

Sunny’s soothing voice cuts into my thoughts. “I know, honey. They’ll give you some medicine to make it feel better.”

My mind is whirling as she calms my daughter. How am I already having white-picket-fence thoughts about her? How has this woman become such a critical part of my life—our lives—in such a short time? This is dangerous territory. I don’t trust myself here, but it feels right.

I rush to the door to hold it open for the women. Mercer walks past and whispers, “Seriously sorry about your kid. I thought she’d be fine, I promise. She seemed like she knew what she was doing.”

“It’s fine. She probably thinks she knows how to ride a skateboard because she saw it on YouTube.” And she can be convincing when it comes to getting what she wants. I have no idea who she inherited that trait from.

Twenty minutes later, Imogen is seated on Sunny’s lap on the exam table, explaining to the doctor that she saw Tony Hawk do a kickflip on YouTube, so she thought she could do one. He nods his bald head, like he’s including this information in his analysis of her x-rays.

Sunny and I exchange a look at the mention of YouTube. If I’m reading her right, her face is telling me that Immy needs less time watching videos online and more time with her feet in the grass. I agree. If more of my nannies engaged with Immy the way Sunny does instead of parking her on a tablet, my daughter might not have a potentially broken arm. But I also wouldn’t know the joy of a Fruit Roll-Up ice cream sandwich, so it’s a catch twenty-two.

The geriatric doctor turns to Sunny. “I don’t see a fracture on the x-ray. Your daughter is very lucky. I’ve seen quite a few fractures from skateboarding in my years.”

Sunny’s cheeks turn rosy. “Oh, uh— ”

“She’s my daughter.”

The doctor shrugs. “In any case, it’s only a sprain. We’ll wrap it up, and with some rest, that should take care of it. She can alternate ibuprofen and acetaminophen for the pain.” He wraps her wrist in an elastic bandage, explains how to ice it to reduce swelling, hands me a stack of papers, and closes the door behind him. In the end it feels like healthcare we might have received in a drive-through. I guess now we pull up to the second window to pay?

“Can we go home now?” Immy whines against Sunny’s shirt.

Her voice is delicate in my daughter’s ear. “Sure, kiddo. Your dad’s car is parked right outside.” She moves to put Immy on her feet, but she protests. That sprained wrist is affecting her entire body. She’s in limp noodle mode and Sunny is stuck on the table under her.

“Can I take you, Im?”

She shakes her head and tightens her one-armed hold on Sunny.

“Here…” I grab Sunny’s hand and wrap my other arm around her back, pulling her to her feet. She stumbles forward, and for a painfully brief moment we’re in each other’s personal space. I’m close enough to smell her hair. Neither of us is moving. Her brown eyes blink up at me and I can’t stop myself. I lean down and press a kiss against her forehead. Sunny sucks in a breath and I linger, because this isn’t enough. I can’t back away.

“I’m smushed,” Imogen whines between us.

“Later,” Sunny whispers, sending a pleasant shot of dopamine through my brain. “You can text me later.”

And I will. I have plenty to say.

The next afternoon, I’m sitting in my trailer waiting for my call time when I see the girls outside my window. Even though they’re a few buildings away, it’s easy to spot Immy’s blonde hair and Sunny’s… Sunny-ness, walking hand in hand down the sandstone pa th. This morning I caught them rumbling away in my Jeep, their ponytails blowing in the wind. I hated to see them driving off without me, probably on their way to Rollerburger or some other fun activity without me. Did I mention that they are having fun without me?

Well, not again. I rush out of my trailer before they're too far away.

“Sunny!” I call, jogging toward them. “Im!”

Their heads whip around and Immy darts in my direction. “Dad!”

When she reaches me, I hoist her into my arms. “What are you doing, kid?”

“We’re going to the pool. Sunny said since it’s so warm we can go swimming. And look!” She waves her arm in my face, showing off the special waterproof splint Oliver tracked down.

“Cool, kiddo.”

Sunny catches up to us and I try really hard not to notice she’s dressed in a flowy white thing that allows the tiniest glimpse of a black swimsuit. I quickly redirect my eyes. “I wish I could join you.”

“Why not?” my daughter pouts.

“I’m working.” — I gesture to my torn, bloody costume and the artificial bruising and scratches on my face — “But we’re working here today, so maybe I’ll see you do your tricks from where we’re shooting.”

Sunny pulls back her sunglasses, propping them on her hair. “Where are you filming?”

“Just outside the spa building. The back exit.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s right by the pool. I wonder if it’s closed?” Her eyebrows pull together.

I shrug. Since it’s just us on the property I haven't seen anyone using the pool, but I don’t know whether it’s officially closed down. “I’m sure if it’s locked you know someone who will let you in,” I say with a wink .

She nods her head to the side in agreement, pulling her white dress thing closer together in the front and hitching her huge bag higher up on her shoulder. “We better let you get back to work, right Im?”

“I guess. Okay. Bye, Dad. We have to go.” And just like that she’s wiggling out of my arms, more than ready to ditch me for more exciting prospects. That’s life with a five-year-old.

“Well…” Sunny hesitates while Immy latches onto her hand, pulling her in the direction of the pool. “See you later?”

“Yep. Have fun. Don’t miss me too much, Sunflower.”

I was joking, but apparently the girls don’t miss me at all because I catch glimpses of both of them throughout the afternoon. Imogen’s past nannies would sit in one of the lounge chairs surrounding the pool while begrudgingly watching my daughter do her tricks. I’ve heard plenty of loud complaints about that from her, but I get it—sometimes I want to relax poolside without having to rate dives or play Marco Polo. But Sunny is in the water, tossing Immy into the deep end, doing cannonballs, and making a general commotion with Imogen. My eyes wander in the direction of their splashing and laughing between every take, until the last time.

We’re mid-take. My character is being interrogated by Micah’s character about something shady he did in the previous scene. My eyes dart to the pool area, then widen when I spot Sunny standing on the diving board. Obviously, she’s only wearing her swimsuit, and somehow it’s exactly what I pictured for her—black, practical, and full coverage. But it does nothing to hide her generous curves. The mental image of Sunny standing there showing Immy how to dive, all long, tan legs and soft lines, is going to destroy me.

“Cut.” Christopher’s annoyed voice slices through my not-safe-for-work thoughts. Thank goodness. Except I think I’m about to get my butt handed to me by our director.

“Someone shut that down.” He motions to the sounds coming from the pool. “The noise is ruining the shot. ”

Three guys jump up at once and trip over each other to get to Sunny first.

“I’ll do it,” one of the director’s assistants says.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll go.”

“Be right back,” comes from some random guy at the craft table.

Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been distracted by the nanny all afternoon. Well, I don’t like this at all.

“Sorry, everyone. I’ve got this. She’s my kid.”

“And your kid’s nanny,” Christopher reminds me none-too-subtly.

I nod to him so he knows the message has been received, then make my way over to the pool. Sunny is correcting Imogen’s dive form on the pool deck when I reach them.

“Hi, girls.”

“Dad! Sunny is teaching me how to dive like her! Did you see me? Watch!” She bends her knees and puts her arms in a little V-shape in front of her. The plastic splint on her injured wrist looks like it’s hanging on for dear life.

“Just a sec, kiddo,” I put a hand on her shoulder. “So…” Man, I hate being the bad guy . I know this about myself. Why did I volunteer for this, again? I should’ve sent the random dude from craft services to be the killjoy. I look at Sunny. “The noise is messing up the shots,” I say with a cringe, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks.

I can’t tell if her face is red from all the sun, or if I made her blush, but she stammers, “I-I’m so sorry! We’ll go! Come on, Im.”

“I was just getting the hang of it,” she whines, tugging her little swimsuit back in place on her backside. This kid has a constant wedgie at the pool. Strangely enough, this makes me wish I was swimming with my kid today instead of arguing with Micah Watson in front of a camera. And behind a camera.

“Tell you what. Let me finish working and maybe we can sneak into the pool tonight.” Immy’s eyes brighten at my words. “As long as no one tells the owner of the resort what we’re doing,” I say in a mock-whisper for Sunny’s benefit.

Sunny does a zipper motion with her fingers over her lips and makes her way to the chaise where they stashed their towels. I can’t help but follow her.

“I’m sorry we messed you guys up. I had no idea—”

“No worries. Most of the afternoon was action shots and stuff. Sound wasn’t an issue. But right now it’s all dialogue. I’m arguing with Micah’s character.”

“Sounds like a party.” She wraps a towel around her torso and tucks the corner into the top to hold it in place. How does she make something so innocent look so provocative?

It’s a towel, you animal.

Meanwhile, Imogen is doing her best to imitate Sunny’s towel trick, but it keeps falling apart. Sunny leans down to tighten my daughter’s towel and tuck the end.

Once she’s all put together, Immy’s watery blue eyes find mine. “Can we come watch you, Dad?”

Sunny shakes her head. “We should go home. We’re not dressed for it, and it’s about time for dinner, anyway.” She takes my daughter’s hand and my eyes are fixed on her.

I can’t let them leave, and I love the idea of having them on set, as distracting as they are. “It’s no biggie. Come watch for just a minute.” I crouch down so I’m eye level with my daughter. “You remember the rules on set?”

Immy grins and bobs her head up and down. “No talking, no touching, and make faces at Micah when he isn’t looking,” she repeats from memory with a sober expression.

“Good—”

“BECK!” Christopher’s voice booms through the air, from a megaphone that I have never seen before. He must have bought it especially for me. I’m flattered. The entire cast and crew is watching us, including Oliver, whose stern eyes are shooting Death Star-like lasers at us.

I take Immy’s hand and we stroll back to set, despite Sunny’s protests. I’m annoyed with Christopher and his megaphone, so I take my time.