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Chapter Nine

Adeline

Rosie walked into my parents’ kitchen, took one look at me with Baby Mabel in my arms, and shook her head.

“You’re a goner.”

“Oh, shut it,” I said affectionately. Rosie was always talking about my “mom energy” because I was usually the one trying to reel in the good times.

My friend had a tendency toward reckless and needed someone to read a situation and tell her it might be dangerous.

She got that from her mom, Violet, who had been a notorious wild child in her youth.

“Looks like you’ll be pumping out more of Nyquist’s spawn soon. Knocked up and so in lurve.”

“Like I said, just doing the guy a favor.” I prayed my blush wouldn’t be obvious.

I didn’t need such intrusive thoughts entering my head. I couldn’t afford to think of Lars that way, not when everything was so complicated. The last thing he needed was for me to fawn all over him. He’d barely reacted when we discussed my crush. Probably heard it all the time.

Rosie helped herself to a Revolution IPA from the fridge. “Is the gang all here?”

We were playing host to the WAGs and fams for tonight’s game in New York. The Kershaw house was the unofficial seat of team fandom for away game viewings, and while I wouldn’t have minded a quiet night in, it was nice to see everyone.

“Yeah, Violet arrived a few minutes ago. She said you haven’t gone around to see her yet.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “What a liar! I ran into her at the coffee shop with Devon yesterday. He’s obsessed with my new ink.”

Devon was Rosie’s fourteen-year-old half-brother and absolutely adored his sister. The feeling was mutual.

My mom put her head around the door. “Rosie, finally! Your mom’s been asking where you were.” She called back. “She’s here!”

Violet Vasquez-St. James came thundering into the kitchen. “My beautiful girl, where have you been?”

Rosie laughed as her mother hugged her. Though Violet didn’t raise her daughter, they still had an incredibly close relationship.

As surrogate for Cade and Dante, Rosie’s dads, she had remained an integral part of her daughter’s life.

Both dark-eyed and curvy, with glorious ink adorning their skin, they could easily pass as sisters.

“Mom, why are you telling everyone I haven’t been to see you?”

“Well, not officially. Bren thought you’d come over and see us yesterday, and if I hadn’t run into you at the coffee shop, I’m wondering if you would have bothered! Also, Harper can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

Rosie caught my eye. Her aunt Harper, the Rebels CEO, had offered her an internship with the team, but my friend had confided in me that she didn’t really see herself in that corporate structure.

“Can’t wait to see her,” Rosie said diplomatically.

Violet waved a hand at me. “And what do you think of all this? Nyquist’s love child?”

My mom kissed my cheek. “I think my daughter is very kind to step up.”

“She’s a saint.” Violet smiled at me, though the way she said it, saint rhymed with sucker . “And is he sure she’s his?”

“Theo just texted. Lars heard from his lawyer and it’s a yes.”

Oh. It felt odd to hear this information from anyone other than Lars. I wondered how he was doing, though knowing my dad, he was in good hands. The media were already all over it, especially given Lars’s family history; now that it was official, they would be like sharks to blood.

Everyone was chattering about the situation, who the mom was, why she’d done what she did, what came next.

“What’s the PR plan?” I asked.

“I’m sure the Rebels have it under control,” my mom said.

“I haven’t seen anything on the Rebels website or socials. No statement, no mention of it. I’d think they’d want to get ahead of it.”

Rosie shrugged. “What can they say? “‘Don’t worry, Lars Nyquist is not like his dad. He’s one of the good ones.’”

I must have scowled at her because she raised her eyebrows and mouthed, “What?” They couldn’t help being gossipy old hens, but I didn’t have to like it. These were real people, not tawdry tabloid fodder.

“Mom, could you …” I held the baby out to her. “I need to pee.”

“Of course. I’ve been dying for some snuggle time with this little one.”

I went to the upstairs bathroom for privacy. Maybe I should leave it alone. Lars would be prepping for the game and didn’t need to hear from me. But I could send a message, and he’d see it afterward?

Hey. Just heard the tidings of great joy.

He could interpret that how he wished.

I checked my reflection in the mirror, noting the dark circles under my eyes. I hadn’t slept well last night at Lars’s place, lying awake, worried that the doors were locked. More than once, I got up to check all the windows at one point and reset the alarm. The house was safe. I was safe.

But I didn’t feel safe.

Perhaps returning home and immediately jumping into this nanny gig was too much change in too short a time. Was this truly a good way for me to get over what happened in Greece and my crush?

My phone buzzed with a text from Lars.

Yeah, poor kid, lumbered with me for an isa.

Me

What’s isa?

Lars

Finnish for dad.

My phone rang. Lars. I answered it quickly, not because I wanted to hear his voice but because time was of the essence.

“Don’t you have a game to prep for?”

“Yeah, but I have a few minutes. How’s the gossip mill grinding back in Chicago?”

I laughed softly. “Don’t worry, you’re still the talk of the town.”

“That’s something, at least. Would hate to give up that crown.”

There was a pause while I tried to think of what to say.

“It’s just?—”

“How are you?—”

We both laughed, mine nervous, his … maybe nervous, too? After all, he had just found out officially he was on the hook for eighteen years of child-rearing.

“What were you going to say?” he asked gently.

“I was going to ask how you were doing with the news. Even though you knew it was a possibility, maybe even likely, it still must be weird.”

“Sure, it was more likely than not given the circumstances. But I wasn’t quite prepared for how it would make me feel.”

“Which is?”

“Even more terrified of fucking up. Given how I grew up, I know what not to do, but I worry about the execution. How to switch up the patterns. How do I ensure I don’t screw up a kid’s life?” He made a sound deep in his throat. “Sorry, not what you signed on for.”

My heart hitched for him. “Big changes can bring up all sorts of emotions. Make you think about what’s gone before, what needs to happen. Get you all up in your feels.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s happening. I’m all up in my feels.” But he didn’t sound annoyed, more amused at my take on it. “Is Mabel with you?”

“She’s downstairs with Mom. I came up to the bathroom to get a quiet moment.”

“Ah.” He sounded disappointed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Everyone here is completely doting on her. The new Rebels princess.”

“Adeline, I—” He cut off as someone spoke in the background. When he came back, his voice was lower, so muted I could barely hear him. The intimacy of it made my skin tingle. “They’re calling us to line up.”

“We’ll talk more when you get back.” Right. The poor guy didn’t want to be discussing this with me. I was just the help.

“Yeah, we will. And Adeline?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

My heart went into a pitter patter. Foolish, so foolish. “I’m happy to help. Go get ’em, tiger.”

The line went dead. I closed my eyes, cringing at my absolute absurdity. Go get ’em, tiger. How was I still upright after that?

Mabel was tuckered out, so I was able to put her down in Mom and Dad’s room just as the game was starting.

I kept the baby monitor on the end table as I settled in with the women I’d watched games with for the last twenty years.

All my life, I’d known this crew—my mom, my great-gran, Vi, Rosie, Ashley, who was married to Dex O’Malley, and their daughters, Willa, Jenny, and Bea.

The Kershaw women wore pink Theo’s Tarts jackets, a tradition started by Aurora who used to gather her granny brigade and bring them along to home games.

We were a noisy lot, with the constant trash talk masking the worry that our guys might fall victim to injury at any minute.

Seeing Dad gliding onto the ice always got our blood pumping, but it was extra fun to see Hatch on the bench as well.

Dad’s dream was to play with his eldest son— now I can retire happy , he’d say, but I knew he wanted more.

Like playoffs-more. Finals-more. He had played with the Rebels for most of his career, and that team had won the Cup four times.

A fifth wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, and to do it with his son? That would be legendary.

At the first break, the Rebels were up 2-0, and Tilly was yawning.

“Silly Tilly needs her Zs,” I said, nuzzling her head. Her hair was starting to come in thick, leaving us in no doubt as to her Kershaw bona fides.

“No Zs!”

Before my mom could make a move, I stood and reached for my little sister. “Come on, Til.”

She jutted her bottom lip and pouted. “I need a song.”

I sighed heavily, my usual opening salvo in the negotiation. “Okay. But only if you brush your teeth for the whole five minutes.”

“One minute.”

“Two, or I won’t be able to find my guitar.”

Tilly bolted for the stairs, which made everyone laugh.

My mom sent me a look of gratitude, and four minutes later after arguments about rinsing her mouth ( swallowing your toothpaste won’t keep your stomach clean ), whether she could sleep in her Theo’s Tarts jacket ( it’s only for games ), and which of her jim-jams should get the royal nod ( you only need one pair of Baby Shark shorts, not two ), she was settled under the covers with Ducky, her favorite toy.

Lars had given it to her two Christmases ago, and I had assumed she’d have moved on by now, but us Kershaw girls had a lot in common.

It was hard to leave the fine Finn in your rearview.

“What should we sing about?”

“Duckman.”

“Ducky?” I patted the soft and worn toy, tucked in beside her. I had a song for him, like I had for most of her toys and favorite things.

“No, Duckman! Uncle Lars!”

Uncle Lars, huh?

I picked up the Martin guitar, pulled the strap over my shoulder, and settled it in my lap.

The weight was familiar against my body, like welcoming an old friend.

After my family, I’d missed playing guitar the most. It wasn’t feasible to carry it around on my travels, but I kept my hand in by playing recorded background music when I called home to sing to Tilly.

Strumming the strings, I picked out a C chord. The guitar was slightly out of tune and would need to be restrung, but it was good enough for a lullaby. To the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star , I started quietly so as not to wake Mabel in the room next door.

“Duckman, Duckman, on the ice … Skating faster than the mice.”

Tilly whispered, “Mice.”

“With your silly beard so thick … How you move about so quick …”

“Duckmaaaan …”

I strummed and waited until Tilly joined in, “Duckmaaaan!”

“On the ice,” I continued. “Skating faster than the …”

“Mice!” Tilly screamed and broke out in a flurry of giggles.

“Shush, Til, you’ll wake the baby.”

I unstrapped the guitar, but Tilly was having none of it. “More!”

I’d known I wouldn’t get away with a single verse. “Okay, how about the Butterfly Song?”

Ten minutes and three songs later, including a reprise of Duckman, Duckman, On the Ice , I finally escaped.

A quick check-in with Mabel assured me she’d slept through the entertainment, so I headed downstairs and was working on replenishing snacks in the kitchen when Rosie walked in with Eggsbee on her heels.

She leaned against the counter. “How were things at Lars’s house last night?”

“Good. I’m in the guest room with Mabel in the crib.” Lars had left yesterday morning, so I spent the day tidying, doing Mabel’s laundry, and ordering groceries and supplies.

“Right.” She ran a finger along the countertop. “And you were okay on your own?”

I looked up from my task of arranging Trader Joe Laceys on a plate, as if this careful placement would somehow stop people from inhaling them the minute I put them down.

“I was fine. He left instructions for the alarm.” I pushed the plate of Laceys toward my friend, who picked one up and took a bite. “Don’t worry about me. I haven’t had a nightmare in ages.”

Rosie had been the one to hold me tight every time I woke up terrified after another bad dream.

“You should tell them.”

We’d had this conversation several times. “They don’t need to know, Ro. They’ll just worry and want to wrap me up in cotton wool. Plus, this year is so important. For Dad, for Hatch, for the team. No way do I want this to distract from that.”

She looked both sympathetic and fierce, with a touch of guilt mingled in there. She still blamed herself for letting me walk home alone. “I wish I’d caught that guy and de-balled him,” she said around her chewing.

And end up in some Greek prison? “Thankfully, there was no lasting damage!” I added another Lacey to replace the one she’d eaten. “Now, take these into the marauding hordes.”