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CHAPTER 9

ALEXEI

By the time my mom is admitted to the ICU, it’s almost one in the morning. I’m exhausted, wrung out physically from the game and mentally from the hours spent at the hospital translating for my parents.

But my father—who also reacts to stress by turning into a stubborn bull—is refusing to come home with me.

When I tell him it’s time to go, he gets a mulish set to his mouth. “What if she needs me, Alexei? You go home and sleep. I’ll wait until morning. When you come back, I’ll sleep for a bit.”

“You’ll have to use English.”

“I can use English.”

I’m going to hold him to that later, I think darkly.

To prove his point, he switches languages and asks a passing porter, “Where is the waiting room?”

It turns out it’s just around the corner. There are two of them, a quiet room for families only, and across the hall a bigger space with more chairs, a play area for children, and some vending machines.

I steer him into the quiet room, where I hope he can maybe stretch out on a couch or something, and I’m so tired I don’t immediately register why my body comes to a sudden stop.

Recognition on a cellular level happens first. The brain takes a second to catch up.

In front of me, leaning back on a recliner, is Emery Granger.

She’s wearing a Highlanders jersey, and my daughter is sleeping on top of her, clutching one of the team’s plush mascot toys.

“Emery?” Her name tears out of me, my brain still short-circuiting from seeing Inessa sleeping in her arms.

She lifts her head with a jolt. Blonde waves, like silk, brush her shoulders.

“Alexei.”

My name on her lips, soft and worried, is so fucking wrong.

“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds hoarse as I rake my gaze down her arms to the number on the jersey.

My number.

Emery’s gaze widens for a painful, confusing beat, then she glances down at Inessa. “She woke up on the way home and wouldn’t stop crying, so we came here.”

We?

Who the fuck is we in that sentence?

She pulls a lever on the side of the seat and sits up. Inessa protests, but Emery shifts her to the side and slides out from under her and the plush toy.

Somehow, my daughter stays asleep.

My dad folds himself into the recliner beside Inessa’s seat and closes his eyes.

Time slows as Forrest’s sister rises to stand in front of me.

Two years has made her…brighter.

I search for words, fatigue making everything harder, more prickly. “Why are you in Hamilton?”

And why is she wearing my jersey?

Emery takes a deep breath and shrugs. “Oh, you know. The Grangers never miss an opportunity to do a hockey family road trip.” Her words are meant to sound light, but her voice is just as rough as my own.

As I stare at her, she shifts back and forth on her feet. “How is your mom?”

“She’s…” I trail off. I don’t know how to answer the question.

From a few chairs away, her parents rise and I’m vaguely aware of them joining us, but Emery is all I can really see.

“Emery was with your mom when they decided to call for the doctor,” her father says.

She ducks her head, visibly uncomfortable.

I feel rocked on my axis, as if my entire world has been moved by a cascading sequence of earthquakes.

She was there . In the arena.

I didn’t know.

I should have known.

I should have been on guard for that.

I always thought that if she was this close to me, I would know. Has she been at other games?

“We were hoping that there might be news tonight,” her mother says.

I shake my head.

I remember this intense Granger caretaking instinct from when Inessa was born. It’s very kind, but it’s also overwhelming at the best of times, and this is not that. Right now, I don’t have any answers. “She’s sleeping now. She’s being closely monitored.”

Each sentence is hard to get out, and as I find the words, Emery’s brows pinch together.

“Thank you for staying,” I add thickly. “And for bringing Inessa to me. I can take her home now. My father is going to stay here tonight. But you can go back to your hotel.”

Her parents nod and go back to their chairs, where they left their coats.

As they get dressed for outside, Emery tilts her head to the side, her blonde waves brushing her shoulder.

That fucking hair has haunted me for two years.

I want to wrap it around my fist and hold her still. Hold her down. Just…fucking hold her.

And that cannot happen.

That cannot happen under any circumstances.

An unexpected smile crooks at her mouth. “Your English has improved a lot.”

She sounds genuinely shocked, as if she hasn’t heard me in as long as I haven’t heard her. Maybe she really has stayed away.

“Surprised?”

“Maybe,” she says in a breathy rush that sends a jolt of inconvenient heat through me.

Arousal doesn’t mix well with frustration, fatigue, or panic, and I’m maxed out on all three. Irritation rises again.

Fucking hell, I need to leave. I need to sleep, if only for a few hours.

And it doesn’t matter if Emery is surprised that my English is better. That’s a trap, one I could fall into so fucking easily.

I know that—and yet I hear myself making fucking small talk.

“I got my parents lessons. Have to set a good example for them.” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep myself from reaching for her. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” Emery swallows hard. “Great.”

“She’s going to Switzerland this summer,” her mother says, as if that’s on the same level as English lessons. Small talk. “Can you imagine?”

“Switzerland.” I frown. I opened the door to this sledgehammer, swung so casually, as if it’s good news for everyone. And it is. It should be. “For hockey?”

Emery lifts her chin. “Culinary school.”

“You’re a chef now.” I knew that. Forrest had said she’d done some training, but I thought…

Her eyes now. “I’ve been accepted by a very prestigious institute there.”

Of course she has. There’s nothing Emery can’t do if she sets her mind to it. That’s Granger Lore.

I learned that firsthand, just what a fast learner she is?—

No.

Fuck.

I rock back on my heels and just look at her.

Somehow, she looks exactly the same and completely different simultaneously. Her unwavering gaze heats me from the inside out, and I can’t believe I went two years without seeing her. Now that she’s in front of me, I never want to let her go again.

Stay , I want to say. Tell me everything you’ve done since that night.

Even the hard parts. Even the life experiences that matured her, because that’s the part that’s different. Two years ago, Emery was young and innocent. Now she glows with a confidence that takes my breath away.

I’m not that girl , her body language screams. Don’t underestimate me.

Something in my chest goes hard, and my voice takes on an edge that immediately fucks up the conversation. “Good for you. That sounds exciting. Are you leaving behind a job, or a boyfriend?”

She tips her head up and exhales audibly at the ceiling. “Oh, my God.”

“Emery!” Her mother nudges her. “It’s been a long night for us all, but most of all for you and your dad, Alexei. What do you need?”

“Right now? Just some sleep.” I stare at Emery, who is now staring at a poster on the wall. I bet I could wrap myself around her tight, uncooperative little body and sleep for a week.

“Can you drive? Emery drove your mother’s car here. And tomorrow, do you want help with Inessa? We can stay, it’s really not an inconvenience.”

It’s hard to know what tomorrow with bring. Or the next day.

“I need to find a Russian-speaking nanny.” I scrub my hand over my face. “Not sure how?—”

“There are agencies,” Emery says.

I frown. “I know.”

“You said you weren’t sure.” She shrugs, as if she’s indifferent to my plight.

There’s a sensible part of my brain that knows that’s not the case. She was holding my sleeping daughter. She’s not indifferent .

But she’s something.

Hurt, you asshole. She’s hurt.

“Thank you,” I manage to say. I should say I’m sorry , but we have an audience. I’m trying to think of the best way to ask to speak to her alone for a minute when her mother says something about helping with agency contacts in the morning.

I stiffen.

I should accept their help, but I don’t want to look weak.

“I’ll find a nanny,” I interrupt. “But I need something else.”

The air in the waiting room suddenly feels heavy.

But I’ve said it.

“Of course, honey. Anything. Whatever you need.”

I don’t think her daughter is going to agree. My pulse pounds in my neck. That’s not going to stop me. “I need to borrow Emery.”

Her head jerks up, her eyes going wide. “What?”

“My mother does all of our cooking. So now I need a chef.”

“I’m not available,” Emery says just as quickly.

Her mother nudges her arm. “Of course you are. This is Forrest’s best friend.”

“What about our family road trip?”

“Emery,” her mother scolds. “A crisis is more important than that. And you didn’t want to spend the next few days driving to Toronto and Buffalo, anyway.”

“But it won’t be just a few days,” she says desperately. “And I have to pack up my entire life.”

She’s never coming back. The threat is like a pounding drum in my head.

I can’t hold on to her.

I can’t have her.

But I can bring her close, for a while. I can employ her, and maybe after some sleep, I can find the words I need to say. The privacy, too.

Her mother tsks. “Every day we don’t help is a day Alexei can’t be with the team, Emery. He needs to get back on the ice sooner than later.”

It’s true. I’m going to need to hire a lot of help over the next few weeks. A personal aide worker for my mother. And a nanny for Inessa. But those people will be strangers. If I had a professional cook in the house, too, a family friend, it would be easier to leave.

She doesn’t say anything, but I can see it. That’s the angle I can use to leverage her here. I can’t hold her, but I can have her at arm’s length, and that’s better than half a world away.

And if you are her boss, will you keep your hands to yourself any more than you did when she was your best friend’s little sister?

Yes. Because I’m not that selfish young man anymore.

And maybe I need to prove that to the both of us. If it takes begging her for a favour to get that chance, so be it.

“From one hockey player to another,” I say softly. “Can you do me a solid?”

“I liked you better when you didn’t speak English,” she mutters.

But I exhale in relief, because it’s an admission of how much she liked me two years ago. A reminder of the path we could have been on if I hadn’t fucked everything up.

It’s a first step in the right direction—of restoring Emery to her rightful place in my life, as a family friend. An off-limits girl I must respect.

“Sounds like a plan,” her father says as Emery stares at me in disbelief. “We’ll drop her off tomorrow as we're heading out of town. Do you have room for her to stay with you?”