Page 19

CHAPTER 18

EMERY

“Look at you, Miss Sweaty,” Kiley says when I finally join them in the very cool little indoor dog run that’s up in the rafters of the arena. It took me a while to find the space, because it’s not marked anywhere.

Kiley eventually had to drop me a pin and I followed it on my phone.

Thank God for technology.

She’s closer to the door, keeping an eye on the two dogs at one end of the space, and Becca is at the other, carefully supervising Charlie and Inessa on a raised platform. “Did you have a good skate?”

I pat the skate bag that was helpfully left next to my tennis shoes by the equipment team, and which is now slung over my shoulder. My second Alexei Artyomov jersey is folded up inside it, too. “Come to Hamilton for a hockey game, stay for some accidental childcare work and sweet new blades, I guess.”

“Is that how he’s paying you? In gear? Because you deserve?—”

“No, that was a joke.” Although we haven’t actually signed a contract yet, I have no doubt Alexei will agree to whatever I ask.

What I’m going to ask for, I haven’t yet decided.

She frowns. “Don’t let him take advantage of your helpful nature.”

I laugh out loud before I can stop myself. “Trust me, I’m not naturally inclined to help him out.”

“I know he can seem cold and standoffish, but that’s just a goalie thing.”

I open my mouth to correct her, because I don’t think Alexei is either of those things. If anything, he’s the opposite. Too intense, too hot, too relentlessly personal.

But I haven’t actually seen him interact with anyone on this new team.

“Our families were pretty intertwined in Calgary,” I say, which is true. I wasn’t a part of that, save for an hour and a half where Alexei and I were literally intertwined, and I was naked. “My parents think of Inessa as an honorary grandchild, and she needs someone to make her pancakes right now. I’d probably do that for free, but I’m no dummy. I’ll get her dad to pay me well.”

Inessa catches sight of me and waves excitedly, teetering on the edge. Becca’s hand immediately floats right in front of her, but I still panic a little.

I leave Kiley to watch the dogs and cross to her at a jog.

“Hey baby girl,” I barely manage to get out before she flings herself off the platform and into my arms, laughing.

“Oof,” I say. “You’re a fearless monkey, aren’t you?”

“Again!”

“Charlie taught her that word,” Becca says apologetically.

Inessa wiggles out of my arms and climbs up the little ramp. I dump the skate bag so both of my arms are free, and she flies through the air.

She’s chaos wrapped in pink and glitter, but I’m learning her rhythm. When she’s about to jump, when she’s testing a boundary, when she just needs to feel someone catch her and hold her tight.

It doesn’t take long to start to pick up on those little imperceptible tells in a person.

Maybe that’s why I feel Alexei before I hear him.

That pressure shift in the air. The feeling in my chest, like a gravity-free plunge.

“What are you teaching my daughter?”

I jolt, but I still catch her before I whirl around.

Inessa clings to my neck.

Alexei plants his hands on his hips. Unlike me, he’s managed to shower, and he looks sleek and sexy in a military green Highlanders hoodie, black jeans, and expensive looking black boots.

I’m pretty sure my hair is curling in chaotic and weird directions, fuzzy from having been in a helmet, and my face is red from both exertion on the ice and the misplaced shame at being caught encouraging his toddler to do something dangerous.

Except it wasn’t dangerous.

“I’ve got her,” I manage to get out.

His mouth tightens. “Can I talk to you privately?”

Becca looks like she’s going to try to intervene, but I give her an it’s okay look. Because it is.

“No more jumping,” I tell Inessa as I put her down.

She starts twirling in wobbly circles on the floor, making Charlie laugh.

I follow Alexei out the door.

“It wasn’t dangerous,” I point out as soon as we’re alone. I leave off the part where I did think it was scary the first time.

His brows pull together. “Of course it was. She’s a terror. Everything she does is dangerous.”

“I was watching her closely, though!”

He just stares at me like that’s not the point.

Irritation rises, fast and furious. “Am I too naive to take care of your child?”

“What?”

“Definitely inexperienced, am I right?” I prop my hands on my hips. And I put enough emphasis on the middle word that he doesn’t miss it’s deliberate.

He rocks back on his heels. “You overheard me yesterday.”

“Yes.” I refuse to let him see how much those words hurt. I lift my chin and don’t look away.

He sighs. “Your parents want the best for you.”

“Sure. But we don’t agree on what the best is. And you can’t know that, because you don’t know me at all.”

“It was a conversation I should have gotten myself out of sooner. I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? You’re sorry?”

He shrugs. “I can’t undo that it happened. I won’t get sucked into another conversation like that, is that better?”

I frown. Yes, it is better. And I didn’t expect him to be so…reasonable. “Thank you. So…what’s with the concerned dad ‘what are you teaching my daughter?’ routine?”

He looks up and to the side, as if replaying his words in his head. “Dry humour,” he finally adds. “With an edge of anxiety because I need to ask you for a favour.”

My eyebrows lift in a wordless question. What now?

“The team wants me to rejoin them. Makie’s injured. I talked to my parents and they understand. It’s up to you.”

“Me?”

“I’ll be gone for three days.”

He doesn’t have to explain the rest of his concern. He doesn’t think I can handle Inessa for that long. Which is fair. I’m not a trained professional.

My mouth goes dry. Are there enough Tiktoks in the world?

“It’ll be fine,” I hear myself say. “I understand that you need to go. If it’s okay with your mom, then it’s okay with me.”

It will have to be.

He studies me for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure out if I mean it.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I don’t.

But I’m saying it anyway.

He finally nods, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn or speak. His jaw flexes, and he drags a hand through his hair, fingers catching for a second like he’s surprised at how tightly he’s wound.

“I didn’t want to ask,” he says finally. “I don’t want to leave her right now, with everything going on,” he says, and he gives me a look so raw and vulnerable, it’s like an entirely different man standing in front of me. What would it be like to have him be that torn over missing me , too? Once upon a time, I dreamed about that. Now, I’m just his hired help. “But I also want?—”

He stops himself.

“It’s okay to want to win. To be indispensable to the team. I get that.” I try for lightness. “I’ll make sure she eats something other than blueberries. Maybe I’ll even try to brush her hair. And by the time you get back, I’ll have some real nanny options lined up, too.”

“You don’t need to?—”

“I do.” I take a deep breath. “Nanny Nyet wouldn’t let her climb, I’m sure.”

“Nanny—” He stares at me incredulously, then barks a sharp laugh. “Okay. That’s not?—”

“I’m not nanny material, Alexei. Do you know how I’ve distracted her every single time we’ve been alone so far?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs warily. “How?”

“We draw moustaches on you.” When he doesn’t react, I double down. “I found an app where we can turn you into a clown. Where she can scribble on your photo and make you look ridiculous.”

His eyes flare. “You have photos of me on your phone?”

Of course he would pick up on that piece.

So I make it clear that he’s wrong. “I very much did not until two days ago. Then your daughter gave me a wobbly lower lip, big watery eye look, and suddenly I was downloading every terrible picture of you that I could find for her to decorate.”

“With moustaches.”

“And clown wigs. Also, duck lips and fake eyelashes.”

“You’re joking.”

I pull out my phone and fire them off to him in text messages, one at a time. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding ding ding ding ding.

“Okay, you weren’t joking.”

“A little girl was sad and I did what any thoughtful person would do—I distracted her. But you have to know that I’m never going to enforce your screen policy. I’m never going to tell her not to jump off of things, even if it makes my heart leap into my throat when she wobbles on the edge. We all have to learn to jump, Alexei. And it’s fun.”

“Fun.”

“Yes, fun .”

He rubs his jaw, then looks down at his phone again. “I don’t have a… screen policy. I let her play with my phone, too.” He taps on the screen. “I don’t need you to be Ms. Petrova. I don’t need you to tell Inessa no . I just need you to keep her safe, and you’ve already proven that you can do that.”

Ding .

It’s a text message from his surveillance camera app to join his home network.

“I sometimes use that app instead of a baby monitor. There are cameras in the kitchen and in the family room, as well as front door and back yard.”

Ding .

Rapid fire, he sends me links to everything I need to be in charge of his house.

Ding. Ding.

“I trust you with my daughter, Emery. More than I would trust anyone else.”

* * *

Alexei takes us home. I finally get the full tour of the place, now out of urgent necessity. I can’t sleep in the basement while he’s gone, so we start upstairs.

The second floor is divided into two distinct spaces, separated by a long hallway that Inessa likes to sprint up and down. At one end is the bathroom, surrounded by bedrooms—Inessa’s princess nursery, her grandparents’ room, and a small library with a daybed in it.

“It’s small,” Alexei says doubtfully.

“It’s fine.”

“She stays in bed when she wakes up. She’ll just call out for someone to come and get her. This is close.”

“For sure.”

At the other end of the hall is Alexei’s room, and a doorway that has a child lock on it.

“My gym,” he says. “In the attic.”

“Got it.”

He gets me a baby monitor and plugs it into the wall in the library, aka Emery’s Temporary Room. “You can take this upstairs with you if you want to use the gym after she’s asleep.”

“Thanks.”

“I gotta pack now.” He looks conflicted.

I give him a big, bright smile. “We’ll be fine.”

And after he leaves for the airport a short drive away, we are fine—for the afternoon.

I manage to keep Inessa entertained and distracted from the fact that it’s just the two of us in the house until bedtime. But as soon as she starts rubbing her eyes and I herd her upstairs, everything falls apart.

While I’m running her bath, she’s racing up and down the long hallway, and keeps coming back to tell me that her Baba isn’t home, her Papa isn’t home, her Deda isn’t home.

“I know, baby girl,” I tell her. “We’re having a sleepover tonight. Maybe we can go see Baba tomorrow, okay?”

“Papa not home.”

“He’s playing hockey. Do you want to watch him play?”

She nods reluctantly, but when I open the app on my phone to show her the game, it’s a commercial break instead, and she starts crying all over again, asking where he is.

She sobs through her bath, which breaks my heart, and then refuses to read any stories once I get her into her jammies.

I take her back downstairs to watch the game on the big TV in the living room. I turn the volume down, because she doesn’t care about the hockey, she only wants to see her dad when the camera cuts to him in the net.

By the time we tune in, it’s the top of the third, and Hamilton is leading St. Lous 3-0, so the camera cuts to Alexei a lot. Every time she sees him on TV, Inessa gets happy, but it’s right on the edge of panic.

The last two minutes of the game are wild, non-stop onslaught on Alexei, and he blocks every shot attempt like a superhero with a dozen limbs.

I turn up the volume a bit to listen to the commentary.

“They try to thread that through, but the Hamilton D are on it. Artyomov looks sharp. The extra attacker isn’t a problem for him. He’s been on fire all night, hasn’t he?”

“He sure has. And that’s another shot stopped, glove down, and he’ll get the whistle. Finally a chance to breathe.”

“St. Louis will probably call a timeout here. And indeed they do. While they discuss a strategy to break through the strong Russian in this final minute, let’s look at some of the saves he’s made tonight.”

Inessa stands in the middle of the room, rapt attention pointed at the TV, as they show save after gymnastic save. When the camera flips to the St. Louis bench, she runs over to the couch and does a flying, all limbs splayed imitation of her dad diving to block a puck.

And then she snuggles into my side.

I wish I could pause this moment for three days, because this? Right now?

This is perfect.

She’s so small and soft, warm and cuddly.

But the game has to end.

We get another few minutes of stop and start play, with the puck getting chipped out into the stands, and an icing call, but the seconds tick away.

And when the buzzer goes, Alexei has a shutout—incredible—and we get a long shot of his teammates lining up to hug him and tap his helmet.

But then they cut back to the studio talking heads, and Inessa’s brief happiness bubble bursts.

“Papa?”

“He won his game,” I say softly.

She doesn’t care. She climbs off the couch and wobbles to the front door. “Papa?”

I follow her, offering every distraction I can think of. When I run out of ideas, I pick her up and carry her upstairs, clicking the gate shut at the top of the stairs. One way or another, we’re doing bedtime again.

Time slows to a crawl. An hour passes, and I’m lying on the floor of Inessa’s room, pretending to sleep, while she hiccups in her bed and tells me in broken English that she’s never going to be tired and I need to wake up.

On the floor between us, my phone lights up. One of Alexei’s stupid cartoon modified faces flashes on the screen. I didn’t even realize we’d added that to his profile. Maybe my phone picked it automatically. Technology is too smart these days.

“Papa,” Inessa says between hiccupping tears.

I answer the call and try to put on a brave face, but there’s no hiding the fact that we’re both crying.

“What’s wrong?” Alexei asks.

My voice cracks. “Bedtime broke us a little.”

“Oh no,” he says. His gaze goes from me to Inessa, and he murmurs something in Russian.

Her lower lip gets fatter, jutting out more.

“What a long day for you,” he says, and it takes me a second to realize he’s looking at me again.

“I’m sorry.” Wet tears track down my cheeks.

“What are you sorry for? We have difficult bedtime sometimes. It happens.” He says something in Russian next, then nods along with Inessa. “Take her to my bedroom. I think she will fall asleep while we talk if you lay down with her there.”

“Your room?” My eyes go wide.

He shrugs. “It won’t bite, Emery. And it is late.”

Inessa climbs off my lap and tugs at my hand.

Sighing, I follow her, willing to try anything right now.

His bedroom is dark, so Inessa stops in the doorway—which means I stop in the doorway, and am immediately hit by the subtle but unmistakable scent of two years ago.

A vicious ache sears through my chest. The ache of what ifs, of what could have been.

“Light switch is to the left,” Alexei says through the phone, misreading the reason for my extended pause. “It’s on a dimmer.”

I give my phone to Inessa, grateful for the excuse to not be holding Alexei in my hand right now, and turn on the overhead light. As promised, it’s set to a very low level, but it’s enough for Inessa to see her way to her dad’s bed.

She throws my phone up onto it, then climbs up like a monkey, wedging her sleeper-clad foot in between the frame and the mattress for leverage and hauling herself up with two determined fists on the fitted sheet.

A duvet is shoved to the foot of the bed, and the pillows are in disarray, but Inessa doesn’t care. She grabs the phone and climbs right up to the pillows, making herself at home.

“Sorry I didn’t make the bed this morning,” he says.

I’m guessing that’s to me.

I sit gingerly on the side of the bed.

It’s a nice mattress. Extra thick, and the sheets feel clean and still smell like the laundry.

But they also smell like him. Like coconut shower gel and warm skin.

“Where did Emery go?” Alexei asks Inessa.

She giggles and rubs her eyes.

“I’m here,” I say softly.

No matter what my complicated feelings are in this moment, I’m grateful he got her to stop crying.

“Rub her back,” he says, just as softly. Like we’re conspirators. Like he’s helping me diffuse a bomb or something.

To do that, I need to crawl onto the bed, too.

I take a deep breath and join her.

I stroke my hand down her back, and her eyelids flutter shut. She fights it, trying to talk to her dad in Russian, but with each gentle stroke up and down her spine, her eyelids stay shut a little longer, and pretty soon they stay closed.

“Keep rubbing,” he whispers. “Another minute or two and she’ll probably be out for the night.”

I hold my breath, and he stays quiet, and my entire focus is on the slow rise and fall of her back beneath my fingertips.

When I lift my hand, she stays asleep.

I silently make an excited face at Alexei, and he gives me a thumbs up.

“Can I leave her here? She’s in the middle of the bed.”

“Yeah, she’s okay there.”

I move some pillows to the side of the bed, giving her little bumper guards in case she rolls. But the bed is massive, and she’s a tiny slumbering loaf in the middle of it.

As quietly as possible, I tiptoe out, turning the light off and leaving the door open.

“Thank you,” I say, still whispering as I head down the hall to the library. “I didn’t know what to do. She just kept getting more and more upset. It wasn’t like last night at all.”

“It’s because she is getting more familiar with you.” He shrugs. “I know it’s difficult. But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s more faith than I probably deserve.” I flop on the day bed and hold my phone above my tear-splotched face.

And that’s when I realize that Alexei is reclining in a hotel room, also on a bed—and he’s not wearing a shirt.