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CHAPTER 20

EMERY

Inessa’s soft little snore is the first thing I hear when I wake up, because despite Alexei’s assertion that she will stay in his bed, apparently that’s not true.

At some point in the night, she woke up and came to find me, and now she’s sleeping on the carpeted floor, a plush pink baby blanket clutched in her little fist.

“Oh, baby girl,” I say softly as I swing my feet to the floor. “Aren’t you a quiet little bit of mischief? We have to sort out this sleep thing, don’t we?”

She keeps sleeping, unaware of my angst.

I reach for my phone, so I can send Alexei a picture of just how much his daughter does not stay in her bed, actually , but then our conversation from last night starts rocketing around in my head.

God, why did I say all of that?

Why did I tell him I worried he was in a relationship?

Why did I force him to tell me that he didn’t regret our hook-up?

The room is still dim, early morning light just starting to seep through the curtains. I slide out of bed slowly, carefully, but I needn’t worry—she doesn’t wake up even after I step over her and head down the stairs to the kitchen.

I need coffee.

I need a reset button.

I need to forget the way Alexei looked at me last night, as if I was something breakable and beautiful at the same time.

I press the start button on the espresso machine and lean both palms on the counter, bracing myself.

You’re the babysitter , I remind myself.

Not his girlfriend. Not his confidante. Not his anything.

Last night was too much. I need to avoid soft, whispered late-night conversations with him. This was the second time we’d been alone in the dark, the air thick with emotions best left unexamined—and the second time we’ve immediately gone straight down that path.

It felt like I could tell him anything.

And worse—like he wanted me to.

But it’s morning now, and I know better.

As soon as I have my first bracing sip of espresso, I find the mantra I need to keep reminding myself—he’s my boss now.

This is just a job.

This is temporary and some professional distance is my best strategy.

It doesn’t matter how easy it is to talk to him late at night.

Or how good it feels when his knuckles press against my thigh.

Or how his eyes get all hooded and intense when he says?—

Nope.

I take a long sip of coffee and force that thought out of my head.

If I want to survive until the end of the playoffs, and then get out of town with my heart in one piece, I have to be careful.

No more vulnerable confessions.

No more soft, sleepy conversations.

Because I know how awful it feels to get my hopes up and then have them dashed.

Alexei may be the only man who ever made me feel seen. But at what cost? And what would I have to give up to call that attention mine in a real way?

He’s also the only man who has ever broken my heart, and I’m not going to let him do it again.

Distance.

I need to maintain some friendly but professional distance.

* * *

After breakfast, we meet up with Becca and Charlie at the playground at the end of Alexei’s street. Becca brings coffee for us and apple slices for the kids, and we stay there for two glorious hours.

Inessa is so tuckered out, she wants to be carried all the way home, which definitely feels like my workout for the day.

She is very agreeable to her nap, which delights me, so while she’s asleep, I search TikTok for other ideas to tire out toddlers, and any other babysitting tricks the internet wants to give me.

By the time she wakes up, I have a plan.

First tactic I test out is a single location outing. According to multiple TikToks I saw, trying to run more than one errand at a time is the danger zone. But a single outing can be fun, especially if it includes a chance to run around.

My target is the grocery store, so I make sure that I put a few snacks in the diaper bag and Inessa has a cup of milk and some toast before we leave the house. The specific tip I like the most is to scout out a spot in the parking lot where your toddler can play for a bit after you finish shopping. I park in a spot at the edge of the lot, next to a couple of carefully placed landscaping boulders, and I take Inessa out of the car on the far side of them, so she doesn’t see them yet.

I buckle her into the shopping cart, and power shop like a pro.

It’s not until we get to the checkout that she starts to whine, because the cart is no longer moving—so that’s when I bust out the snacks.

Apple sauce.

Animal crackers.

A sippy cup of water.

And when we survive, and the groceries are in the back of the car, I show Inessa the giant rocks and she climbs on them until her little cheeks are bright red.

It’s the high point of the day, though. By the time we get home, she’s over tired and hungry, the apple sauce and crackers not quite enough, but she also can’t tell me what she wants for dinner. I make her some toast, since that seems safe, and she eats that and watches videos of Alexei on my phone while I quickly prep some basic stuff to cook in the oven—chicken, roast veggies, meatloaf.

Then I wipe her hands and face, and we collapse on the couch.

“That was a good day, right?”

She snuggles in against me, pressing her ear to my chest, and I take that as a yes.

I text a photo of her to her dad, and he calls back immediately.

“Hi,” he says as soon as we answer. He’s wearing a suit, no tie, and his dress shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. It doesn’t look like he’s shaved since he left yesterday, and the pop of dark stubble against the pale skin on his jaw is…distracting.

Inessa grabs the phone and babbles a question in Russian.

“Where am I?” he repeats in English. “I’m at a restaurant.” His gaze flicks my way, and I ignore the jolt of awareness that slices through me. “Team dinner.”

“Nice,” I murmur.

“What are you two having for dinner?”

“Toast,” Inessa says solemnly.

Alexei laughs. “Good listening, little one.”

“Toast was our first dinner, yeah.” I yawn. “I’m batch cooking some other stuff now, but it may all go in the fridge and freezer.”

We tell him about the park, and grocery shopping, and then he says goodnight, because he’ll still be with the team when Inessa goes to bed.

Right before he signs off, he looks at me and says, “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I say brightly.

From his expression, I think he knows that it’s an exaggeration. Crap.

“I really am fine.” I smooth my fingers over Inessa’s dark curls as she presses the side of her head against my chest again. Her hair is like silk, and the next smile I give him isn’t as forced. “It’s been a long day but a really good one. I promise today was better.” And then I get over my own doubt and give myself a compliment. “I’m taking good care of her.”

His grin says that was what he wanted to hear. “I can tell you are.”

From behind him, someone yells his name. Arty!

He winces. “They’re getting rowdy.”

“Go. Have a good dinner. We’re going to…” I crane my neck back so I can look at Inessa. “What should we do tonight? Do you have mini sticks?”

Alexei laughs. “In the workout room. She doesn’t like hockey yet, though.”

I squeeze his daughter tight. “Oh, I’m going to change that. She’ll be your training partner soon enough.”

Alexei’s workout space is not the kind of high intensity gym I was expecting. He does have a bike and a rowing machine, but there’s no heavy duty treadmill, no weight rack. Just some free weights, a set of tethered TRX straps, and a big floor area with foam mats for stretching and body work.

Inessa makes a beeline for a big exercise ball. It keeps her busy while I find the mini sticks and a rubber ball.

Then we go back down to the second floor, and I close all the doors, creating a long “rink” for us to play in.

It’s not until after we’ve finished playing and I go to send her dad a sweaty selfie of the two of us that I see he’s sent a warning.

Alexei

Don’t wreck up the pace.

Emery

Sorry, your walls already have marks on them.

But my daughter is smiling!

She sure is

And her hair looks brushed

Even braided, in fact

You think you can teach me how to do that?

Of course

But be warned, she doesn’t like to sit for very long

I know

I’ll have to practice my braiding on you

Fuuuuck.

I stare at the message until Inessa knocks my phone out of my hand.

I think about it as I corral her downstairs for a second dinner, and then back upstairs for a bath, and the whole time I’m rubbing her back as she falls asleep.

And when I ignore a video call from Alexei an hour later, my pulse pounding, all I can imagine is his hands in my hair, his fingertips sliding against my scalp, and I fear that distance might just be impossible.

Holding him at a professional distance until the playoffs are over?

At this pace, I’m not sure I’m going to keep him at arm’s length until the week is over.