Page 46

CHAPTER 45

ALEXEI

In the next fifty hours, a lot of things happen. Emery finds an apartment to sublet in Manhattan. We clinch our spot in the playoffs with a mid-week win at home. Who we are playing is still up in the air, but mathematically, we’re past the point of being eliminated.

And on a Thursday morning in early April that feels suspiciously like spring might be here to stay, like a real turning of the seasons, finally… Emery finds a nanny for Inessa.

I did tell her that I could handle it myself, but she cheekily replied that she was already fully packed for New York—since she only has a backpack, and she’s leaving her jerseys in my closet to keep me company in her absence.

I kissed her silly and told her how grateful I was for her help.

So when I come home from practice on that Thursday, with presents for my girls in the back of my G-Wagon, I’m not surprised I have to park on the street because there’s an unfamiliar car in the driveway.

I know who is probably inside, and I know this is all for the best.

I take a deep breath before opening the front door.

“Papa!” Inessa comes running, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside.

In the kitchen, Emery is leaning on the kitchen island, chatting with a woman who looks a bit older than both of us.

She’s great, Emery’s eyes say as she finds me and holds my eyes. The exact opposite of Nanny Nyet.

“Hello,” I say, holding out my hand.

Our guest takes it enthusiastically. “Georgiana.”

“Alexei.”

“Time got away from us,” Emery says. “We were talking about TikTok.”

That makes Georgiana laugh, which makes Inessa laugh.

Emery rubs my arm. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

As the espresso machine hisses to life, I ask Georgiana about herself, in Russian.

She’s Romanian by birth, but she speaks Russian and English pretty fluently, and she has a ton of experience with toddlers and pre-schoolers. When her own children were young, she worked in daycares, but they are in high school and college now.

And while she has her own family and would prefer a live-out situation, she is willing to work evenings and overnights as needed.

Most importantly, she seems curious and supportive of Inessa, getting down to her level and asking all sorts of questions about her toys.

“I don’t know how to play hockey,” she says to me after a third pull-away by my daughter. She adds an endearing little giggle that reminds me of my mother. “But the tiny sticks seem to keep Inessa occupied, so I will learn.”

It’s the right answer, of course. Still, my chest feels like it might cave in at the thought of coming home and hearing the slap of mini sticks, but it not being Emery playing with my daughter. “Great,” I hear myself say from a distance. “And you don’t mind the late nights?”

“Oh, no.” Another laugh. “I’m not a morning person. Do you know how hard it is to find childcare that doesn’t start so early in the morning?”

“None of us are morning people,” Emery and I say at the same time.

We share a bittersweet smile, because it’s a lie.

I am a morning person now. Morning is when I get Emery all to myself.

The basement door creaks open, and my father pops his head out. “Oh, Georgiana! You’re still here,” he says in Russian. “Would you like to meet my wife? She’s awake now.”

Our new nanny claps her hands together. “Of course, of course. Bring me to meet Baba.”

Inessa runs over, happy to lead the way downstairs.

“We’ll meet you down there,” I say, my voice hoarse, but they don’t seem to notice.

Emery does, though.

As soon as they disappear, she crosses the kitchen again and wraps her arms around me.

I make a wounded sound, and she laughs.

“You’re laughing ?” I mutter.

She tips her head up and I crush my mouth to hers. It’s bittersweet and aching, and every time I try to deepen it, she pulls away just enough to keep it soft.

But she doesn’t cut it short.

She kisses me and kisses me and kisses me, until I can taste her tears. Because we’re both this emotional, we will be all week. Saying goodbye is hard, even if it’s not forever.

And then I wrap her in my arms again, tight, tighter, and press my face into her hair because then she won’t know that I’m crying, too.

“I got you a present,” I finally say when I don’t sound choked up.

“Is it another jersey?”

“In a manner of speaking. Come outside with me.” I weave our fingers together and lead her out to my car.

In the trunk there are two boxes. One very, very large and the other a flat rectangle, just like a jersey box. I hand that one to Emery. “Carry this.”

I manhandle the massive box into the foyer, then indicate for her to open the gift she’s holding.

Inside, it does look like yet another of my jerseys.

But I think Emery figures out what it is pretty quickly, because her fingertips go to the collar, and the new buttons that have been added, before lifting it in the air.

“Oh, Alexei.” She looks pleased, really pleased.

“I know you can’t wear it in a real kitchen, but?—”

“I’m never wearing it to cook , in any kitchen, but I’m definitely going to wear it to a game, and I’ll have pictures taken in it!” She pulls off her sweatshirt, then slides her arms into the custom chef’s jacket I had made for her out of my jersey.

I button it up for her, then hold on tight as I brush a soft kiss on her mouth. “I’m proud of everything you do. I want to celebrate it as much as you celebrate me.”

Her eyes shine up at me. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She looks at the big cardboard box. “And what is that?”

“A play kitchen.”

Again, she gives me a pleased look, and the feeling I get when I surprise her like this is as good as any other high I’ve chased in my life. Being drafted. Winning a hard fought game. Getting the nod as a starter in the NHL.

Loving Emery Granger with my entire being is such a fucking rush.

I hook my arm around her, holding her close, because I can. Because I love fucking touching her, and in a few days, I won’t be able to. “Since you taught Inessa to play hockey while I was away, I thought I should play chef with her while you’re in New York.”

“She’s turning that thing into a net, you know.”

“We’re a multi-tasking family. It’s fine.” I drop another kiss on her, and it gets a little wild, because that, too, is going to stop being a thing in a few days.

I’m going to miss you , my heart pounds.

But she clings to me in a way that promises, I’m coming back.