Page 10

Chapter 10

Game Theory (Or How Not to Fall for Your Nanny)

Dmitri

T he locker room pulses with pre-game energy, but my mind is not in the game.

It’s in my living room.

On her .

On the way Erin flushed when I caught her staring. The way she sucked in a breath when my hand brushed her waist, like she hadn’t expected the touch but didn’t entirely hate it. The way she smelled—something warm and sweet, like vanilla and fresh linen, something that lingers.

Get her out of your head.

Easier said than done.

“Earth to Sokolov!”

Finn’s voice jolts me back just as a roll of tape slips from my fingers.

“You planning to tape that stick or marry it?”

I glance down. The tape is a mangled disaster, barely clinging to the blade.

Shit .

“That’s what I thought.” Finn smirks, dropping onto the bench beside me, already fully geared up. “Thinking about our captain’s little sister? I heard she’s helping out with Ris.”

My jaw tightens. “Careful.”

He grins. “Relax. I’m just saying, it’s adorable. You get all quiet and broody the second her name comes up. Like a big scary bear thinking about his tiny, forbidden…snack.”

“Watch yourself, man.”

“Right, right,” Adam chimes in from across the room. “That bad, huh?”

I scowl. “I hate all of you assholes.”

“No, you don’t,” Finn says cheerfully. “You hate that we see you. The big, bad enforcer getting soft over our captain’s sister.”

My muscles tense, because— fuck . That’s exactly the problem. She’s soft in ways that make me hard. Sweet in ways that make me ache.

But I can’t touch her.

Liam makes his presence known with a hard glare in my direction. “Leave him alone, O’Reilly. The man’s got enough on his mind with the playoffs and no permanent nanny solution.”

“She’s not—” I start, then catch myself.

Adam raises an eyebrow. “Not what?”

I grit my teeth. “Forget it.”

Finn leans back, smug. “Oh yeah, man. You’re so screwed.”

Liam grunts as he yanks on his jersey. “He’s not screwed. Because it’s not happening.”

The room dips into silence for a second, the weight of Liam’s words hanging between us.

He doesn’t say it with anger. He says it like a fact. Like the way we know the rink will always be cold or that game-day superstitions are law.

It’s not happening.

Because I’m not allowed to have her.

Because she’s his sister.

Because I already have a family.

Finn, Adam, and Nate exchange a look, but for once, none of them add anything.

Liam doesn’t have to say more. We all know what he’s thinking. I can practically hear it.

You have a daughter. You have a history. You have obligations.

And Erin? She deserves someone whole. Someone who isn’t holding on to ghosts.

“You might want to focus, Dmitri,” Liam adds, adjusting his gloves. “Coach is already riding my ass about Sophie. Pretty sure he can’t handle two of his players being distracted. “

I manage a scoff. “I’m not distracted.”

“I beg to differ,” Finn smirks. “The girl’s got that whole looks innocent but could probably destroy you thing going on.”

He’s not wrong.

That girl is steel wrapped in soft, infuriating temptation.

I see it when she handles Ris with endless patience. When she doesn’t let the skating moms intimidate her. When she plays her cello with that fierce, focused determination that makes me want .

And it’s killing me.

After only two days, she’s already everywhere in my house. The music lingering in the air. The scent of her shampoo when she walks past. She’s in my head, crawling under my skin, making me restless, making me weak .

And I can’t have her.

“You’re doing it again,” Finn sing-songs.

“Doing what?”

“Staring at nothing, looking tortured, probably composing a sonnet in your head.”

I chuck the mangled tape roll at his head. He dodges it, grinning.

Nate shakes his head. “Man, I’ve seen you take punches harder than that. And here you are, wilting over a girl.”

She’s more than just a girl. It’s her quiet strength. The way she fills my house with music. The way she makes me want things I shouldn’t. Things I swore off after Elena.

The thought of my late wife used to burn like acid. A constant, gnawing grief, an open wound that refused to close.

But now…it’s different.

The pain isn’t sharp. It’s soft.

And for the first time, I wonder if Elena— my Elena —somehow had a hand in this. In bringing solnyshko into our lives.

She always did have a way of knowing exactly what we needed.

Fuck.

“Five minutes!” Coach’s voice booms through the room. “Get your heads in the game!”

Right.

Hockey first.

Feelings later.

I drag my jersey over my head, my shoulders squaring.

“Ready?” Liam’s watching me, searching.

I nod, forcing my face into an unreadable mask. “Always.”

Finn slaps my back as we head for the tunnel. “Let’s go, big guy. Your future’s waiting.”

I almost growl, but the words dig into me.

Because the truth is…

It is waiting.

She’s waiting.

And I’m one step away from breaking every damn rule for her.

The roar of the Garden slams into me as we take the ice for warm-ups. The energy surges through my veins, demanding focus, discipline—everything I built my career on. Everything I cling to.

But the second my skates carve into the ice, my eyes snap straight to the family box.

And there they are.

Ris, practically vibrating, her hands pressed to the glass. And beside her—Erin. Steadying her. Keeping her from tipping forward. Keeping her safe.

My chest tightens.

They look…right. Too right. Like they belong there.

I lift my stick in acknowledgment, and Ris erupts in excitement, bouncing on her toes. Erin’s lips curve into a soft smile, and for one reckless second, I drink her in. The way the arena lights catch in her hair, setting it on fire. The delicate flush in her cheeks. The effortless way she fits into my world.

Liam skates past, voice dry. “Your fan club’s getting bigger.”

I fire a puck in his direction. He dodges, smirking.

Focus.

Pass, shoot, pivot. Keep it simple. Keep it contained.

But out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.

Ris is pointing at me excitedly, saying something to Erin. Sophie leans in, grinning, while Jessica and Jenna laugh.

I can’t hear them—not over the music, the announcer, the fans. But I don’t need to.

I know exactly the kind of shit they’re saying.

Jessica smirks, throwing a knowing look at Erin. And Erin—fuck. Her face flushes. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head, but it’s too late.

I know that look.

That shy, caught-off-guard, I just got caught thinking something dirty look.

A sharp pulse of heat shoots through me.

What the hell did they say to her?

A puck whizzes past my head.

“What the fuck!” I spin, finding Finn grinning like an asshole.

“Just keeping you alert, big guy!”

“Your positioning’s off,” Coach barks, his glare slicing through me. “Less staring at the box, more focusing on the game.”

“ Da , Coach.”

I clamp my jaw shut and force myself through the rest of warm-ups.

One drill at a time. One shift at a time. One fucking breath at a time.

Don’t look up again.

But I do.

Just once.

And it’s worse.

Erin is leaning in to talk to Ris, her expression animated, hands moving as she explains something. And my daughter—my cautious, reserved, slow-to-trust daughter—looks at her with pure adoration.

Something inside me cracks.

They look like family.

They feel like family.

The realization wrecks me. Hits harder than a crosscheck to the ribs.

I stumble, and Liam notices. His gaze sharpens. “The fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” I grit out.

He doesn’t buy it.

“You good?” he asks as we hit the tunnel.

I take a breath. Lie. Keep it simple.

“Just…realizing some things.”

His expression hardens. “Let me help you out with that realization, man,” he says flatly. “This? You and her? No.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. “I didn’t say anything is happening.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice is steel. “She’s my sister, D. She’s important to me.”

He stops himself and exhales hard. He doesn’t want to say what we both fucking know.

That this isn’t casual. That Erin O’Connor isn’t a quick, forgettable distraction.

“You’ve got too much on your plate already,” he says, quieter now, but no less firm. “I know you don’t fool around. And honestly, that’s the problem. She’s too young for something serious.”

I know he’s right. But it doesn’t stop the fire in my gut. Doesn’t stop me from wanting her anyway.

The buzzer sounds, calling us back to the ice. We skate out for the anthem, and I find them one last time.

Erin has her arm wrapped around Ris, swaying slightly as she sings along. My daughter is tucked into her side like she belongs there. Like she’s already ours.

The thought destroys me.

Because I want it to be true.

But Erin isn’t mine. And I need to remember that.

* * *

The first period moves like lightning, but my focus is fractured.

Every time Ris cheers, I feel it like a spark in my chest. Every time Erin’s gaze lingers on me, something deep inside me tightens. It makes me play harder, faster, meaner—like some primitive part of me needs to prove something.

A Cyclones forward cuts too close, and I take the opening, planting him hard into the boards. The crowd erupts.

“Damn, Sokolov!” Finn whistles as we switch lines. “Trying to impress a girl?”

I ignore him. But my eyes have their own mind, darting toward the box.

And there she is—leaning forward, lips parted, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I miss the water bottle Liam tosses my way.

“ Der’mo ,” I mutter, fishing it off the bench.

“Language,” Coach growls. “There are children here.”

Da. And one of them is mine, watching her papa act like a lovesick idiot.

I shake it off. Refocus. Force my brain back into the game.

* * *

Second period.

We’re on the penalty kill, down a man, locked in pure defense mode.

The Cyclones press hard, cycling the puck, looking for an opening. Then— boom . A slapshot rockets toward the net.

Clang . The puck rings off the post, inches from disaster.

A sharp sound cuts through the noise, and instinctively I think it’s my kid. I glance up—just for a second—to make sure she’s okay.

And that’s when I see her.

Erin’s frozen, one hand pressed to her chest, the other gripping the railing. Her expression is tight with concern, her brows furrowed, her breath visibly unsteady even from here.

That look wrecks me.

The worry. The way she’s locked onto me like she’s waiting for confirmation that I’m okay.

Like I’m someone worth worrying about.

Heat surges through my veins, a dangerous, reckless heat. I tighten my grip, force myself back into the game. The puck lands at my skates, and I clear it hard, sending it flying down the ice. The crowd roars.

I don’t look back up. I can’t.

Because if I do, I might not be able to look away.

The penalty kill ends. Play stops. I drop onto the bench, breathing deep, willing my pulse to slow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.

Jessica. Jenna. Sophie. They’re laughing. Grinning. Teasing Erin.

I don’t know what they’re saying. I can’t hear a damn thing.

But I see the effect.

The flush on Erin’s cheeks. The way she shakes her head, flustered. The way she tugs at her sweater sleeve, like she needs something to do with her hands.

And then—then—she sneaks a glance toward the ice.

Toward me.

Jessica’s smirk widens. Erin swats her arm, still blushing.

My grip tightens around my stick.

Liam leans in, voice low. “Looking a little distracted there, big guy.”

I mutter something extremely unflattering in Russian.

“Save it for after the game.” He smirks. He fucking smirks.

The puck drops. I force myself back into the play.

Hockey first. Feelings later.

It almost works. Until Ris moves again, tugging at Erin’s arm. She’s saying something. Excited, insistent, gesturing toward the ice. Toward me.

Erin laughs softly, then she starts braiding Ris’s hair. She’s done it before, I realize. She must have. Because her hands move too easily through the strands.

Then it happens. Ris says something, and Erin’s hands pause. Her smile flickers—just for a second. Then, slowly, she glances toward the ice. Toward me. The expression on her face is unreadable.

But her eyes, her fucking eyes.

They burn.

Something deep and unspoken passes between us. My jaw locks. I don’t want to know what Ris just said. I don’t want to hear another word.

I don’t?—

The whistle blows for the second intermission, and I’m up like a shot, stalking toward the tunnel with single-minded determination.

Finn claps a hand on my shoulder, far too amused. “Quite the scouting report your kid’s giving up there.”

I grip his jersey. “Not. A. Word.”

“Who’s saying anything?” He grins, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just thinking, your daughter might have a future in PR. Maybe she should intern with Jessica.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” I grunt, hearing his laughter behind me.

I keep moving, desperate to shake off the way my body buzzes with her presence. The way the heat of her stare lingers on my skin.

But then— one last glance .

Just one.

And I see her, leaning down, carefully tucking Ris’s jersey tag in, smoothing the fabric. Watching them together, seeing how seamlessly Erin fits into our lives, makes me want things.

Dangerous things.

Beautiful things.

Things I have no business wanting.

This is temporary. That’s what I keep telling myself. She’s temporary.

She’s here for Ris. Not for me. Not for this unbearable, slow-burn ache that refuses to die no matter how hard I try to bury it.

I rip my gaze away and shove the feeling down. As deep as it will go.

“Earth to Sokolov!” Coach’s voice snaps me back. “Game’s not over yet!”

Da. The game isn’t over.

And neither is this fight.

Because I will fight it.

I have to.

No matter how much I want to lose.