Page 14

THIRTEEN

JACK

NOVEMBER

The writing was on the wall.

My nanny, who was nanny number four from this agency, had already complained about Sydney once, and I said I’d take care of it. That was a bald-faced lie because there is nothing anyone can say or do to make my ex-wife behave in a rational or reasonable way.

Then on Wednesday, she filed an incident report with the nanny agency, officially documenting Sydney’s, and thus my, offenses.

I couldn’t blame her. I just wished there were someone I could file an incident report with. I didn’t have anyone in my life to regulate my ex-wife, and how was that fair? Is there not an official Bureau of Complaints Against Sydney?

So when I got home from a fundraiser Thursday night and found Hayley on the couch with a white envelope in her hand, I wasn’t overly surprised.

“Hey,” I whisper-yelled. “How’d they do?”

“Good,” she said with a plastic smile. “Um, Mr. Leroy?”

That was a bad sign. She’d always called me Jack before. “Yeah? What’s up? Did something go wrong?”

“Nothing with the kids, but I wanted to hand in my resignation.”

I stood, slackjawed, as the implications of that hit me. This was bad—fucking terrible, actually. We were already on thin ice with the nanny agency, Sydney having them pissed them off so many times as a method of getting back at me for divorcing her. And then, not to seem like a creep, I had to be extremely professional when handling problems. It was hard enough being a single dad with a strange young woman in my house. The last thing I needed to add to our already bad record was dad hits on nannies . “Sorry to hear that. Is there anything I could do to convince you to stay?”

She swallowed and cast her eyes down. “It’s been a pleasure working for you, Jack. Jace and Harper are sweet kids. It’s just . . .”

“Sydney?” I supplied.

She grimaced. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Leroy. She’s—well, you know how she is.”

“I do know how she is,” I paused, a headache building behind my brow. “I don’t want to make this awkward and I’m sorry too. If there’s anything I can do to convince you to stay?—”

“I just feel it’s best for my mental health to not have to worry about her coming around. It’s too stressful not knowing when she’s going to show up.”

I nodded. “I get it.” And man, did I ever. If Sydney hadn’t given me the two beautiful kids asleep upstairs, I’d gladly never see her again.

I walked Hayley to the door, told her I’d be a reference for her, and took her house key, making a mental note to change the code. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t even give Sydney the new code.

Fuck.

Another nanny, gone. This was our fourth. The first time, the recruiter at the nanny agency assured me it’s sometimes a matter of finding the right fit. But by the time she sent me Hayley, I didn’t get such conciliatory words. In fact, I was told if this didn’t work out, I wouldn’t be able to work with them at all anymore.

L.A.’s a big city. I could find a new nanny, but it wouldn’t fix the root problem. Sydney would do anything to make my life hell.

Some days I fantasized about packing up all our stuff, taking our kids, and leaving like a thief in the night. I’m old enough that no one would question me quitting the league. I could go off the radar for a while, then pick back up with coaching or league commentary.

I opened the fridge and cracked a beer on instinct, taking a sip as I looked over the calendar stuck to the door. I could probably piece something together with sitters for the next couple of weeks, but I was really fucked for Saturday. I was planning to have Mara and her kids at the game. Hayley was supposed to watch them then, and I knew one of our usual sitters was out of town.

A normal guy would be able to ask his ex-wife and the mother of his children if she wouldn’t mind swapping weekends. I was not a normal guy.

Admitting to Syd that she’d scared off yet another nanny was not something I looked forward to. Hell, seeing her at all just reminded me what a bad mistake I made in marrying her, letting her control me for so long. She broke me. I let her dictate who I hung out with and when, weighed every decision I made against her opinion.

It still wasn’t enough. Nothing would have ever been enough for her. She made me believe I’d always be a fuckup, just like my family thought. She thrived when I felt like shit, clinging to her as a lifeline.

Even though I’d since pulled the wool off my eyes, it set me off to be around her. And to admit she won again? Worse.

As I poured more beer down my throat, I realized it wasn’t giving me the comfort I needed.

I don’t even have a fucking sweet tooth, but I wanted cookies. I wanted warm chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk.

This was Mara’s fault.

Mara. Fucking Mara.

It was also her fault that I was becoming Pavlov’s dogs to the sound of a cane coming my way.

It was also her fault that I’d never see the doorway to my guest bedroom the same way again. We almost kissed. I wanted to kiss somebody.

I wanted to kiss her .

Which was really fucking stupid, considering I was never going to love a woman again.

The kissing part was probably just body chemicals needing to get stirred up or something.

And! It was Mara’s fault that her picture was saved on my phone.

Fine, she didn’t make me do that. I did it. Like a dirty little secret, I put it where I hide dirty pictures on my phone. But then she and her cute kids didn’t look right next to dirty pictures. That felt fucked up. So, I deleted the dirty ones and just kept the one of her. Was that some ink on the inside of her bicep? And the inside of her wrist? What would that skin feel like if I bit it? If that hand slapped my ass? If those nails clawed between my shoulders?

I rolled my neck as I zoomed in, then realized I wanted to crop out the kids so I could just look at Mara. If I did that, I’d officially be a fucking weirdo. I chucked my phone across the room. Who the hell puts their kid’s friend’s mom in their secret folder?

And why her at all? Was I just desperate for a woman’s attention? Reading too much into chocolate chip cookies and hugs in parking lots?

Plus, those are squishy things, and squishy things lead to love. Love was never in the cards for me again. I’d had sex a couple times since Syd and I split, but I can’t say the encounters were fulfilling or meaningful.

So, fine, even if Mara was cute—okay, hot—it would be unwise to start fucking my kids’ friends’ moms.

Even if they had smart mouths and body parts that were begging to be bitten.

She called me a brat. Every time I revisited that in my brain, something uncomfortably delicious stirred inside me. All the things I asked Sydney for and she humiliated me about. What if Mara was actually into that?

There was no fucking way. Women liked a man to be dominant. Right?

I shouldn’t have been thinking about Mara at all beyond being Aspen’s mom. And still, I knew I was never going to delete the picture.

I let my forehead rest on my folded arms on the counter for a moment. Pull it together, Jackass.

I didn’t have cookies, so I dumped out the beer, recycled the bottle, and poured myself a glass of milk and sat on a stool in the kitchen.

I was in a pickle. I’d just asked Mara and her kids, and her giggly friend, to come to my game one day ago, and now I didn’t have a sitter for the game.

Technically, Mara did owe me a favor. I’m not the guy who likes to cash in favors. I’d rather indefinitely hold the few times I’m kind over people’s heads forever like a threat.

But what the fuck was I going to ask her? To watch my kids instead of coming to the game? To watch my kids at the game?

Fuck it.

Hey can I ask you a favor

MARA O’CONNELL

What’s up?

Damn, she responded fast. Probably doing what ever other single parent does after their kids go to bed: mindless scrolling.

It’s not a big deal if you can’t

It was actually quite a big deal, but again, I felt stupid even cashing in the favor.

I don’t know whether it’s a big deal if you don’t tell me what it is

My sitter fell through for Saturday.

Need me to watch your kids? I’m sure Aspen would love it

Right but that’s the day I was going to have you at the game

Have you? Was she going to read into that? Did she think I was going to bang her in the locker room or something? Pull her hair in the shower?

Fuck, she’d probably hate how the locker room smelled. She’s someone who smells sweet and her hair smells like cookies. I know because I smelled her pretty fucking red hair when I hugged her and again when she was leaning against my guest bedroom door frame.

FUCK.

I gulped down some milk, then remembered how much milk sucks without cookies or cereal. I got up, pulled out some of those healthy fake Cocoa Puffs, and poured them into my glass, grabbing a spoon.

Consider the backpedaling underway.

I can try to find someone else but I thought maybe

We don’t have to go to the game if it’s too complicated

Fuckfuckfuckfuck was I putting a burden on her by even asking her to go to the game?

I mean do you want to go?

It’s fine if you don’t want to. You don’t have to.

Silence.

FOUR MINUTES OF SILENCE I had to live through. Mara O’Connell had the fucking nerve to leave my ass on read.

To kill time while I was being stranded, I texted Harper’s hockey coach.

You ever figure out how I can pay for someone on the team

CHRIS

Sorry, forgot to look into it

Would it be easier if I just sponsored the whole team

Wow. Probably?

Get me a number for how much

You got it

Then, my phone rang.

And it was her.

I stood up like she was a queen or something.

Or do you kneel for a queen?

Whatever. I felt like I should be formal.

My heart pounded as I swiped to answer the call. How do you answer the phone? Who calls on the phone? “Uh, hello?”

“Hey!” Mara’s warm voice came through the phone, a little raspy like she was trying to be quiet. “I figured I’d just call. It’ll be easier.”

“Yeah. Yeah. What’s up?”

“I just had to call Gabi and make sure she thought we could handle all four kids together. I figured she’d say yes, but I didn’t want to force it on her. And since my back hurts again?—”

That made a lump rise in my throat. “Your back hurts again? Mara, are you okay? You don’t have to go to the game if you’re in pain.”

“Yeah, it still hurts. But I’ve always got my cane. And Gabi can carry Hazel if need be.”

“But I don’t want you hurting for a hockey game,” I objected.

Her little raspy laugh caught me by surprise. “Isn’t pain what hockey is all about? It’s just my way of playing your game.”

“Oh. Alright then.” My mind raced, trying to think of how I could make things both more accessible for Mara and simpler to manage the four kids. “I can pick you guys up and do all the car seat stuff. And get you a box so it’s easier to entertain the kids.”

Mara blew a raspberry. “Jack, that’s like, thousands of dollars, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea. But I’ll figure it out. You’ll have somewhere comfortable to sit.”

“Okay. Great.” She yawned.

“Tired?” I asked.

“Kinda.”

I scratched my head and fidgeted with a pen on the counter. “I’ll let you go, I guess.”

“Oh, um, alright. Yeah. Sorry to call you so late.”

“No, no, I was up. Obviously. And actually, while I’ve got you, give me your cookie recipe.”

Mara gasped on the other end. “Jack, that’s a top secret family recipe.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not opening a bakery with it. Don’t gatekeep.”

“I take it you liked my cookies,” she hummed. What the fuck, was that innuendo? I mean, why was there the almost kiss and the brat thing and now she’s making lightly dirty jokes?

How was I supposed to play it with my kid’s friend’s mom? I never dated moms from their sports teams. Why would Harper’s best friend’s mom not be off-limits?

Why would anyone beyond a one-night stand not be off limits? I couldn’t trust myself anymore. The last time I fell in love, I lost myself. I couldn’t afford to do that again.

“You know what? Never mind. I should get going. I’ll send you a pickup time for Saturday.”

“Fine. See you then,” Mara said, seemingly unbothered.

“Yep.” I hung up. Why did I just cut her off?

I stared at a single section of countertop for who knows how long until my phone chimed again.

MARA O’CONNELL

(link to cookie recipe)

Night Jack

Night

I shook my head with a chuckle. It was the chocolate chip company’s recipe, not a family secret. I never thought the frazzled mom from the principal’s office would like fucking with me.

But just for good measure, I put a heart on her “Night Jack.”