Chapter 9
Brynn
It was just before 11:00 PM when I heard the throaty growl of Shea's car pull into the garage.
The hockey player stepped through the door, looking a lot worse for wear than when he'd left. A swirl of blue and purple bruises marked the places where his face had been mashed. An inch or two of black sutures held the skin above his eye together. Dried blood lingered in his eyebrow.
Looking at him made my stomach flutter—and I must've not been doing a very good job of hiding the effects his visage had on my insides.
“That bad, eh?” he asked, his smile fading.
“Sorry,” I said, cringing. “It physically pains me to look at you.”
“Words every man wants to hear,” he chuckled. “So how'd it go tonight, Brynn? You don't look anything like me, so that's a good sign.”
I laughed. “The kids were great. Everyone finished their homework first thing. Chloe hung out with her friend Nicole, and she made it home by curfew. The boys spent the night practicing.”
“Huh. So where are they now?”
“Oh, everyone's showered and in their bedrooms.”
Shea checked his watch. “In bed before 11:00. Not bad, Brynn.”
I gestured at his eye. “Does it hurt?”
He took a seat at the kitchen table. “Nah.”
“It was awfully tense in here during that fight of yours,” I said. “Nick and Cam went nuts once you managed to pull the jersey over that guy's face and started really hitting him.”
Shea looked startled. “Wait, the boys watched the game?”
“Of course—don't they always?”
“No.” Shea lowered his voice. “Their favorite team is Chicago.”
“What's their tie to Chicago?”
“Beats me. One day, they woke up and decided that their favorite players are Toews and Kane. I guess they wanted to root for players that aren't their dad.”
I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Aw. That must be tough.”
He gave a small laugh. “I figure it's part of them having to grow up and become their own men. Right? That's what I tell myself, anyway.”
I smiled at him, although I felt more like frowning. I didn't know what to say. “Are you hungry? I made you a plate. I'll heat it up.”
“Starved. But you didn't have to do that.”
“I think it's important for a family to eat together,” I said as I punched numbers into the microwave keypad. “And if someone can't be there during dinner, they should have a plate waiting for them when they get home. Food keeps a family together, you know?”
“I guess so. I miss a lot of meals since I'm always on the road.”
“It breaks my heart that so many families don't eat together these days—or worse, when they're eating in total silence because they're all staring into their phones.”
“Don't even get me started on the phones,” Shea said, shaking his head. “But wait. Are you telling me that you actually got my kids to sit at the same table and eat dinner together?”
I grinned. “Maybe they're just showing off for the new nanny.”
“I'll be damned. Hey, while that food's heating up, I'm going to say goodnight to the kids.” He paused with a wicked grin. “Or the impostors pretending to be my kids, that is.”
***
Shea's plate was waiting for him when he returned, wisps of steam rising from his dinner—which was seared chicken with a creamy lemon sauce; golden potatoes mashed to a fluff; and bright green, garlicky string beans.
“Wow, Brynn. This looks like a feast.”
“I hope you like it.”
He smiled at me. “The kids sure had glowing reviews.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” I said. One of the things I enjoyed most was cooking a meal that people loved—nothing made me happier feeling like I'd nourished their heart and soul.
“Oh my God,” Shea gushed after taking the first bite of chicken. “This is delicious, Brynn.” Eagerly, he sampled the potatoes next, and then the green beans. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went mmmmm. “You know, I'm really glad the twins loved your meal.”
“Why's that?”
“I've had a hard time getting them to understand how much they need to eat.”
“W-why?” I asked. Shea was wandering dangerously close to a sensitive topic to me—the only question was if he somehow knew about it.
“Because they're growing boys,” Shea said. “Growing boys who are very physically active and want to play pro hockey like their old man.”
Oh, I thought with a breath of relief. That makes sense.
“Are they that good? To go pro?” I asked.
“Sure. But honestly, it's not how good you are, it's how bad you want it. And these days, everyone starts their kids earlier and earlier with strength and conditioning programs, and specialized diets, and so on.”
“Oh, wow. That's a lot for a ten-year-old.”
“I agree. Don't get the wrong idea—I'm not pushing them into it. I think hockey's supposed to be fun for the kids. But I want them to understand that if they're serious about going pro, they're right at the age they need to start doing their squats and deadlifts and eating big.” He shrugged. “At the very least, they need to eat more so they can gain mass. They're a little undersized for their Atom league.”
“That's a little surprising, considering their father's genetics.”
Shea laughed and almost choked on his bite. “Yeah, right?”
“Careful, don't choke. Half of Boston would want me dead if I killed their hockey captain.”
Shea had a devilish spark in his eye. “Ah hell, they'd get over it. I'm retiring at the end of the year, anyway.”
“Shea! Don't talk like that.”
“Did you play any sports growing up?”
I hesitated. “Cross country. If you think that counts as a sport, anyway.”
“I absolutely do.”
I smiled at him. “Good.”
“Speaking of good?” Shea took another big bite of chicken and swallowed it down. “This is amazing. Can I fire you as my nanny, and then rehire you as my personal chef?”
I laughed. “No, you can't do that.”
He flashed an indignant smile. “Why not?”
“Because that's not the job I interviewed for.”
“You'd rather raise my kids?”
“Yes.”
Shea shrugged. “Works for me, as long as you still cook.”
“I will. But don't go building me up in your mind thinking that I'm some gourmet chef or you're going to end up disappointed.”
“I doubt that,” he said. I could've sworn I saw his eyes flash up and down my body for the briefest of seconds.
I watched the hockey player inhale his meal. Sure, I loved feeding people—but something about feeding an athlete, someone who made a living off of his physical prowess, made it doubly satisfying. I couldn't stop smiling as I watched him excitedly finish his meal.
Then his plate was empty, but Shea ran off to the fridge and got seconds.
“Aren't you going to heat that up?” I asked as he hurried back to his seat with a plate of cold food.
“I can't wait that long. This is too good,” he said. “You know. I almost feel sorry for the guy who ends up marrying you, Brynn.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you feed your husband like this every day of his life, the poor guy is going to blow up like a blimp, and then you're going to leave him.”
“I didn't make you get seconds.” I laughed and slapped at his shoulder. It was hard and round with muscle. “You scared me, by the way. I thought you were going to say something way worse.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know! Something mean.”
“I know I probably looked it during that fight, but I swear, I'm not a mean guy.” The wise wrinkles around Shea's eyes curled up with a smile. “Just do me a favor, Brynn. When you do decide to get married? Make sure you marry a guy you can trust.”
“That's a little easier said than done, isn't it?”
“Yeah, but trust me, you want to make sure. Hell, hire a PI to follow the guy around before you tie the knot. That's what I recommend.”
“A PI!” I howled. “Little over the top, don't you think?”
“Better to be safe than sorry. Trust me, divorce is a total pain in the ass. A constant cloud of stress that hangs over you for a year, if not longer, until it's finally over.”
I stifled a cynical laugh. “Build me a time machine, then, and I'll take your advice and marry someone else this time around.”
“Huh?” The baffled look told me that Shea had missed my point.
“I'm divorced too.”
He nearly choked on his food a second time. “You? You're divorced? Seriously?”
“Sure am.”
He waved his hand at me. “Bull. I don't believe it. You're not even old enough to be married, let alone divorced.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “My first serious boyfriend, Mikey, proposed to me at nineteen. I said 'yes.' Then I said 'yes' to a divorce when I was twenty-two.”
“So that was what, a week ago?” Shea asked with a playful twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, ha ha. I guess I'll take that as a compliment. But no, that was five years ago.”
Shea's jaw dropped. “Wait. You're twenty-seven!?”
“Hey, you can do math! Whoever said athletes were dumb jocks?” I patted Shea's shoulder again, but this time I let my fingers linger on his taut muscle for just a second longer. The chiseled ridges were such an alluring sensation beneath my fingers—part of me wanted to run my fingertips through the crevices and valleys of his muscle. But I didn't, of course.
“I never would've guessed you were that old,” Shea said.
I squinted at the salt-and-pepper hockey player who was my childhood crush once upon a time. “Are you calling me old now?”
“Trust me—no. All I'm saying is, you look great for your age. Besides, you're young, I'm old.”
“You're only ten years older than me, aren't you? Thirty-seven isn't that old at all.”
“Yeah, but remember how I make my living. Those are ten hard years of hockey, of plane rides and hotel beds, of fights and hits and injuries …” Shea shook his head. “Never mind all that. I still can't believe you're divorced.”
“Why's that so hard to believe?”
“Because you're—” Whatever Shea was about to say, he thought better of it and caught his tongue. “Well—because! It just is. That's all.”
“Wow, Shea,” I teased, “you're a real wordsmith.”
“That's why I make the big bucks playing hockey, and not writing poetry,” he teased right back.
But after a pause, the athlete decided he had more to say.
“Anyway,” he began quietly, “what I meant was, look, you're smart. You're beautiful. I don't even know you all that well, but I can tell you're fun to be around. You seem like the type of girl that a guy would crawl through hell and back to keep.”
Is Shea Ellis flirting with me? I wondered, my pulse racing in my neck. But he can't be flirting with me. I don't deserve his attention.
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “I'd think a wife would crawl through hell and back to keep her hockey-playing husband, too.”
“That's what you'd think. Especially because, when I met her, she said she was my biggest fan.”
“That's, er, funny,” I croaked. Uh oh. Definitely can't let this guy find out about my teen crush, or he'll never forgive me.
Shea lowered his voice. “I don't like to talk bad of the kids' mom. But let's just say that was the first of many lies that she told me.”
I frowned. “Sorry to hear it. Marriage sucks.”
“Yeah,” Shea agreed. “Love sucks even worse.”
I frowned. It made me sad that he thought that way. But I guess I couldn't blame him. His wife had obviously hurt him.
“Enough heavy shit,” Shea said. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why'd you quit personal training?”
It was like Shea sucked the air right out of my lungs. Was I really that transparent? Could Shea see right through me, and knew to ask all the questions that cut to the core of my being? I panicked, not knowing what to say or do.
But before I could figure out how to answer, Shea spoke again.
“I mean, nanny, personal trainer—they seem like two dramatically different life pursuits, you know?”
I managed to catch my breath. Relax, Brynn! He doesn't know anything about you.
“Oh, well, you'd be surprised,” I said. “In one job, you have to hold hands with babies, teach them how to walk, and make them do things that they simply don't want to do, period. And the other job, of course, is nannying.”
Shea burst out into a fit of laughter so loud I worried he might wake the kids. “Brynn, that was savage! I love it!”
I smiled. “Glad you liked it.”
“Hey, Brynn.”
“Yeah?”
“I know I hired you to be a nanny, and not a chef or a personal trainer. But if you ever manage to get the twins into the gym and show them a thing or two—I'd really appreciate it. Of course, if you feel like you're twisting their arms to get them to pump iron, then don't worry about it. And only if you have the time to do it.”
“But wait, Shea.” I paused for dramatic effect. “I still haven't told you if I want this job or not.”
“Wha'?” he mumbled. The hockey player looked like I'd just broken his heart.
I felt terrible immediately. I put my hand on his. “Aw, it was only a joke! I was feeling feisty, I'm sorry. I'd love to be your nanny, if you still want me. And if the boys are up for it, I'd be happy to show them some things in the gym, too.”
He smiled at me and shook his head in disbelief. “I'm starting to think that you might be a little sarcastic, aren't you?”
“Maybe a touch.”
“Uh huh. I'll have to remember that.”
Shea's plate was empty, and I looked at my watch.
“Oh, yikes. It's getting late. I should go.”