Yesterday, I couldn’t have been more nervous about skating with Tristan. But, with the hotel’s babysitting service and him using his limited free time to practice with me, I feel like everything might start to fall into place. More than I ever thought it would.

I feel like a duck finally back in the water. It does come naturally to me. I’ve been fighting my ability to play—or inability, depending on how you look at it—so damn much that it was painful at first. But now, I’m just excited about the whole thing.

I go back to the hotel, leaving Tristan at the arena. While I’m in the taxi, my phone rings. It’s my second day here, and I haven’t heard one word from Dad.

Until now.

“Dad, hey.” I smile. I’m happier than I have been in a long time, despite not scoring a goal during today’s short practice, and I hope he can hear it in my voice.

“Faith. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

I nod. “Good, actually. The kids are little angels, to be honest. And Tristan’s sticking to his word, helping me out. He even said that maybe a recommendation from him would go a long way in my application to school.”

“What about payment?” he asks briskly. “You never did say how much he’s going to pay you. Or when.”

My brows furrow. I’m not expecting that to be the first thing out of his mouth. It’s obvious he didn’t call to ask how I’m doing. He just wants to know how much I’ll be sending him.

“Tristan says he’ll be paying me $10,000 per month, because I’m not that experienced. His words, not mine. Isn’t that incredible? The other nanny was getting—”

“When will he pay you?”

I clear my throat, standing outside the hotel. I’m putting this conversation down to Dad being stressed, because he doesn’t sound like himself. It’s not like him to cut to the chase and ask me about money. Something’s wrong. I steel myself to ask what’s happened, because I don’t think he’s in the mood for small talk. But, I have the right to know before I divulge more. “Dad, what’s happened?”

He sighs, and the ornery quality in his tone is gone. “The bank’s closing down the store, Faith. I’m…”

I feel as if my heart’s thumping out of control, waiting for him to say more. But he lets whatever he was going to say drift off.

The store. The one he started up when Mom retired from hockey, so they’d both have something to work on together. I can’t believe he didn’t talk to me about this earlier. Why leave it until today? When it’s too late?

I feel weak as I stand with the phone in my hand. I can’t let him hear weakness in my voice. I’ve got to stay strong, at least for him.

“The thing is, the house will be gone, too, if we don’t get the money,” he adds, and I can tell it’s hard for him to admit.

I don’t say anything immediately. I’m still trying to calm down enough to prevent myself from ripping into him for not telling me. He had the nerve to treat me as if I was some whore when I left the house, pimping myself out to get ahead. Now, he’s calling me for money.

“How much do you need, and when?” I’m almost afraid to know the answer.

He hesitates. “Five thousand by the end of the month.”

I nearly choke as he says the words. Five thousand is not a small amount to families like ours. It occurs to me that it might not be as big of a deal to Tristan, but that’s besides the point. I didn’t start this job to take money from him.

“That’ll save the store? And the house, too?”

“That’s what the bank manager says.”

“Fine. You’ll have it before then.” I just hope I can pull it off.

He asks, “But, that’s only two weeks away. Are you sure you can get it to me by then? I’ve tried Henry, Will, and everyone else I can think of. They managed to come up with about two thousand.”

“So, that means there’s still five thousand owing after you’ve put their money towards the debt?” I really don’t like the idea of him owing that kind of cash to anyone else.

He sighs, sheepish. “Yes.”

“Oh, Dad.” I’m not scolding him, and thankfully he doesn’t take it that way.

All this time, I’ve been coming over to the house, checking in on him daily, and he never said a word to me. I knew the store was at risk; it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

But the house, too? I didn’t have a clue. I knew things were bad when he sold his car, but I’d convinced myself he was keeping the store going by a thread. But, that thread had snapped a while ago, it seems.

My college fund went toward Mom’s medical bills to keep her alive as long as possible. When she passed away, I thought we were in the clear, paid in full.

It hits me like a freight train. He lied to me back then, and has been continuing to lie until right now. The financial problems started way back then, not only a matter of months ago, like I’d been led to believe. I’d just been too busy wallowing in grief to notice.

“All this time, I thought it was just the store you were having problems with,” I said, defeated. “Not the house, too. I opened some of the bills, Dad. But, I never once saw a notice from the bank.”

He doesn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he clears his throat. “I should’ve been honest with you a long time ago, Faith.”

I don’t have time to be sentimental. I need to get to the kids. I should have been there nearly five minutes ago. “Yeah, you should have. But, Dad, I have to go. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up, not waiting for him to reply. I’m too busy fighting back the tears to hear anything else he has to say.

I head toward the play area where the kids are. That’s where I want to be right now. Where I need to be.

I’ll deal with Dad later. But, unlike him, it won’t be over the phone. It’ll be face to face. Then, he can remind me about how naïve I am, and I’ll just laugh, because it seems to me that he’s the one who’s had his head stuck in the sand, believing that all his financial worries would just go away, not me.

* * *

“Faith, this needs to be quick. I’ve got to get to the arena. We have a game tonight.” Tristan’s sitting down, ready to listen to me like I asked him to.

I hate doing this, I do. I never took this job to try and extort money from him. That was never my attention. It was never about the money, and I feel sick just having to ask for it.

I look him directly in the eye, and all I want to do is kiss him. There’s something about the way he looks at me. That look that always makes me feel like a woman, not just a girl that works at a hardware store. Or a girl that’s been hired to look after his kids. Like I’m not just the hired help.

“It’s just that my dad called,” I begin, floundering for words. “He told me they…I’m mean, he said…” I take a breath. “The bank is repossessing his store. I know you don’t know me from Adam, and I swear this isn’t the reason I took this job. I didn’t even know—”

“You need money.”

I nod slowly, waiting for him to speak again. When he doesn’t, I continue. “Dad says he needs five thousand. I swear, this isn’t why I’m here, Tristan. I need you to know that this is news to me, too.”

“I see.”

Does he? Does he really? His tone makes me think otherwise.

“Tristan, I took this job because you needed someone to look after Darcy and Ferguson. Because I wanted to help you out, and be there for your children. If Dad hadn’t called me, I wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

He stands up, making me even more nervous. The tension between us is thick, and I feel as if I can cut a knife through it.

“Just tell me one thing,” he demands, his gaze hard. “When you told me about your mom dying, and about how hard it’s been for you…was that a lie? Or just a lead-up to this?”

I shake my head frantically, my eyes wide. Jesus, he must think I’m some kind of scam artist, just making up stories to try to get closer to him. I can’t even respond with words.

“The kids like you.” He nods as though affirming something, and my heart feels as if it has stopped beating. Is this it?

“And that’s the important thing to me,” he continues. “I’ll give your number to my accountant. There are funds set aside for emergency situations. Just tell him your account details, and he’ll do the transfer. Is there anything else?”

I shake my head again, and he turns away from me. His voice is cold, and any hint that there’d been any kind of connection between us seems to have been shattered.

“Good,” he growls. “I’ve got a game to win.”

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. I want to cross the room, and go to him. Kiss him. Make him believe me that this isn’t some ruse to take his money. But I’m frozen in place, and only manage to whisper to his shadow, “Good luck.”

But he’s already left the room.

And I know that any chance we had of being together is gone.

I should be happy that he at least agreed to help me. But I’m selfish, wanting things to be the same as they’ve been the last few days. The innuendo, the teasing, the easy conversation. I want him to want me as much as I want him.

Instead, he thinks I’m some kind of gold digger. I head into the living room area of the suite, where the kids are glued to the television, realizing that it’s too late. It’s been planted in Tristan’s mind that I’m here for all the wrong reasons, and no matter what, nothing’s going to change that.