Chapter 12
Shea
Chloe folded her arms and gave me a dirty scowl. “Dad! Once again, you didn't knock!”
I raised my arms. “What? Yes, I did. I told you, I always knock.”
“Yeah—one whole millisecond before you burst right in here anyway! What if I wasn't dressed or something?”
“It's hard to 'burst' in when your door isn't even closed all the way, Chloe.”
“It was closed enough.”
Living with a teenager was sort of like living with a tyrant. You weren't sure how they ever came to power, but now they had rules, and worse yet, their rules seemed to change on any given day. You had to pick your battles—and this one wasn't worth fighting.
“Alright, alright. Next time, after I knock, I'll try to give you more time to answer.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said sarcastically.
The two of them were sitting on the carpet, with their backs against Chloe's bed. I loved that Chloe had opened up to Brynn so much—you could really look at her and see how much confidence Chloe had gained in two short months. Although I'll admit that sometimes, I wished my daughter would tell me whatever it was that she was always sharing with Brynn.
I stepped between the two girls and gestured for Chloe to scoot aside. “Make room for Dad.”
“Da~ad!” Chloe grumbled as she begrudgingly scooted aside. Pickles leaped out of her lap and zipped right out of the room. “Now you scared Pickles off.”
I lowered myself onto the floor. It was a snug, comfy fit between the two girls—which couldn't have repulsed Chloe more. Her body, no, her entire existence seemed to turn and lean away from me with disgust.
But Brynn didn't move an inch when our thighs touched.
I was breaking my own rules, and it never felt better.
See, that first night Brynn worked for us two months ago, I realized I needed to put a barrier in place. If I wanted to keep Brynn as a nanny, the last thing I could do was think that way about her, let alone actually touch her or try to kiss her. And seeing what a miracle worker she's been with my kids tells me that I was absolutely right.
I was sure whatever infatuation I had with Brynn would fade with time. But it hasn't. And now it's too late. My kids need her more than ever. All you have to do is watch them interact with her, and it's obvious.
Which is why it's so troubling to me that, over the past two months, I've found all sorts of reasons to get close to Brynn. Without being unprofessional, of course—or at least, that's what I tell myself. I just can't help it. I'll take a seat on the couch and find myself sitting a half-dozen inches or so closer to Brynn than I'd ever sit next to anyone else. When we're talking to each other, I'll find myself touching her—her arm, her shoulder, her knee.
God, what a thrill those small moments of physical touch are. My heart starts beating fast and I wish I could touch her more—I know, I know. I'm a sad, lonely old man. You don't have to tell me.
A touch here, a touch there. That's it. I can't go any further than that. I know if I ever touched her, she'd leave us.
“So what are you two being so secretive about in here?” I asked the girls with a grin. “Are you talking about boys?”
“What are you even talking about, Dad?” Chloe countered.
“When I 'burst' in here, you juggled your phone”—I pulled out my own phone and bobbled it from hand to hand like a hot potato—“before you stashed it back with Brynn.”
“That wasn't my phone, that was Brynn's,” Chloe said curtly. “And I was only giving it back to her.”
Brynn laughed softly and explained. “I was showing Chloe some pictures from my teenage days.”
My face lit up. “You were? Hey, I want to see.”
But Brynn emphatically shook her head no. “Sorry, Shea, but I don't think so. Showing Chloe was embarrassing enough.”
“You two never tell me anything,” I griped, but with a grin.
The three of us sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, listening to Chloe's music.
“Well, this is nice, isn't it, girls? What's this music?”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “It's Vampire Weekend.”
“Neat. What's that mean?”
“It's the name of the band.”
“Yeah, but what is a vampire weekend?”
“I don't know! It's just the name they gave themselves!” Chloe huffed. “Is there a reason why you came in here, Dad?”
“Well, yeah. I wanted to say bye to my lovely daughter before I went to play my game.” I kissed her on the top of her head.
“Uh huh.” Chloe stared at me skeptically. She could see right through me. She knew there was more.
I cleared my throat. “And, uh, I wanted to remind you that the players' gala is tonight, and I know you keep saying no—but this is your last chance to be my date!”
Her face scrunched up. “I told you when you first asked me—there's no way I'm going to that lame thing again. Besides, Mom is picking us up soon and we're spending the weekend with her.”
“I can drop you off at your mom's house after the gala. It's a tradition for us, Chloe! And I thought it'd be a good way for us to spend some time togeth—”
“Dad! How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to go to that thing! I'm too old for it! And it's so freaking weird that you want to bring your daughter to a formal ball that everyone else brings their wives to!”
A silence came over us. Even the music stopped playing as the album reached its end. I could see it in Chloe's face: she resented the fact that she had to use lethal force on me, but I hadn't left her a choice.
With a defeated sigh, I climbed to my feet. “Okay. I hear you. Loud and clear.”
I made my way for the door.
“Dad … wait …” Chloe sounded apologetic.
I kept walking. “It's okay, sweetheart. No hard feelings.”
“No—Dad—wait!”
I started to close the door behind me. “Really, Chloe, it's okay. I don't want you to feel like you have to go.”
“Dad,” Chloe blurted out, “you should take Brynn.”
I froze in the doorway. I would've laughed at Chloe's idea, had Brynn shot the idea down immediately.
But she didn't.
“Take Brynn?” I repeated, my eyes searching Brynn's for some hint or clue how to feel about that idea.
Brynn's gaze never broke from mine. She looked just as startled as I did—and she was searching my face for an answer.
“Yeah!” Chloe nudged Brynn with her elbow. “You're free tonight, aren't you? Since us kids are going to my mom's.”
Brynn stammered for words. “Well—ah—yes, I'd be free … but—I couldn't butt in.”
Chloe piped right up. “You wouldn't be butting in at all. The food is amazing, there's an open bar—not that they ever let me anywhere near it—and you get to meet all the Brawlers players and their wives. And everyone's dressed up all fancy and blah blah blah. Look, I won't lie; the gala is fun, but I want a break from going. You'd probably have a really good time, though.”
Brynn looked at me for an answer. A hint of a blush had reddened her cheeks.
“Would you be my date, Brynn?” I asked quietly.
An infectious smile spread across her face before she answered in a hush. “Yes. I would love to go with you.”
Chloe clapped excitedly. “Great! It's a date. And now I don't have to feel so bad about not going. It all works out in the end.”
I tried to keep from smiling too big. “Okay. I've gotta get down to the rink. Have a good time at your mom's, Chloe. And Brynn, I'll pick you up after the game, so be ready to go.”
“Bye, Dad!” Chloe sang.
“Bye, Shea,” Brynn said quietly. “Good luck out there tonight.”
“Thanks.”
***
“Good evening, gentleman.” I strutted into the locker room with a smile on my face. “Ready to kick some ass tonight, I hope.”
The team greeted me with grunts and bellows:
“You bet, Captain!”
“Hey, Boomer!”
We'd been kicking a lot of ass lately, after all—and it was our last game before the playoffs began.
I took my place at my dressing stall and started to undress.
Lance sat next to me. “Hey there, big guy. So Chloe will be joining us at the gala tonight, right? Feels like it's been ages since I've seen her. Paige would love to meet her.”
I frowned. “Unfortunately, no Chloe tonight.”
“What? Chloe's a scratch?” Lance gasped, his mouth hanging open. “It's practically a Brawlers tradition at this point.”
“Believe me, bud, I know it. I was as stunned as you are. Apparently, she's too cool for her old man's work parties. And now she thinks I'm weird and creepy for bringing her as my date all those years in the first place.”
The boys broke into a belly laugh. “Bwahahaha.”
“She's kinda right, you know,” Quinton Brooks said.
“Oh, piss off, Brooksy.”
Lance stepped in to defend me. “It's not weird. Chloe's just at that age where everything is weird and embarrassing. I remember when my sister went through that phase—and man, she was annoying as hell. I'm surprised this didn't come up last year, honestly.” Lance clapped a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Well, shoot, I'm sorry, old man. That must've felt like a kick in the balls, eh?”
“Sure was.”
“So you're going stag, then?” he asked.
“Er.” I grunted and cleared my throat. “Well. Not exactly.”
Everyone in that room, regardless of whether they were already engaged in another conversation or not, suddenly focused in on me and waited for my answer.
“Oh for God's sake,” I muttered.
“Not exactly?” Lance repeated, a knowing smile creeping onto his lips. “Then who are you taking, Boomer?”
“I'm taking Brynn.”
“Wait, that's your nanny, right?” Ilya asked.
“Yes.”
While I waited for the laughter to die down, I tore off my shirt, balled it up, and threw it into my locker. I turned around to face the room with a finger held up in warning.
“Just so we're clear. She's just my nanny. If any of you guys give her a hard time, or make any nanny jokes, or say anything inappropriate to her—you're gonna have to answer to me later, and I'm telling you, I'm not gonna be happy.”
Lance squeezed my shoulders. “Hey, relax there, Boomer. We'll be on our best behavior.”
“That's reassuring.”
“Besides.” Lance leered at me. “I'm happy for you.”
“Happy about what?”
“A little romance before the playoffs might be just what the doctor ordered. You know?”
“A distraction like that is the last thing I want before the playoffs begin,” I said with a groan. “And by the way, that's the exact kind of sentiment I do not want you saying, or even thinking, at the gala. Brynn's only coming with me so I don't have to go alone. There's nothing romantic between us. We're just friends.”
“A second ago, Brynn was just your nanny,” Ilya remarked. “And now you're just friends? Boy, things are moving fast!”
“Bwahahaha.”
Ilya's wisecracks continued. “But this is good news, boys. I think Boomer finally found his retirement project.”
“Okay, and what is my retirement project?” I asked.
“Knock nanny up and have lots of babies, obviously,” the Russian answered.
“Bwahahaha.”
“I'm done having babies.” I scoffed and pulled my shoulder pads on. “And we're done with this conversation, too. Let's talk hockey, boys, hockey.”
The boys surrendered to me. “Okay, okay …”