Chapter 7
Brynn
After a second's lull, the towering hockey player lingered in the open doorway, giving me a small smile. “Okay, Brynn. Good luck tonight.”
I almost wondered if he wanted a hug before he left—but jeez, wouldn't that be a little awkward for us both? I patted his arm instead.
“Thanks. And good luck to you, Captain.”
He walked through the door and into the garage. I heard his car start with an aggressive growl, and then the mechanical whirr as his car reversed.
That was it. Shea Ellis was off to do his thing as a real-life superhero.
And I was officially on my own. Home alone in a freakin' mansion owned by the Boston Brawlers captain. I couldn't wait to tell my brothers!
The house that hockey built was palatial. I'd expected as much when he gave me the address in Brookline. But I still couldn't believe I was actually here—in the house of hockey badass, Shea Ellis. My very first crush. He was still totally handsome, too.
But obviously, that didn't matter to me anymore. I was only his nanny—and acting like a creeper fangirl was the fastest way to get fired from this sweet gig.
Anyway, I had a job to do, and some time to kill. So I retraced the tour Shea had just given me, walking from room to room and gathering what other clues I could about the family.
In the living room, I stopped and studied the framed pictures of Shea and his three kids.
During our interview, Shea had said that Cam and Nick weren't identical twins. Could've fooled me! The young boys didn't look a lot like Shea yet, but they sure looked like each other. I hoped it would be easier to tell the boys apart in person, because at least in the photographs, I couldn't see much difference. They both beamed with bright-eyed smiles and wore their chestnut brown hair buzzed short. They were handsome, athletic, and happy-looking boys. I was sure that the girls in their grade went crazy for them. I chuckled, imagining the metric ton of heartbreak that those twins would surely cause in a handful of years …
Then there was Chloe. She had lovely curls of strawberry blonde hair. She had her father's same mouth, nose and eyes. She was a beautiful girl, no doubt, but seeing her transformation into those turbulent teen years pained my heart. Her style and appearance changed from one picture to the next. Her posture grew guarded and clumsy, like she didn't know what the heck she was supposed to do with those limbs that seemed to grow longer and lankier by the day. Her smile faded, until she stopped smiling in photographs entirely. An insecure loathing filled her eyes. God, puberty was the worst, wasn't it?
Don't worry, sweetheart. You'll find yourself and get through it.
I continued my tour.
As luxurious as Shea's house was, it was almost obvious that a single dad ruled here. Not that it looked like a bachelor pad or was messy or anything like that—but the décor definitely lacked the warmth that made a house feel like a home. There wasn't much decoration or artwork to liven the space up. Instead, each room seemed to be furnished with only the bare essentials, so it wouldn't feel empty. Beyond that, the poor guy didn't know what to do with his place.
Until you set foot in the basement, that is.
Calling the basement a Man Cave wouldn't do it justice. This was more of a Man Deep Underground Military Base. Hockey memorabilia from Shea's storied hockey career covered every wall, every nook and cranny: blown-up pictures of Shea and his teammates in action, framed jerseys from the various teams he'd served on, a glass display box filled with pucks from his career milestones, a huge assortment of sticks, all the various knickknacks he'd picked up during a decade and a half of a pro career, a Ping Pong table, a Foosball table, a full entertainment system, a humongous sectional couch, a mini-bar …
Then, down the hall, there was the indoor gym.
And one door down from that, the indoor rink.
No wonder Chloe's having a rough go of it, I thought to myself. She's probably feeling suffocated by all this masculine energy.
Just then, there was a thunderous barrage of footsteps that came barreling down the stairs. The excited banter of two young boys echoed down the stairway.
When the twins emerged at the bottom of the stairs, they saw me and immediately stopped dead in their tracks. Their eyes were big but their expressions blank.
“Hi guys!” I said. “I'm Brynn, the new nanny.”
Their shy, boyish gazes dropped to the floor.
“How was school?”
“Good,” they both said quietly.
“Wait, your dad did send you a text letting you know about me, right?”
They nodded.
Whew. Small relief.
“Okay, help me out,” I said. “Who's Cam and who's Nick?”
“I'm Cam,” the one on the right said in a small but serious voice.
“Nick,” the other one said.
“Nice to meet you boys.” I shook their hands. “I'll probably have to keep asking you that question until I can tell you two apart.”
“Oh, that's easy,” Nick said, finally smiling and showing some personality. “Cam's got the bigger nose.”
Cam gave his brother a playful shove. “Yeah, and Nick's got an ugly scar right under his eyebrow.”
“Yeah, I got a big scar—'cause you can't keep your stick down!”
I watched as the twins started arguing with each other over who had the worse on-ice habits. It was as if I wasn't even standing there anymore, which was probably why they weren't so shy anymore. Soon, they dared each other to a game of one-on-one and went marching past me, ready to solve their dispute in their indoor rink.
I folded my arms and called after them. “Boys?”
They turned back, remembering me.
“What?” Nick asked.
“Do you have homework?”
Their silence said it all.
I smiled. “Your dad told me you have to finish all your homework before you play hockey.”
Cam huffed. “But Estel never made us do any of our homework.”
“Sorry, boys.” I shook my head and pointed upstairs. “Your dad was very clear about what he expected from you two. You can play hockey after your homework is done.”
“Aw, man …”
The twins trudged back upstairs, and I followed them.
***
I was chopping onions and listening to music when a voice from behind surprised me and nearly made me slice the tip of my finger off.
“Who the hell are you?”
Heart racing, I set my knife down and turned around. It was Chloe. She had her arms folded over her chest, and her eyes were narrowed at me with suspicion. Streaks of faded pink and blue ran through her shoulder-length hair.
“I'm Brynn, the new nanny. You must be Chloe.”
“New nanny?” Her face soured, like my story stank. “Since when do we have a new nanny? Dad didn't say anything about that. What happened to Estel?”
“I don't know about Estel, but your dad was supposed to send you a text to let you know to expect me. Didn't you get it?”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Oh, so first, I get in trouble for using my phone during class and Dad flips his shit and grounds me for a week. But now he sends me text messages during school hours and expects me to be reading them? Nice double standard, Dad.”
I frowned. “Sorry, Chloe, but I don't know about any of that, either. All I know is that your dad told me that he'd send you a text. Your brothers got it.”
Chloe checked her phone and read the message aloud. “'Hi kids. Just a heads-up, tonight we're having a new nanny come by. Her name is Brynn. Please be on your best behavior for her. Love Dad.'” Chloe shrugged. “I guess you're legit after all.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled. “Would you like a snack?”
Chloe slunk into the bar stool at the kitchen island. “Sure, I guess.”
I made her a dish of carrots, celery sticks, and hummus. “So how was school, Chloe?”
“Awful.”
“Really? Why?”
“I hate it. School's such a waste of time. Year after year, they teach us the same three topics, again and again and again. I thought high school would be different. It's not. How many more times can I learn about the Civil War or the American Revolution? I get it already. I mean, really! And the worst part is, I know I'll never need to know this stuff in the real world. Or, take something like geometry. I mean, proofs? Really? Will I ever need to use proofs in the real world, or am I just bashing my head against the wall trying to understand this nonsense?”
She waited for my answer. So I thought about it. And I thought about giving her a measured answer from my perspective. Something like, 'well, realistically, you probably won't use much geometry in your day to day life—but it's still a great way to develop logical and deductive abilities, which will serve you in untold ways during the course of your life!'
But then I remembered how, when I was a teen, it drove me nuts that adults would use their enlightened perspective to justify all your suffering from their comfortable distance.
“I sucked at geometry too,” I said with a laugh. “I only passed by the skin of my teeth. And I wasn't a bad student otherwise; that was the one and only D I got in high school. But to answer your question, no, you'll probably never need geometry.”
She smiled from ear to ear. “I knew it!”
“Well, you might need geometry if you go on to study engineering or architecture or something like that.”
Chloe gave an apathetic shrug. “I can't see that ever happening, 'cause I suck so bad at math.”
“So which subjects do you like?”
“Art.” She paused. “English, I guess.”
“Are you an artist?”
“Artist,” she said with a scoff. Her eyes rolled, not at me, but at herself. “I like to draw, but I'm not very good.”
“You'll have to show me your drawings sometime!”
Chloe's expression grew heavy. “No way. I'm way too bad to show anybody.”
“Aw, I doubt that. Besides, you should see my attempts at drawing. That'd build your confidence in a hurry.”
Chloe laughed a tiny laugh. She swirled a celery stick around in the hummus, then looked up at me gravely. Guilt was in her eyes.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Are you sure I didn't get Estel fired?”
“Chloe …” I said, wishing there was some way I could reassure her. “I promise you, I don't know anything specific about what happened with Estel.”
She let out a sigh and told me her story about last night: she had a boy over, Adam. Adam was one of the popular boys at school. For that reason, their paths never really crossed until this year, when they got put together in French class and started talking to each other. Just the other day, Adam asked if she wanted to hang out after school, and so she invited him over, but when Shea came home, he 'caught’ them hanging out together and immediately leaped to some serious conclusions. But really, they were only listening to Radiohead together—Adam's favorite band—with the lights off.
“So today in French class, Adam told me that, when Dad drove Adam home, he gave him this absolutely crazy speech about all the things he expects from someone who wants to date his daughter. Like, totally embarrassing stuff: he needs to have a job, and always dress up nice, always refer to my dad as 'Mr. Ellis,' never ever drink alcohol, always have me home on time after dates—the list kept going on and on! But we've only hung out once and I can guarantee you that Adam doesn't want to date me. I'm so embarrassed by the whole thing.”
Chloe inhaled a long, deep breath.
“And if that's why Estel got fired, because I hung out with Adam, I'm going to feel really, really bad about myself.”
I touched her arm. “Aw, Chloe. It sounds like a misunderstanding. I doubt your Dad would've fired Estel over one small incident like that alone. It's not your fault, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” she mumbled, staring at the floor. When she looked up at me again, her mood had changed. “Hey, Brynn.”
“What's up?”
“Just so you know, I'm going to hang out with my friend Nicole in a little bit,” she said with shifty eyes.
“After your homework's done, you mean?” I asked as I picked up my knife and went back to chopping onions.
Her jaw fell. “But it's all geometry proofs! Which I won't even need in real life. You even said so yourself, remember?”
I chuckled. “Before you forget about geometry forever, you need to actually pass the class.”
“Hmpf.” Chloe shook her head, but she still wore a grin. “Even if I only pass with a D?”
“Yup.”
Chloe quietly watched as I continued my prep cooking.
“Hey, Brynn.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to move in with us like Estel and the other nannies did?”
I smiled. “If your dad wants to keep me around, yeah.”
“Well, I hope he does.”
“Then you better get crackin' on those proofs, girl.”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” She slid out of the stool and took her backpack to her room.