Leave Me Breathless: The Ivy Collection

by KL Donn

  Penalized for being poor.

  That’s why I truly believe the stars aligned, or forces more powerful than me were looking out. Believing it was some kind of divine intervention is the only way I can process the fact that Sylvain Bergeron came into Explorer looking for nanny recommendations—a position I’m a perfect fit for—while I was sitting in the lobby wondering how I was going to pay my bills doing the job I love.

  The impact of what just happened hits me as I pull into Mom’s driveway.

  Sylvain Bergeron hired me to be his nanny for seventy-five-thousand-dollars a year.

  Granted, it’s not like I can choose to take it in a lump sum like if I’d won the lottery, but still. That amount is more than enough money monthly to make payments towards my medical bills and student loans and still leaves enough left over for me to save for a place of my own.

  And that’s something to celebrate.

  When I get back to my Mom’s house, I’m dancing through the door—literally. Catfish and the Bottlemen was on the radio when I got out of my car and I’m still jamming in my head.

  “What are you so happy about?” she asks without looking up from the Judge Jimmy Something show blaring from the TV.

  “I got a job!” I jump up as I close the door behind me.

  “Stop slamming the door!” She snaps. Then she takes a drag off her cigarette. “They took you back at the daycare?”

  “No.” There’s so much smoke in the air, I have to wave it away. It’s another reason I need to get out of here. I just beat one cancer, I don’t need to bring on another. “I got hired as a live-in nanny.”

  She scratches her head with the same hand holding her cigarette. I cringe, praying she doesn’t set her frizzy hair on fire. She’s bleached it so many times it must have straw-like qualities at this point. “Well, it better pay more than that daycare job because you owe me rent and—”

  I interrupt her before she goes off on me for how much money she’s spent on me since I got sick. “It pays a little better, Mom.”

  I refuse to tell her how much because she’ll come after me for more. It’s not that I don’t want to pay her back for supporting me over the last few months, but—damn! I had cancer, and it wiped my bank accounts clean. I didn’t decide to move in with her on purpose. In fact, if I would have had anywhere else to go, I would have.

  Dealing with a prickly hockey player who hates me over the next two weeks beats living here for one more day.

  5

  SYLVAIN

  I’m supposed to be in Raleigh for the Chargers team dinner at six, and we’re already running late because it was one of those mornings where everything goes wrong.

  By ten am, I’d normally be saying goodbye to Mom and Paige and heading up to camp. I’d spend the drive time clearing my head of distractions and setting my personal goals for the new season. Having that serene time has become part of my routine.

  But this year is different because everything has been bouncing around in my head. From preparing for the start of the season to childcare for Emma and finding a place for us to stay in such a short about of time. At this point, I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached.

  I’d forgotten to pick up my dry cleaning yesterday, so I had to wait until they opened this morning to run over and grab my suit.

  Do I have other suits? Of course—and I brought a few of those as well. But this particular suit is the same one I’ve worn on the day I report to Charlotte’s training camp for four years in a row. And over those years, the Chargers have made the playoffs all four and won the Stanley Cup the last two of them.

  Hockey players are some of the most superstitious athletes I’ve ever met, and I’m no exception. If wearing the same suit for the start of training camp has anything to do with our luck, then I’m keeping it going.

  That threw our schedule off.

  Emma, who’s following us to camp in her car, called and said her alarm never went off, so she spent the entire morning running around, packing the last of what she needed quickly before racing out the door to make it to meet us here so we could leave.

  Which means the nanny I hired by default because I had no other choice and no time to search is already fucking up.

  That threw our schedule off.

  The day started with a ton of curves, but I’ve overcome adversity my entire life, so I can roll with it. Being a single dad to a free-spirited four-year-old with boundless energy taught me when things go wrong, it doesn’t have to break my spirit.

  However, despite being able to roll with most things that come my way, I’m still running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

  Since we just got back from a summer trip, all we had to do was remove some clothes we took to Quebec to be ready to go. Packing might’ve been a breeze, but I still haven’t figured out all the logistics of having my daughter with me at camp.

  I’m a hands-on dad, so even though Emma will be there, I plan on spending time with Paige. I won’t be able to hang out with the boys like I usually do. Strengthening our personal bond as a team is one of my favorite parts of camp because it really helps us gel on the ice.

  As I pack the car and make sure we have everything we’d need for almost a week away, I set Paige up watching a Paw Patrol marathon since it seems to be the only show that keeps her interest for longer than ten minutes.

  Though, she’s been addicted for a while, I’ve noticed her getting antsy with it recently. I hope the rescue dogs and their friends will hold her attention long enough today to give me a chunk of time to get things done.

  Five minutes into the show, she wanders out to the driveway.

  “Can I help with anything?” she asks, stepping on a cooler bag I’ve filled with fruit and snacks for the ride, crushing them as she climbs into the backseat.

  “I appreciate it, but I’m good,” I tell her. “Why don’t you go watch your show while I finish packing the car?”

  “That show is for babies,” she declares, settling into her booster seat even though we’re not ready to leave.

  “Come on out of there,” I wave her out. Thankfully, she listens. It’s always a crapshoot these days.

  She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the house. “Come watch with me, Daddy!”

  “I’ve gotta finish up. We need to leave as soon as Emma gets here so I can make it to my meeting on time. But I’ve got an idea,” I say, lifting my suitcase into the trunk. “Why don’t you go inside and look for Emma out the front window? You can be my lookout and tell me when she gets here.”

  Her bottom lips puffs out and she locks her arms around my leg.

  Reaching down, I grab her under her armpits and hoist her up. “Come on! It’ll be fun. It’s like you’re a secret spy.” I carry her into the living room where cartoon dogs dash across the screen ready to help someone in need. “What’s a code word you can yell to tell me when she’s here?”

  “Sit.”

  “The code word is sit?” I ask.

  “No, Daddy. You sit with me!” She pats the couch cushion.

  My head swivels from the garage door I left open then back to my daughter. Then I give in and collapse on the couch next to her.

  Working dad guilt wins again.

  What am I going to do? Say no?

  I spend enough time away from her during the season. I don’t want to deny her time being close to me when I have the chance. We can’t leave until Emma gets here anyway.

  When Paige cuddles into my side, I throw my arms around her and hug her to me. Then I scroll my e-mails as she watches her show. There’s a family-update from Mom regarding grandfather’s health, which gets worse with each day that passes. She’s going to have to bring in a nurse because she doesn’t have the skills to help him with everything he needs right now.

  My thumb hovers over the button to close out for a second before pushing down. I feel bad, but can’t handle the depressing news.

  The thought of two weeks with Emma keeps invading my mind. If I’m absolutel
y honest, the girl is a straight up smoke show. The first time I saw her wild red waves, beautiful, green eyes, and porcelain skin, it floored me.

  Then she opened her mouth. It’s a damn pretty mouth—all heart-shaped and pink—but she slammed me for something. I can’t even remember what at this particular moment, but it was enough to take the hotness factor down a notch.

  Honestly, whatever she said might not have been that cruel, but because I was running late for the morning skate for the third time in a row, I didn’t have one extra minute in my schedule to deal with a glorified babysitter railing me for something. Impatience and lack of sleep had me frustrated and susceptible for taking whatever she said to heart.

  Plus, I didn’t want to deal with personal criticism when I was hearing enough of it in my professional life.

  Trying to balance being a single parent and a professional athlete can be rough when you don’t have a partner to help out. Especially when I was trying to build on the amazing rookie season I’d had the year before. The last thing I needed was to fall into the dreaded “sophomore slump.” But instead of focusing on hockey, I spent so much time chastising myself over missing Paige’s first steps. I can control my play. I can’t control when my kid’s milestones happen.

  Paige didn’t have a mom to take care of her and pick up the slack for me when I was gone, but she had my mom. And every day, I think about how lucky I am to have a mother who dropped everything and left the only city she’s ever known to come live with me in Charlotte. As if moving and helping me rasie a newborn wasn’t challenging enough, she barely spoke any English back then.

  I appreciate her so much and know, even after buying her a new car, a bigger house in Quebec City—anything she could ever ask for—it still isn’t enough to repay her.

  Intense guilt eats away in my stomach, leaving it churning with anxiety and stress. She should have been enjoying her retirement—traveling and painting in her basement studio—not helping her son raise a baby. When Paige turned one, I had to give Mom a break. That’s how I found Explorer Academy, which is just down the road from my house in the Plaza Midwood neighborhood.

  I love my daughter with every fiber of my being, but sometimes I question myself as a parent. Between practice and games and road trips and everything that goes into my career—I’m gone so much. It didn’t affect me as much when she was a baby, not because I didn’t want to see her, but because I knew she wouldn’t remember.

  But now she’s getting older, and she understands when I leave. She cries and throws fits. It kills me to walk out the door—and I’m sure that took a toll on Mom. How could it not?

  Always having to bring a child down from a temper tantrum and trying to sooth her feelings of abandonment had to have stressed her out. It stressed me out, and I wasn’t the one handling the problem back home.

  “Daddy, look! I want that!” Paige yells, pulling me out of my thoughts. She points to a hooded blanket on the screen. The hood is the head of a Paw Patrol character.

  “Maybe we can see if they have one of those in Raleigh. I bet they have a lot of cool stuff there. You’ll love it.”

  She nods without taking her eyes from the screen. Then she wiggles out from under my arm and lies back on the couch, stretching her legs out until her toes poke my thigh.

  “I’m going to go finish packing up.” With her short attention span, the window of time I have to do anything is small.

  Emma better get here soon.

  Just as I’m lifting Paige’s pink, My Little Pony suitcase into the trunk, I hear obnoxiously loud rattling and clunking sounds coming from the road. I walk down the driveway and follow the direction of the horrendous scraping, wondering if someone’s muffler might be dragging under the car. I don’t know how to fix cars, but I can call roadside assistance for someone in need.

  A junky, blue rust bucket on wheels pulls up in front of my house. The driver leans over and starts rolling (yes, rolling) down the window. It’s halfway there when I notice who’s behind the wheel.

  6

  SYLVAIN

  “Is this where I should park?” Emma greets me with enthusiasm. Since she seems excited to be here, I should take it as a good sign to start our awkward arrangement.

  I’m stunned at the appearance—and sound—of her vehicle. It looks like she bought it at a junkyard for $100—and that price should have been for parts only. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a car snob, but how the death-trap she’s sitting in is even drivable is beyond me.

  I must not be hiding my shock well, because she lowers her head and bites her bottom lip—previous excitement giving way to embarrassment.

  “Parking there is fine,” I assure her. “Come on in. Paige has been waiting for you.” I wave her toward the house.

  As she exits the car, I walk to the back and wait by the trunk expecting her to have a suitcase. She reaches behind the driver’s seat and grabs a black duffel covered with pink and white flowers from the back.

  “Let me carry that.” I reach out and take the bag from her. “Pop the trunk and I’ll get the rest so I can pack it up.”

  “That’s all I have.”

  Startled, I look from the duffle to her a few times. I didn’t know it was possible for a woman to pack so light. “This isn’t your shoe bag?”

  “Um, no.” She laughs. “I don’t even own enough shoes to fill a bag that big.” She swallows and nods, lowering her head again as if embarrassed. “We’ll only be gone five days, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.” She rolls her shoulders back and starts walking up the driveway. “Geez! Your house is amazing.”

  “Thanks. My mom picked it out.” The words come out before I realize how absolutely lame that sounds.

  “Really?”

  “Well, I was living in a high-rise condo downtown and when she came to live with me, she told me I couldn’t—” I pause. “You know what, we should get going. That’s a story for another time.”

  While, it’s true that we have to get on the road, I’m slightly embarrassed I was about to admit some of the mistakes I made before—and after—Paige. My mom picked out my house because she’s the one who convinced me I shouldn’t raise a baby in a downtown Charlotte condo.

  Nikolai Antonov, my best friend and teammate, grew up in a high-rise condo in New York City, and he turned out okay. I didn’t think anything of it until Mom pointed out that New York and Charlotte are very different cities.

  There are a lot of things I didn’t think about before choosing to raise my daughter on my own.

  “I’m really sorry I was late, Sylvain. I’m never late. You can call Julie and ask. I just—”

  “No worries,” I interrupt her. “You’re here and that’s what matters. Let’s grab Paige and get on the road.”

  It is a big deal. It shows incompetence and that I already can’t count on her, but I’m not going to make a big deal about it right now. Not when we’re about to spend close to four hours in a car together.

  Emma follows me through the garage and into the house.

  “Hey, Paige!” I call as I step in the door. “Emma’s here!”

  “Miss. Emma!” Paige yells from the other room. Suddenly, she’s bounding toward us with absolutely no intention of stopping. Right before she gets to Emma she jumps and flings herself into her arms. Emma doesn’t miss a beat, catching her with ease.

  “I can’t believe we get to spend two whole weeks together!” Emma smiles and tickles Paige’s stomach. Paige rears back with a laugh. Then the nanny scrunches her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  I pause. What is that smell?

  I drop Emma’s bag and rush to the half-bath off the kitchen to see if Paige took a shit and didn’t flush.

  She’s four. It happens.

  A quick glance finds the toilet empty.

  When I return to the room Emma’s sniffing the air like a hound dog looking for clues. She raises one eyebrow and leans in to whisper something in Paige’s ear. Paige nods.

>   Then she looks at me and says, “Why don’t you throw my bag in your car. Paige and I have some girl stuff to do quickly, then we’ll be ready to roll.”

  She doesn’t wait for my response, just follows the direction of Paige’s finger as she points to the stairs.

  My daughter shit her pants.

  It’s a fitting way to introduce Emma to our life. We’ve only been home for two days and it’s been a series of dumpster fires without my mom here.

  “Do you want me to take care of—” I begin.

  Emma shakes her head. “I have it under control,” she calls as she climbs the stairs.

  The fact that we’ve interrupted each other multiple times in the first three minutes doesn’t bode well for us. I’d rather have the type of relationship where we finish each other’s sentences, not interrupt them. Then again, she took charge and handled a situation that would have had me impatient and frustrated, so I guess it’s working for now.

  And we aren’t in a relationship.

  As she gets Paige cleaned up, I load up the rest of our stuff into my car. Then, I wander around the house, checking to make sure lights are off and unplugging things to save on electricity.

  Despite living in a house worth half of a million dollars and having more than enough money to pay my bills, I’ve never left behind the modest mindset I grew up with. My dad worked construction. Mom was a teacher. They busted their asses to give me the chance to play hockey, and I don’t take it for granted.

  Sure, I’ve spent more money on the necessities—house, car, clothes—but I have more money sitting in savings and investment accounts at this minute than my parents ever had in their entire lives.

  Knowing I’m always one concussion or a torn ACL away from being out on my ass is a huge motivating factor for living the way my parents taught me. I can manage something catastrophic for now, but I know money doesn’t last forever if you’re not smart about it.