by KL Donn
7
EMMA
The only interactions I’ve had with Sylvain Bergeron are the quick moments during drop-off and pick-up at the day care, and he’s never once shown any sign of being angry or mad at Paige if she had an accident.
But—he’s a man, and he’s in a hurry, so I wanted to avoid any drama. Plus, as soon as I stepped into his house I became the hired help. Even if he’s standing right there, it’s my job to tend to Paige. Or at least, that’s how I see it.
I know he hates me, but I don’t quite understand why. Not that it even matters. We’re on his turf this time, not mine. Over the next two weeks I’m going to have to work extra hard to make him see that he can’t live without me, because I cannot afford to lose this opportunity.
Hospital collection calls come in daily.
As much as I’m excited about hanging with Paige, I’m really looking forward to my first paycheck.
Once we’re in the bathroom, I lower Paige to the floor. “Did you have an accident?”
Crocodile tears fill her eyes as she nods. “I’m sorry, Miss. Emma,” she says as I help her out of her shorts and underwear.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” I search the room for baby wipes. Nothing on the back or near the sink. There’s a closet behind Paige, but before I check that, I pull open the door to the cabinets under the sink.
Boom! I grab the wipes and hand them to Paige. “You clean up and I’ll get rid of this and get you a new outfit, okay?”
While she does her business, I enter the little girl’s room attached to the bathroom. The décor is light and airy, white furniture with pastel pink and purple accents. I head straight for the dresser, opening a few drawers before finding the items I need.
After getting Paige cleaned up and dressed, I rinse out the soiled clothes in the tub before we wash our hands and head back downstairs.
Sylvain gives me a grateful nod before clapping his hands together and asking, “Are you ladies ready to go?”
“Yeah!” Paige yells at the top of her lungs. I put a finger to my ear to block the noise, but Sylvain doesn’t even flinch. Which means that decibel level is probably normal in this house.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I say enthusiastically, edging past him and following Paige to the car. The sooner we get out of here the better, because the house still reeks of poop and I’m going to be sick if I have to stand in it much longer.
I’ve never even touched a BMW, let alone sat in one. His car is immaculate—way too clean for a guy with a kid. But there isn’t another car in his driveway, so I assume this is the only one he has.
It makes sense because his house was extremely clean, too. Everything had a place, as if it were staged instead of lived in. He either has an impeccable house cleaner, or he’s a complete neat freak.
I strap the seatbelt across my chest and lock it in place. Guess I’m about to find out.
“Looking good, Paiger!” Sylvain says, looking at his daughter in the rearview mirror as he backs out of the garage. When I turn around to look, she’s wearing a pair of red, cat-eye sunglasses and huge pink headphones over her ears.
“She’ll be out in less than thirty minutes,” he tells me.
“Oh yeah? Does she always sleep on long rides?”
Even though I’ve known the Bergeron family for years now, it feels mega-weird to be in their life outside of the daycare.
Maybe it’s because Sylvain Bergeron isn’t a regular old Joe working at one of various banks headquartered in Charlotte like so many of the families at Explorer Academy. He’s a rich, famous, gorgeous hockey player. He’s so ruggedly handsome, it’s hard not to linger on his strong jaw and striking profile.
A guy like him would never see me as anything other than Paige’s nanny.
Broke-daycare-worker-battling-ovarian-cancer-who-spent-the-last-few-months-having-her-body-pumped-with-poison doesn’t scream “hockey player’s girlfriend” material.
“Yep. A car ride putting her to sleep is the one thing I can always count on.” He laughs. “When she was a baby there were times when I couldn’t get her to stop crying. I’m talking hours of crying.” He glances at me. “The pediatrician suggested I try taking her for a ride. It put her out within minutes and it’s been working ever since.”
“Good to know,” I say, appreciating every tip he can give me about what Paige likes.
We ride in silence for a few minutes, listening to a radio station where two personalities talk about the upcoming hockey season.
Boring doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“Since we have a few hours to kill, can you tell me about your expectations of the live-in nanny position?” I let my flip-flops slide to the floor, lean back, and prop my feet up on the dashboard.
Sylvain eyes my feet with an arched eyebrow and I immediately remove them. “Sorry.”
“Well, my first expectation is reliability. Being late is absolutely unacceptable.” He doesn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I really am.” I take a deep breath. “Like I told you, that’s not who I am. Today was just a crazy morning.”
I can’t tell my new boss that my mom and her newest boyfriend spent over two hours in the bathroom shooting up—or snorting—or cooking—something. I have no clue what they’re using right now.
Moving into the nasty house she rents in Gastonia was the absolute lowest moment of my life. Even lower than the day my oncologist diagnosed me with ovarian cancer.
“And no excuses okay.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Just own it. Own your mistakes. And stop acting like such a know-it-all.”
I straighten up in my seat and turn to him, surprised. “When was I a know-it-all?”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it with a huff. He does that twice before finally speaking. “When you’re at the daycare, that’s where you’re the expert, so I let things go. But you begged to enter my life. Which means, I don’t want you to challenge everything I say or chastise me about how I raise my daughter.”
“I’m so confused,” I mutter, rubbing my temple with my fingertips. “I haven’t said a damn word to you today.”
“You’re right. But you asked for my expectations and I’m laying them out.”
What the hell have I gotten myself into? I’m beginning to wonder if dealing with this prick is worth the money?
“Get a grip,” I say, leaning against the passenger door, trying to get as far away from him as possible. I stare out the window, wondering how long he’s wanted to rip me over his own insecurities.
“We’ll be in Raleigh for five days. My schedule is pretty packed. In addition to regular practices and workouts, there’s a charity golf tournament, a team scrimmage, and an alumni game,” he says, getting right back to business.
“Well, don’t worry about me and Paige while you’re working. I researched things to do in Raleigh. The North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences is there, and I found a few lakes nearby. If the weather stays this nice, we can probably get some beach time in.” I gush, enthusiastic about all the things there are to do. “I’m really excited because I’ve never been there.”
“She’s never been there either, so everything will be new to her. That should be a plus for keeping her busy.”
“Absolutely. What about the other week and a half?”
“That’s preseason. We’ll be back home for that.”
“What does pre-season mean?” I ask.
He shoots me a surprised look, as if he can’t believe I don’t know.
Despite having a professional team here for years, Charlotte isn’t known for hockey. NASCAR, basketball, football? Yes. Hockey? Nope.
“Pre-season is just like the regular season, but the games don’t count toward our standings. Nine games. Five of those are on the road—in other cities. I’ll be gone overnight.”
“Okay.” I nod, trying to hide my smile.
I’m already looking forward to the days I won’t have to batt
le with him. I make a mental note to go online and check the Chargers schedule to see how many Sylvain breaks I can plan on.
“One of the road trips coming up is three games over four days. Are you cool with that?”
His concern shows me he truly cares about Paige. Not that I had any doubt. It’s cute that even though we’ve known each other for three years, he’s taking the time to make sure things will be okay when he’s gone. I understand he’s worried about leaving her. He’s been used to his Mom, someone he trusts without question. Switching from family to a stranger is a big difference. And that’s what I am—a stranger.
“Absolutely cool,” I say. “It doesn’t seem like your schedule affects her.”
“It’s always been my priority to make sure she has consistency during the season. My job as a hockey player is to be on the road. My job as a father is to give her stability and structure.”
I choke on a laugh.
Structure? He prides himself on structure? Paige Bergeron goes down as one of the wildest, most anti-authority, anti-structure kids I’ve ever worked with. Well, she was when I met her...and I have to fix it every time she comes back from a three-month summer break in Quebec.
He glares at me.
“What?” I ask. “You really think that wild-child is structured?” Using my thumb, I point at Paige over my shoulder.
“We can talk about this later,” he says, turning the volume up on the radio and drowning out any further conversation.
I sigh and gaze out the window. The next two weeks are going to be a lot harder than I thought.
8
SYLVAIN
It’s the first morning of training camp and I’ve got to be at the arena by seven am. Though I love my summers off, I’m excited to get back into my routine. So much so, that I woke up a half hour before my alarm, and started creeping around quietly this morning.
I stop in Paige’s room to say good-bye before I leave. When I open the door, she’s still sound asleep. I creep quietly to her bed and brush her messy brown hair from her forehead.
“I love you, my sweet girl. I’ll see you later,” I whisper before sneaking out as quietly as I came in.
When I enter the kitchen, Emma’s standing at the counter in a pair of short, pink and black plaid boxers and a black tank top that hugs her upper body. Her wild, red hair is pulled back in a low, sloppy ponytail. There’s nothing risqué about her outfit, but I’ve never seen her in so little clothing. My dick’s about to give her a morning salute.
“I didn’t expect you to be up,” I say, coughing to remove the husky rasp from my voice.
“I wanted to make sure I was available for any special first-day instructions you might have before you leave.” She hands me a steaming mug filled to the brim with coffee.
“Thank you.”
She curtseys and pours another cup.
“There’s some cash for you guys in an envelope on the kitchen table. Oh! Almost forgot.” I dig into my pocket and pull out the keys to my car. “Here you go.”
Emma holds her mug with both hands, staring at me as if she’s contemplating whether to accept them or not.
“Nik’s going to pick me up the rest of the week. Since you two will need a car for your adventures,” I say slowly, since she still looks shocked. “It makes more sense for you to use it since it would just be parked at the rink anyway.”
“Um.” She bites her bottom lip. “We can use a ride share or take a cab. It’s no big deal.”
I push the keys toward her. “Using my car is cheaper. And it’s easier to keep her booster seat in there than it is to remember to take it in and out.”
She sets her coffee cup on the counter and takes them tentatively. “Yeah, I guess that works.” She clutches the keys. “I just, geez Sylvain, you saw my car. I’m not comfortable driving something so nice.”
“I have complete confidence in your driving skills. And it’s a very safe car. That’s why I bought it.” I wink.
“Thank you. I’ll—” she stammers. “I’ll be super careful with it.”
When my phone buzzes, I check the screen quickly. “That’s Nik.” I take one more sip before setting the mug in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll text you later to see how things are going.”
“Don’t worry about us, Sylvain.” She stands in the doorway—in her sexy pjs. “Paige and I always have a blast together.”
“I’m not worried,” I tell her with complete honesty as I walk to Nik’s car. “You ladies have fun!”
I tell myself not to look back, but I do because I can’t help it. When there’s a sexy, red head standing in the doorway seeing you off to work, you turn around. Even if, technically, she’s not there for you.
Fuck.
If seeing her at the kitchen counter making me a cup of coffee in nothing but a tank top and shorts was enough to get me excited, seeing her waving from the doorway makes my cock swell so much that my dress pants get tighter in the front.
I haven’t even closed the passenger door, and Nik’s mouth starts flapping.
“That’s your nanny?” he asks, eyes wide as his head swivels back and forth between me and Emma. “That’s your fucking nanny?”
“Shut up and drive.”
I buckle in and lean back, preparing for the railing I’m about to get for withholding Emma’s hotness from him the entire drive to the rink.
Sometimes the scent of a musty, old dive bar and stale beer evokes just as many memories as the smell of freshly cleaned ice.
That’s how I feel walking into Flood, a hole-in-the-wall place you’d never think could survive with the competition in downtown Raleigh. But it’s our bar-of-choice when we’re in town because Ryan Barnes, former Chargers player, owns it.
In my rookie season, Mac paired Barnsy and I together. As a veteran defenseman, he took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. I owe him a lot of credit for the success I had my rookie season. Without him, I don’t think I would have had the numbers I did.
“Is it just me or does it look like happy hour at a nursing home in here?” Nik asks, nudging my side with his elbow.
Before I have a chance to respond, Barnsy walks around the bar with his arms extended. Handshakes went out the window years ago. He greets us gregariously. “Sylvain! Nikolai!”
“How’s it hanging, Barnsy?” I ask, meeting him halfway and giving him a quick hug. He does the same thing with Nik.
“Long, Loose, and full of—"
Nik grabs his stomach with one hand and puts the other over his mouth. “Stop! Please! I’m gonna hurl.”
Barnsy laughs. “Where’ve you two been? Your boys have been here for an hour.”
“We had the golf tournament today. I had to run to my condo and shower the douchey bro smell off me,” I tease, knowing Barnsy’s favorite pastime is playing golf. “Why didn’t you play this year?”
“Cecelia and I made a deal. She got to visit her sister in Winnipeg, and I got to work.” He laughs at his own joke while wiping sweat off one of his bushy gray eyebrows. He’s only forty-something, but he’s one of those dudes that went full gray super early.
“What time does bingo start?” Nik quips.
Every time we’re here it looks like Flood’s holding a meeting for AARP members. Judging by the amount of blue-hairs leaning over their beers, tonight is no different.
“Paying customers are paying customers. Besides, we don’t need puck bunnies hanging around creating any more drama for you, do we?” Barnsy throws an arm across Nik’s shoulders and catches his neck in the crook of his elbow. Prime noogie-giving position. “What did I tell you about getting involved with those fake influencer girls. Look what it did to your friend over here.” He nods to me.
Sucks that one of the most painful parts of my life is a joke to my friends, but I know they aren’t being mean. Just honest. There are a lot of things we have to look out for in the women we choose to date. And gold diggers like my ex who pursue athlete’s for their money and celebrity status
are enemy number one.
“Dude! Get off!” Nik laughs, twisting out of Brian’s grasp.
“Let me grab you some beers. They boys are in the back.” Brian slaps my shoulder and retreats toward the bar. He stops next to a guy resting his forehead on the counter and uses his thumb and middle finger to flick the guy’s skull. “Wake up, Leroy! I’m calling you a cab.”
After retrieving our drinks, Nik and I wander to the back, past the pool table and Golden Tee video game, to where a few of our teammates have two four-tops pushed together to make one table large enough for all of us to fit around.
As we approach, the overwhelming stench of cologne assaults our noses, replacing the homey scent of mildew and stale beer. I almost prefer the mildew.
“Well, if it isn’t Lloyd and Harry!” Jake Pearson, a rookie left winger, calls out, likening us to the main characters in the movie Dumb and Dumber.
I shake my head but chuckle at the greeting. “I can only imagine what kind of meeting of the minds was going on before we got here with this crew.” I nod to Viktor Kravtsov, who’s sitting next to Jake. “‘Sup, Zoolander.”
It’s a long-running joke because he takes himself so seriously in photos. He has a signature expression—his own version of “blue steel”—and it’s all over his Instagram. Different background, different outfit—same dumb-ass expression. And if he doesn’t like how he looks, he’ll make someone retake the shot. I feel sorry for the woman who falls for his high-maintenance ass.
“Funny. That’s not what your mom called me last night,” Kravtsov quips.
With names on our roster like Viktor Kravtsov and Nikolai Antonov, you’d think the Chargers were home to the next wave of Russian immigrants to the NHL. Instead of broken English-speaking guys straight off the boat, they’re both first-generation Americans—and cousins. They’re easier to understand than I am.
Every head at the table turns, giving him the same annoyed glare, even though we’re all used to him being the one who takes everything too far.
