Leave Me Breathless: The Ivy Collection

by KL Donn

  Plus, I want to take it slow because Emma Williams is different. She deserves a good guy, not an asshole hockey player who will fuck her and watch her walk away. Not only because she’s my daughter’s nanny and teacher, but also because respect her. She challenges me and makes me laugh.

  And she makes me hard. Obviously.

  “Hot chocolate!” Paige yells before bursting into the room.

  Emma steps back just in time, giving Paige room to elbow her way between us. When I look at her, her cheeks are bright pink and she’s licking her lips.

  Heat rises in my chest and I turn toward the cabinets to hide my erection.

  I’m grateful for Paige every day of my life, but I’ll admit, she can be a little rambunctious. Today is one of those days where I appreciate that part of her personality. Without her yelling, we would have been caught in the act, and I have no clue how I would have explained that.

  Especially since I don’t even understand exactly what’s going on between me and Emma.

  “Sorry about this morning,” I say, trying to bring the situation back to normal as we sip our drinks. “I had no reason to come at you like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Emma says, holding her mug to her lips with both hands. “It’s not your fault I’m broke as a joke.”

  “That’s true, but my reaction was really rude. It was—” I swallow hard. Admitting I flashed back to Danica using me for money isn’t something I want to get into right here. “It triggered something from the past, and I had no right to take that irritation out on you.”

  “It’s okay.” She looks at me through thick lashes and smiles. “I appreciate your apology.”

  “All right, ladies! Finish up,” I announce. “We need to pack our crap and get out of here.”

  Tomorrow is the Chargers first preseason game and I desperately need a good night’s rest in my own bed.

  It may be a ridiculous fantasy, but all I can think of is getting home and curling up next to Emma. I have a long road trip coming up soon and I don’t want to leave without talking about what’s going on between us.

  Evidently, I’m not the only one who wants to curl up with Emma. When I’ve finished getting all of our stuff out of the car, I enter the living room to find the girls sprawled out on the couch cuddling under a blanket.

  My daughter’s a traitor.

  “Excuse me,” I say, eyeing the situation with mock confusion. “I thought I was your snuggle bunny?”

  Emma’s head whips to me, a look of surprise on her face.

  “You are, Daddy. But Emma needs some bunny too.” Then she giggles. “Get it? Some bunny? Somebody?”

  Emma laughs and hugs Paige. “Thanks for sharing your cuddly bunny with me.”

  I leave the girls on the couch and drop Emma’s bag off in her room before taking our suitcases to the washer and dryer.

  Something tells me I’m not going to get time to talk with Emma tonight. I need the house to be in order before I can sit down to relax. Especially since things are about to get hectic—a game tomorrow and a game in Chicago the next day. I get anxious if I let too many things pile up.

  I can handle one more day of sexual tension. I’ll just have to rub one out in the shower.

  Sucks to have to resort to my own hand with a beautiful girl who seems just as interested in me as I am in her under my roof.

  But I’m willing to wait until the time is right with Emma.

  16

  SYLVAIN

  Because we have a game tonight, today’s after-practice workout was voluntary. About half the guys went to the locker room to shower and change, and the other half are here pounding the treadmills or working on machines.

  “Hey, man,” I greet Kravtsov, who’s already jogging on a treadmill when I walk up.

  “What’s that shit-eating grin about?” he asks in response to my greeting, as if by entering the gym with a smile, I’ve broken the law.

  I jump onto the treadmill next to his and set my water bottle in the cup holder. “Just hung up with Emma.”

  “Are you crushing on the help?” I think he meant for it to come out as a joke, but there’s an edge to his voice.

  “What’s with the attitude?” I chuckle, tapping the screen to increase my speed until I hit my running pace. And why the fuck does he care?

  “You can’t lead her on, Bergeron. It’s a dickbag thing to do. Especially someone in her position.”

  Why would Kravtsov think he has the right to say anything at all to me about Emma?

  “My relationship with my daughter’s nanny doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  My teammate increases his speed to a slightly faster pace than mine. Always a competition.

  “I was talking to her after the Black and Red game, and she’s seems like a really cool girl. And for some reason, she likes you. If you don’t feel the same, you should tell her so she can move on and go out with someone who will appreciate her.”

  My head whips around to look at him. It’s very odd for Kravtsov and me to be having a conversation as personal as this. But if he’s got intel about Emma, I want it. “Did she say she was interested in someone else?”

  “What if Emma being with someone else is better than being with the employer who makes her feel like shit?” Kravtsov asks, grabbing his water bottle. “It’s the same girl from Paige’s daycare, right? The one you’ve spent years complaining about?”

  My first thought is to snap at him, but I stop and think before I speak. “It’s my prerogative to change my mind about anyone and anything at any point.”

  “Clever.” He rolls his eyes and squirts water into his mouth.

  “Whether I get along with my nanny or not, I want to make it one hundred percent clear that you should stay the fuck away from her.”

  Kravtsov eyes me with. “It’s my prerogative to talk to anyone about anything I want.” He laughs. “See how stupid your bullshit sounds when it comes back at you?”

  He lifts his headphones from around his neck and places them over his ears, dismissing me.

  The jealousy swirling in my stomach is a gut check. There’s not one bone in my body that’s worried about Viktor Kravtsov stealing Emma, but my strong reaction to him, or anyone, trying to make a move on her means Emma and I have to get this sorted out—sooner rather than later.

  When I get home, Emma is at the kitchen table, head down, scribbling in a notebook.

  “Where’s Paige?” I ask, tossing my keys onto the counter.

  Startled, she drops her pencil and looks up from her notebook. She presses her lips firmly together, letting her breathing slow down before she answers. “She’s in her room playing quietly.”

  “By herself?” I ask.

  Paige doesn’t play in her room quietly by herself. She doesn’t do anything quietly or by herself.

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, she’ll be happy I’m home.” I shrug out of my coat, dropping it onto a chair as I beeline to the hallway.

  “Sylvain, please don’t!” Emma calls after me. But I’m already halfway to my daughter’s room.

  Before bursting through the door to snatch her into my arms and tickle her like crazy, as I normally would, I peek into the room. Paige is kneeling over, pouring “tea” into a cup in front of her stuffed unicorn. Then she sits back and pours for herself.

  She’s content and quiet—two words no one has ever used to describe her.

  As I watch her play, I remember Emma’s advice about not riling her up. It makes sense. Instead of rushing in and scooping her up, I lean against the door frame.

  “Hi, my sweet girl,” I greet her calmly.

  A huge smile lights up her face when she sees me. “Hi Daddy! Would you like some tea?”

  “Absolutely.” I sit on the floor next to her, and she hands me a tiny cup. “Thank you.”

  She pours slowly, hands steady as if there really is hot liquid in the teapot. When she finishes, I pretend to drink it. “This is delicious tea. Wouldn’t you
agree, Unicorn?”

  I turn to the stuffed animal pretending to wait for an answer. Paige leans over, patting my shoulder as she whispers, “She doesn’t talk Daddy. But that was sweet.”

  After finishing my tea, I excuse myself to go back downstairs. At first, I thought Paige would follow me, as she always does when I’m home, and I brace myself for Emma’s lashing about riling her up.

  She gets up, but instead of following me, she goes to the tiny play kitchen set in the corner of her room and washes out my cup.

  What kind of voodoo magic has Emma cast on my child?

  When I start down the stairs, I see Emma scurry away from the last step. She must’ve been listening to see what I would do.

  “Everything all right?” she asks, looking up from her notebook as if she’s been sitting there writing the entire time.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s pretty quiet up there,” she muses.

  “I had some tea, and let her play instead of riling her up.”

  Her lips turn up in a grin. Then she’s back on task. “So, I made some rules.”

  “Rules?” I repeat.

  “Well, it’s not rules so much as is it organization. We need something that we can both update so we know what’s going on.” She pushes back from the table and moves to the fridge. She points to a magnetic calendar. “I wrote all of your game days on this calendar. You can write in the specific times so Paige and I know when to expect you.”

  She’s still pointing when I open the fridge and grab a seltzer. She cocks her head and glares at me. I’m not sure why she’s annoyed. Grabbing a drink while we’re standing here is efficient, something I thought she appreciated.

  The calendar is a great idea. Mom and I never had any kind of organization. We would text each other what was going on. And those would get lost in a slew of other texts, so we were rarely ever on the same page. I ended up letting her take control and filling me in when I was around.

  “I like it,” I nod.

  She smiles and continues. “I wrote your away games on here, but if you can update it with the actual days you’ll be gone, that would be great.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Happy to.” I inspect the calendar, checking out what other things she’s written on there.

  “I assume you’re not sending Paige back to Explorer Academy now that I’m here.” She says quickly, pointing to another block on the calendar. “I’ve set up our weeks so she’s getting pre-school instruction from me—”

  “Why wouldn’t she go to Explorer?” I ask, puzzled. Mom has been her caregiver for the last three years and she always sent her to “school.” I like that she gets the education and interaction with other kids.

  “It’s really expensive to pay for both, Sylvain. If you want to send her to Explorer, do you want me to take a pay cut?” she asks tentatively as if by asking she’s giving me the idea.

  “No.”

  She scrunches her face. “Why would you pay both me and a day care?”

  “Because you provide different services. I don’t expect you to be her preschool teacher and full-time caregiver when I’m not here. That’s asking a lot of you. Plus, once she starts seeing you as someone other than her teacher, she’s going to try to get away with more.” I laugh because I know my daughter to a tee and this quiet kid who plays by herself won’t last. “I expect you’ll need some time away from her at that point.”

  “Are you sure?” She looks absolutely floored.

  “There’s only one thing I’m more sure of.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hiring you was the best decision I’ve made in a long time. I’m really glad you talked me into it.”

  One hand flies to her chest, and she staggers back is if I’ve physically shocked her.

  I laugh and wave off her reaction. “Did you think I’d be that bad?”

  “I should direct that question to you,” Emma says. “You’re the one who acts like you hate me.”

  “Can you blame me?” I ask, opening the cupboard and removing a can of almonds. “You yelled at me for something every single time I picked up Paige from school.” I grab a handful, throwing a few in my mouth as I walk to the living room.

  She follows me. “No, I didn’t!”

  I set my can down on the glass coffee table before dropping onto the couch. “It was always something. She’s wearing the wrong shoes. She’s not potty-trained yet. Am I working on the alphabet with her? Am I reading to her every night?” Using my hand, I mimic a flapping mouth. “I felt like the worst dad ever.”

  She sits down next to me. Right next to me. Thighs touching.

  “Is that really how I made you feel?” she asks softly.

  “I thought you’d cut me some slack because of my situation as a single dad. I’m out here doing my best with the resources I have.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I say the same thing to all my parents.”

  “Are you saying I’m just being sensitive?”

  “No!” She touches my knee. “I’m saying I didn’t realize you were taking it as a personal slam. Your feelings are completely valid.”

  “I probably am sensitive about it,” I admit. “I’ve been really lucky to have my Mom around all these years, but there’s so much I didn’t ask her.”

  “Stubborn,” Emma teases me.

  I shrug. “Maybe so. But, geez, this is going to sound so lame, I wanted to prove that I could do it on my own.”

  “To whom?”

  “Myself. And, I don’t know,” I run my hand through my hair. “I never wanted Paige to feel like she was missing out because I made the decision to raise her without a mom. I didn’t want Danica to say ‘I told you so.’” I stretch my arms then fold them in front of my chest.

  The conversation is getting into difficult personal territory—things I still don’t know if I’ve come to terms with yet.

  But I opened up this can of worms, and I’m ready to face it.

  17

  EMMA

  “Danica? Is that Paige’s mom?” I blurt out. I’m not jealous, just curious. Everyone has a past, and I want to know more about his.

  “By DNA, yes.” He lowers his head as if remembering something painful. “But in my mind, she was just this Instagram influencer I dated for a year and a half.”

  Instagram influencer—yikes. I never thought about the kind of women Sylvain would be attracted to, but I should have guessed. She probably has a ton of photos of herself doing yoga on a yacht in a bikini.

  Instead of asking about her, I keep the direction on Paige. “Did she leave you after Paige was born?”

  “She left me after Paige was conceived.”

  “Come again?” I ask, confused. “I assumed you’ve always had full custody.”

  “I have.” He chuckles. “Jesus, I’m about to tell you something so super fucked up, you won’t even believe me.” He looks at the ceiling.

  I take his hand and squeeze it, hoping my touch gives him the courage and reassurance he needs to open up to me.

  He leans back. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “Because I asked?” I shrug. “It’s okay to talk about your daughter’s mom.”

  “Egg donor,” he corrects me.

  I blink.

  So that’s how it is.

  His chest heaves, and he takes a deep breath. “This is probably a good time to tell you a little about my background.”

  “Okay.” I get comfortable, tucking one leg under my butt and pulling a pillow to my chest as I sit back prepped to listen.

  “When she told me she was pregnant, I was ecstatic.” His eyes light up as he talks. “Sure, I was young, but I already had the career of my dreams. Getting married and having kids was the next step.”

  He must see me swallow hard, because he smiles and pats my hand. “Before you start calling me old-fashioned or something, I wasn’t looking for marriage and kids that young, but I was ready for it, if that makes any sense. I grew up in a happy family in Quebe
c City. My parents met in high school, married at eighteen, and had me a year later. I know that’s not the life for everyone. And if I’m honest, it’s not the life I thought I’d have. But when she got pregnant, I wanted the baby.”

  “I get it,” I tell him.

  It’s true. I’m not saying I wanted to get married out of high school and jump into having a baby, but if that’s the way it happened for me, I wouldn’t have pushed it away. I’ve always wanted a family.

  “Danica didn’t want the baby.” He stops and shakes his head. “That’s not true. She didn’t want to be pregnant with the baby. Even after I told her I’d raise it myself if she didn’t want to be part of its life.” His voice shakes when he speaks again. “It killed me when she told me she’d scheduled an abortion. I couldn’t comprehend it. Don’t get me wrong, I would have understood if we were both in agreement, but she knew I wanted the baby.”

  He continues quickly. “And I totally understood if she didn’t want a kid because she wasn’t ready, but the fact that it was vanity driving her decision. She said she didn’t care how much I wanted it, she refused to have it because she didn’t want to gain weight. That was what I had the biggest problem with.”

  “Well, I mean, look,” I shift uncomfortably, knowing I’m opening myself up to criticism by sharing my opinion. “I’m not condoning what she did, but that was her saying she wasn’t ready. It might sound vain to you, but pregnancy takes a huge toll on a woman’s body—and mental state. Maybe she thought it would derail something important to her. What would you say if someone asked you to drop your career for a year when you weren’t ready to?”

  Sylvain’s silence makes me wonder if I’ve crossed a line. I can’t tell if he’s contemplating or fuming.

  “I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m dismissing you and your feelings. I’m totally not,” I say blurt, trying to remove my foot from my mouth.