12. Zane
12
ZANE
I’m supposed to feel better.
I needed to figure out how I was going to exist while taking care of a kid, and I did that. Mira is Aiden’s new nanny. That’s one big item crossed off the checklist.
What I didn’t anticipate is twenty more items being added the second Mira walked out my front door.
So far the list is endless iterations of the same thing: don’t fuck Aiden’s nanny.
Don’t think about fucking Aiden’s nanny.
Don’t even mention to anyone that you might want to fuck Aiden’s nanny.
And for the love of all that is holy, don’t even begin to think about throwing Aiden’s nanny on the couch, ripping up the hem of that way-too-short dress, and devouring her until kingdom come. Don’t think about how her toes would curl. Don’t think about how pretty her moans would be. Don’t ? —
Yeah, things are going swell.
Paige was the last thing even close to a serious relationship I’ve had in five years. Now, she’s dead and I’m raising the son I didn’t know I had. If all of the sentimental bullshit people say about having kids is true, I don’t think there’s any chance I’ll regret taking Aiden in. Nonetheless, this whole situation is one giant red flag whipping in the wind for getting involved with any other woman anytime soon. Maybe ever.
And if and when I do, it will definitely not be Aiden’s nanny.
I poke my head in Aiden’s room to see he’s in a small huddle under his sheets. It’s the first nap he’s taken since he got here, so I slip out as quietly as I can.
Usually, I’d go to the gym right now or take off on a run. If it was a rest day, I’d go somewhere for dinner and sit at the bar. If anyone interesting stuck out to me, maybe I’d bring them back here. Or maybe I’d go to her place.
All of that is now off the table.
“This is so fucking bizarre,” I mutter to myself.
Before I can come up with something to do, there’s a loud knock on my door.
Probably Mira coming back because she forgot something, but I’m too worried about the knocking waking Aiden up to look around and see what it could be.
Don’t fuck Aiden’s nanny , I remind myself as I open the door. Don’t fuck ? —
“Forget something?” The words are out of my mouth before I register that it isn’t Mira standing on my doorstep.
The man is almost as tall as I am. He’s standing so close to the door, taking up most of the frame, that I almost miss Aiden’s social worker, Jodie Barnes, standing just behind him.
“Mr. Whitaker,” she begins, angling herself around the strange man standing between us. “I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced, but we’re?—”
“We’re here to check up on your… situation,” he finishes with a sneering drawl. He looks past me like he’s expecting to see Aiden dangling from the ceiling by his toes. “Where is Andrew?”
“Aiden,” Jodie whispers.
The man waves her off like it doesn’t matter and strides forward.
Before he can get inside, I step into the hallway to block him. “Who are you?”
He opens his mouth to answer and my phone rings. I wouldn’t usually answer it, but it’s Hanna. Plus, I’m seconds away from throwing this preening asshole down an open elevator shaft. It might be smart for me to take a breather.
“Excuse me.” I turn away and answer the call. “What’s up? I’m busy.”
Hanna curses under her breath. “Oh, no. Are they already there? I was busy and I didn’t see the email in time. CPS is coming for a check-in.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” I glance over my shoulder. At least Jodie has the decency to look apologetic.
“I got the email half an hour ago, but I was—Shit, Zane, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Hanna asks.
“No. I’ll handle it.”
Like I’ve handled everything else this shitstorm of a week has thrown at me.
I hang up and Wannabe G.I. Joe is lurking right behind me. I regard him coolly. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll need to strap on forty pounds of pads. I’m desensitized.”
He doesn’t even pretend to laugh at my non-joke. “I’m not here to intimidate anyone, sir. I’m here to make sure we are placing children in safe homes. That’s all I care about.”
“Then, by all means.” I step aside and wave them both in. “Come inside.”
He breezes by, knocking his shoulder against my arm as he goes.
New item on the to-do list: Don’t kill the asshole CPS agent.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Jodie mumbles. She tucks a manila folder under her arm and slinks in behind her partner.
The man turns on his heel in my living room, arms crossed. “Where is Andy?”
I run my tongue over my teeth while I filter out all of the shit I definitely shouldn’t say. “ Aiden is taking a nap. He hasn’t slept well the past two nights, so he’s tired. I don’t want to wake him if I don’t?—”
“Why hasn’t he been sleeping?” he interrupts.
I shrug. “A question for the ages. Does any parent actually know why their kid won’t sleep?”
“Good parents know,” he retorts flatly. “Parents who are paying attention know.”
I release a slow, dangerous breath through my nose. When guys try to start shit on the ice, Daniel likes to remind me that I can’t do anything about it from the penalty box. Show them by winning. I channel that thought now.
But god damn, murder is such a tempting second option.
“He isn’t sleeping because he’s four,” I grit out. “His mom also just died, in case you didn’t know, so he’s living in a new house. He’s been through a lot.”
He snaps his attention to Jodie. “How did the boy’s mother die?”
Jodie looks mortified. She leans in, hand over her mouth like I might miss a conversation happening less than ten feet away from me. “Overdose. Mr. Whitaker stepped up as a family placement.”
I can’t fight back a bitter laugh. “You really studied that case file on the way over, huh, pal?”
“My job isn’t to read up on the child,” he spits, taking a step closer. His mustache quivers, and I swear I hear an Old West-style twang in the air. I half-expect a tumbleweed to blow through. “It’s my job to know that you are an addict with a record.”
“ Recovered addict. I’ve been sober for years.”
“You haven’t been arrested for years.” He rolls a shoulder. “There’s a difference.”
I clench my jaw so hard that I hear my molars creaking under the strain. “Not for me, there isn’t.”
Jodie steps between us. “No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Whitaker.”
“ He is. Whoever the fuck he is,” I growl, looking over Jodie’s head at the man. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but you came into my house and questioned my character.”
He arches a brow. “I’m Peter Morris. And I’ve seen enough cases like this one to guess how this is going to turn out.”
The guy is an asshole, but shockingly, I’m half-tempted to hear what he thinks. Because for the first time in a long time, I have no fucking idea what my future looks like. I don’t know what’s going to happen minute by minute, let alone day by day. If this guy has some crystal ball, then by all means—show me.
“You don’t know anything about this case. You don’t even know my son’s name.”
“But I know about you ,” Peter says coolly. “Unlike everyone else you might meet in your charmed life, I don’t give a shit how famous you are or how much money you have.”
“Peter!” Jodie hisses.
He ignores her. “Let’s say, by some miracle, you actually are in recovery. Do you really think this lifestyle is the kind of stability your son needs right now?”
“What ‘lifestyle’? I have a job,” I fire back. “Hockey is my job. I get paid and people take pictures of me because of my job . What am I supposed to do about that?”
“You’re supposed to say no to at least a few of the women who want to come home with you.”
Jodie stumbles back like Peter slapped her. “Mr. Morris, this is completely inappropriate. You can’t?—”
“A revolving door of women isn’t a stable home for a young boy,” he continues blithely. “Our agency isn’t sure that you are the right fit to parent an already traumatized child. Enough people have abandoned him already. There’s no need to add one more to the list.”
My fist is a tight ball at my side. My fingernails bite into the palm of my hand, but even that pinch of pain isn’t enough to clear my head. Not when blood is whirring through my veins loud enough that it’s all I can hear.
I’m going to kill him.
If he’s here to take my son away, I’ll kill him.
Jodie stands between us, both arms outstretched. “This has gotten out of hand.”
Just you wait, Jodie. You haven’t seen the half of it.
“We aren’t here to remove Aiden; we’re here to monitor the situation.” She gives Peter a pointed look before she turns back to me. “We want to see how you and Aiden adjust to everything. We aren’t coming in with any preconceived notions of you, Mr. Whitaker.”
She’s lying.
When I signed with the Angels and started winning games, my personal life became part of the package. Headlines about where I partied over the weekend and who I was with ran next to my stats for the season. When I got booked for possession, my mugshot trended online for weeks. And when The Accident happened, I couldn’t even step outside to visit Daniel in the hospital without a caravan of journalists and paparazzi trailing behind me.
Jodie Barnes may have every intention of being impartial, but it’s impossible. I’ve already made a first impression on everyone I meet. Unless I do something to change it, it’s going to stick.
Unless I do something to prove to Jodie and Peter that I’ve changed, they’re going to take Aiden away.
Which is the only reason I look Peter Morris in the eyes and say something fucking insane. “If you are really here to understand my situation, then you’ll have to come back some other time. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”
Peter frowns. “I didn’t realize you were dating anyone, Mr. Whitaker.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Morris.”
Like how far I’m willing to go to protect my son from motherfuckers like you.