Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jenna
Icheck my watch for the third time in five minutes, standing awkwardly among the cluster of parents outside Oakridge Elementary.
The bell should ring any minute now. I’m completely out of place in my tailored charcoal suit and heels that sink slightly into the playground mulch.
The other parents wear casual clothes, comfortable shoes—they look like they belong.
I don’t. But here I am, playing stepmom.
A woman beside me offers a friendly smile. “First pickup?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask and tug at my blazer.
She laughs. “The heels are a dead giveaway. Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
I’ll learn?
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the school bell cuts me off.
Suddenly, the double doors burst open, and children pour out like water from a broken dam.
They all wear the same uniforms: dark blue with accents of red and light blue.
It’s one of those fancy schools with high fences and lots of security measures.
Something my mother could never have afforded.
I start to wonder how Colton managed to get around the rules.
Schools like that usually don’t ignore a mother’s note saying the father isn’t allowed to pick up his daughter.
I scan the sea of backpacks and pigtails for Livy’s blonde hair.
When I finally spot her, she’s walking hand in hand with a woman who must be her teacher. My breath catches.
The teacher is stunning—late twenties I guess—with honey blonde waves and a white sundress that accentuates curves in all the right places. She laughs at something Livy says, her head tilting back to reveal a slender neck. I notice the absence of a wedding ring.
Something ugly twists low in my stomach.
I look over before I can stop myself.
My brain, traitorous as ever, supplies details no one asked for: Colton picking Livy up after school. The two of them talking easily. Her laughing at something cute Livy said. Maybe touching his arm like it’s casual and meaningless.
I hate every single imaginary second of it.
And suddenly I know why they let him take Livy.
She must have done him a favor. Because apparently rules become flexible when six-foot-five-chiseled-fucking-everything hockey captains with stupid hot faces are involved.
Of course she did it because he’s attractive.
Men like Colton get handed things all the time just for existing with jawlines.
I tighten my grip on my bag.
There’s a decorative lake beside us—calm, sparkling, aggressively picturesque. And for one brief, deeply unprofessional moment, I consider how satisfying it would be to push her into it.
And that’s…crazy much.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shake the thought away. Since when do I care who Colton talks to? Since never. This is ridiculous. I can’t get mad like this over a fake scenario.
I raise my hand awkwardly, and Livy spots me, her face lighting up in a way that makes the stupid knot in my chest loosen.
“Jenna!” she calls out, breaking away from her teacher and running toward me. There’s another feeling—joy—that she smiles like that because of me.
The teacher follows, that perfect grin still in place. “You must be Mrs. Kirillov,” she says, extending her hand. Okay, Mrs. Kirillov still sounds weird. “I’m Ms. Carter. Livy mentioned her dad’s new wife was picking her up today.”
New wife. It sounds like I’m his property. Like a shiny new car.
I shake her hand, my grip perhaps firmer than necessary. “Yes, I’ll be filling in from now on.”
Her eyes sparkle with interest. “Oh, we all love Mr. Kirillov here. Such an involved father.”
I bet you do, I think, then immediately hate myself for it.
“I have Livy’s folder with today’s assignments,” she continues, handing me a blue plastic folder. “There’s a math worksheet and some reading. She’s been doing so well with her sight words.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking the folder and forcing professionalism into my voice. What the hell are sight words? I’ll google it later. I don’t want her to think she is smarter than me. “I’ll make sure she completes everything.”
Livy tugs at my hand. “Can we go now? I’m huuuungry.”
“Of course,” I say, relieved for the excuse. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Carter.”
“Likewise,” she says with that silly bright smile again. “See you tomorrow, Livy-bug. And please say hello to Mr. Kirillov for me.”
I wave back and copy her smile with what I’m sure is a completely normal and not at all petty amount of sarcasm. I’ll sooner eat this designer blazer, button by button, than pass along her little message.
Absolutely not.
God, I’m embarrassing.
As we walk to my car, Livy skipping beside me, I try to process my bizarre reaction. Jealousy? Over Colton? No. I’m just tired. Stressed from the case. That has to be it.
“Jenna, do you know how to make mac and cheese?” Livy asks as I help her into the booster seat Colton installed in my car this morning.
“Um, from a box? Probably.”
She giggles. “Daddy burns it sometimes.”
The image of Colton burning mac and cheese makes me smile despite myself.
“Well, I can’t promise I’ll do any better,” I tell her, buckling her in. “But we’ll give it a shot, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, swinging her legs. “I can help.”
An hour later, we’re back in Colton’s apartment and fully fed. I managed to not burn her mac and cheese.
“Homework first, then snack,” Livy announces, dropping her backpack on the kitchen table. Clearly a routine.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, setting my briefcase next to her unicorn backpack.
We tackle the math worksheet first. Simple addition, nothing too challenging. Livy chews on her pencil, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“My dad says math is important if you want to count goals,” she informs me seriously.
“Is that so?” I can’t help but smile. “And what else does your dad say?”
“He says I’m smarter than all his teammates put together. And that when I grow up, I can be whatever I want, even president, but not a hockey player because it’s too dangerous and he doesn’t want my face to get hurt like his nose, jaw, teeth, ears and forehead did.”
“He’s had that many injuries?”
“Uh-huh. His nose got broken three times.” She traces her own nose. “That’s why it looks a little bumpy. He says it gives him character, but I think he just says that to make himself feel better.”
I’ve never thought about Colton’s nose before, but now that she mentions it, there is a slight crook to it. It really suits his face though. He has a wonderful face…
“I think he’s pretty. He should be careful, though—wouldn’t want him breaking his nose again. You never know how those things turn out after.”
“Your dad is very handsome, yes,” I say, cheeks burning just from that.
“He also sings Russian lullabies, you know. When he thinks I’m sleeping,” she continues, casually sticking out her tongue while working on her next math problem. “And sometimes he cries during movies. Especially ones with dogs.”
“He doesn’t,” I say, already planning on watching a movie with a dog. A really sad one. We’ll both end up crying I guess but it’s going to be worth it.
“Jenna, do you like my dad?” she asks suddenly.
The question catches me off guard. “I...” We are married. I have to tell her that. “Of course… we’re married.”
“But do you like him?” she persists. “My mom didn’t like him anymore, that’s why they don’t live together. And they were married too.”
Jesus. How do I answer that? “Grown-up relationships are complicated, Livy.”
“That’s what adults always say when they don’t want to answer,” she sighs dramatically, chewing on the end of her pen.
This kid.
“Your dad and I really like each other,” I say carefully. “We knew each other a long time ago. Did he tell you?”
She nods like this is all very normal information to process while doing some homework. “Yeah. He said you went to school together.” She wrinkles her little nose. “I don’t like the boys in my class. I would never marry one of them.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I thought the same thing about your dad once. And now look at us.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, with full conviction: “Ew. That’s so gross. I don’t want to marry ever.”
“You know, I’m a girl’s girl. You can be whoever and whatever you want to be without having a man in your life. But one will be there forever: your dad.”
“He’s the best anyway.”
“He is.”
She seems satisfied with this and moves on to telling me about a girl in her class who brought a frog to school in her pocket.
We spend the late afternoon playing board games, and as if I were a seasoned babysitter, I effortlessly get her ready for bed.
It feels so easy with Livy, as though we’ve done this countless times before.
But I suppose she’s glad she can be here and doesn’t have to go back to her mom.
I can tell she isn’t fully herself yet. Kids have tantrums, and that’s completely normal—they feel things intensely.
I just hope she feels safe enough soon to let those emotions out instead of holding them in or walking on eggshells.
“Will you read me a story?” she asks, pulling a book from her shelf.
I glance at my watch. It’s getting late, and I still have some briefs to review. But her cute little glance is impossible to resist.
“One story,” I agree, sitting on the edge of her pink bed.
She climbs in beside me, pressing against my side with immediate trust that makes my stomach tingle. The book is about a bear who can’t find his hat. It’s simple but surprisingly funny, and Livy giggles at all the right moments.
Halfway through the second reading—because of course one wasn’t enough—I hear the front door open.
“Hello?” Colton’s deep voice calls out.
“We’re in here, Daddy!” Livy shouts. I shoot her a glance. This kid is far from sleepy.
Heavy footsteps approach, and then Colton fills the door.