2. Cassidy
Chapter 2
Cassidy
T he crazy thing about growing up as a pastor’s kid is the kind of information you’re privy to starting at a very young age.
I’d hear my parents whisper to each other in the the kitchen while washing dishes often.
“Did you hear about Carl and Linda?”
“Yeah. They’re going through with the divorce.”
“Really? Man, I had so much hope that they’d try to work things out. If not for them then at least for Lillian and Mark. Those poor kids.”
“Did you hear that Mr. Grisham from the corner store got picked up by the cops?”
“Old man Grisham? What did he do?”
“Gambling ring.”
“Really?”
My mom always acted shocked. Like she couldn’t believe the things people were capable of. To her all people had the capacity to do good so when they didn’t live up to it–she’d just be sad for them.
Disappointed, really.
And I never wanted to be a disappointment. To hear her voice hitch for me like it did for all the people they mentioned in their whispers to each other.
Needless to say, I knew everybody’s issues. Even if I didn’t want to.
I knew whose husband was sleeping with whose wife. And whose son was just picked up for petty theft and whose daughter got knocked up.
I didn’t think much of it growing up. I was always the quietest of my siblings. All nine of us.
As the middle child that was too old to play Candy land with the youngest and too young to hangout with the oldest at teen nights–I read in quiet corners and overheard town gossip.
It really wasn’t a big deal. Until I got to high school and realized the power of my eavesdropping skills. And the power I wielded in just knowing things others didn’t.
Stephanie Murray came bursting into the girl’s bathroom in between periods one day. I just so happened to be in the stall when she and her older sister, Gigi, stormed in.
“I will murder that boy. If he hurts you–”
“Nothing happened, Gigi. We barely made it to second base.”
“Then why were you crying?”
Oh boy. I tried to melt into the bathroom seat. I tried to be invisible. I swear I didn’t go looking for these things.
I lifted my feet off the ground and tried to balance on top of the toilet so they wouldn't see that I was there.
“I just thought he really liked me, you know. But that was dumb. I’m just a stupid high schooler and he’s–”
“Too old for you,” Gigi cut in. “I can have him arrested for touching you.”
Stephanie sniffed. “He didn’t know my age.”
“Exactly, he’s irresponsible. He should’ve asked. If I tell Dad, Steph, he’ll find a way to have him kicked off the team. You know he will.”
I saw through the small slit of my stall that Stephanie was holding the edges of the pedestal sink, her head dropped, blonde ponytail bobbing side to side. “I lied to him about my age.”
Gigi huffed, but put a sympathetic hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Then let this be a lesson. No more messing around with Dad’s players. Especially none by the likes of Joshua Hicks. ”
My shoe slipped at the mention of his name, and the toilet sensor went off at that moment, automatically flushing. It startled me and my foot landed right in the toilet.
“Who's there?” Gigi banged on the stall. She was a senior. One of those that are pretty and scary. The kind you know could rip you to shreds with mere words. “Hello?”
I stuck my foot out of the toilet and it flushed again.
Sighing, I opened the stall door and they both looked down at my wet pant leg and shoe.
“Great! The PK. Don’t you go blabbing to your parent’s about my sister you hear me, Jones?” Gigi wagged her purple polished pointer finger in my face.
I held up my hands. “Why would I?”
I was less concerned about her sister. And more concerned that my celebrity crush was even remotely interested in someone my age.
Joshua Hicks had joined the Houston Heatwave NHL team as a rookie straight from the AHL. Me and my oldest brother followed his career since he was a teen himself. When all my other friends had boy bands and heartthrobs, it was his poster that I had up on the back of my bedroom door.
Not many girls I know are into hockey. But if there was a first family of hockey at the school, it would be Giselle and Stephanie Murray. They’re dad was the head coach for Houston’s NHL team.
“How do I know I can trust you?” Gigi demanded.
I shrugged. “Because I don’t care.”
I sidestepped her and went to the sink to wash my hands.
Lies . I cared. I cared so much. Too much.
But that was the day I realized my crush, might be a player, in every sense of the word. And I think I felt that disappointment that mom always displayed when people let her down.
If only high school me could see me now.
“I need you to tell me everything. You hear me, Sid? Everything!” Lillian’s voice booms through the speaker on my phone.
I drive the kind of car that hit its prime in the eighties, so there’s no Bluetooth connection when talking to my best friend.
Instead, there’s an empty Whataburger cup that I use as both a phone holder and a boombox. I’ve learned to be practical like that.
A perk of being a middle child in a big family meant I always got the hand-me-downs before they were deemed completely useless. Currently, I do have seniority amongst my siblings still living under my parents' roof. But this job… it’ll change everything for me.
“I will spare you no details, Lillian Hartley. I promise,” I assure her.
“Good. Because you might be the only person I know to make a six-figure income over the course of one summer.”
“Well, I have you to thank for that connection.”
“You’re also the only person I know with experience in dealing with a buttload of children. So naturally, you’re perfect for the gig.”
“Three kids isn’t a buttload of children.”
Lillian scoffs, “Of course you would say that!”
“But don’t you think it’s weird that he didn’t want to meet me first?”
“He has met you. The charity event last month?”
“I mean, like, for an interview.”
“Need I repeat? Six-figure income. Why are you complaining about not getting a proper interview?”
I groan. “I’m not. I need this. You know I need this.”
“Girl, if I have to hear your siblings bickering down the hall while I’m trying to give you all my hot girl summer updates, one more time…”
I chuckle. Lillian’s a great friend. She’s also newly single for the first time in eight years. Before that, she was dating and engaged to one of Houston’s most prominent pastors' sons. His family ran in the same circles as mine and Lillian’s.
That’s how she found out about star hockey player, Joshua Hicks, and his desperate need for a full-time nanny. Her ex’s brother plays on the same hockey team. Apparently, the whole thing is real hush hush.
One month ago, I had grand delusions of possibly hitting it off with her ex’s brother. Lillian had invited me to a charity auction and insisted that Michael Ferguson was single and would totally be into me.
I found out the hard way–that it wasn’t the case. Michael’s heart was already taken. But he introduced me to Joshua. And the second we met, my neurons misfired.
Joshua was fun and charismatic. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, the way he could work the crowd.
I could barely speak words because even knowing everything I know about the man… this was still the Joshua Hicks.It was too surreal—almost as surreal as the fact that I’m now going to be working for this hockey superstar.
And living under the same roof.
As his nanny, sure, but still.
“It’s crazy to think I’ll be in his house. He’s like super famous.”
“Crazy? Or tempting?” Lillian chuckles.
I tsk. “No temptations. I’m here for a job. I’m a professional.”
Lillian clears her throat and gets serious. “Yes, of course. But if you do catch a glimpse of him in a towel, you’ll tell me, right?”
“What is wrong with you?” I say with a chuckle.
“Let me just live vicariously through you, will ya?”
I arrive at Joshua’s address and am immediately taken aback by the grandeur of the white house. It looks majestic and luxurious, with green vines crawling up the sides blooming with small purple flowers.
There’s no way that men live here. It looks way too kept. There are two things that tell me I'm at the right place.
One—is the collection of expensive cars parked out front that can only belong to men with too much disposable income.
And two—the water fountain with a flaming puck in the center of the roundabout driveway. The Heatwave logo come to life.
“I gotta go. I just got here.”
“Okay!” Lillian squeals. “Send me updates.”
“I’ll try,” I tell her before disconnecting.
I bring down the mirror on my visor and try to tuck some loose strands back into my braid. Ever since receiving a text out of nowhere from this hockey stud–I haven’t been able to keep my jitters at bay.
But I muster as much calm as I can. Taking in a deep breath and mouthing to myself, “You’ve got this, Sid. You’ve got this.”