Keeley
thirteen
They were coming over.
Tonight.
I was going to explain everything to Spencer, apologize for sleeping with his husband, then I was going to beg them to keep it quiet.
I needed this job. I loved public relations work, and the Seals were such a great organization with amazing benefits.
I had a fantastic boss who was happy to allow me as much flexibility as I needed, and the office was close to my mom.
I needed to put Hannah first. It would be difficult to get a better job than I already had; I didn’t want to risk losing it.
Not for a fling.
Certainly not with a player. The thought was bitter.
Brayden’s reputation would suffer even more if word got out that we’d hooked up, but mine would be destroyed.
He was impulsive, but he wasn’t a bad person.
I loved the way he left people absolutely charmed.
He was a ray of sunshine; one I liked having around.
The team dynamics had shifted since Wilson’s retirement.
He’d been the family guy, the one who gathered the rookies under his wing and made sure they were looking after themselves.
Now it was Gauthier and Rune, but they were more like big brothers rather than Wilson’s father figure.
Brayden was the doer, always giving the team a reason to be together.
They were closer now, and their friendships went deeper.
They cared.
I didn’t want to get in the way of that or distract from the team’s focus by causing another scandal. The last thing I wanted was to put the possibility of reaching the playoffs at risk. We had a real chance this season. If I ruined that, I’d never forgive myself. Neither would management.
“Mamá, tory, tory,” Hannah demanded as she splashed in the water of the bath.
“After your bath, sweet girl. Which story would you like to read? How about the sheep?”
Hannah’s little face lit up in a grin and she splashed her hands down again. “Yas, Green Sheep.”
“What color sheep is your favorite?”
“Green sheep,” she corrected.
“Shhh—” I whispered.
“Sleep, sleep,” she cried, her voice echoing off the walls of the bathroom and making me wince.
“Mamá, up. No more baff.” She stood and reached up for me. Before I wrapped her in the towel, I pointed to the plug.
“Do you want to make the water disappear before or after you get out?”
“Now,” she said simply. Hannah squatted and pulled the plug, squealing in delight and stomping her feet as the water was sucked down the drain.
Her rubber ducks dropped to the bottom of the tub.
There was a toy boat in there too. She used it as a bucket to dump water out of the bath—usually on me—rather than letting it float.
I was secretly trying to “lose” that toy, but she kept demanding I find it.
I held out Hannah’s towel for her and wrapped it around her shoulders when she ducked under my arms.
“Let’s get you dry, sweet girl.”
“Okay.”
I had Hannah dry and in pajamas a few minutes after getting her out.
She hated brushing her teeth, but we struggled through it, and I carried her giggling and upside down into her bedroom.
The walls were adorned with every picture she’d drawn or painted at daycare.
I’d added homemade sheep on different colored pieces of paper and stuck them to her ceiling, too—Cara’s gift of Mem Fox’s Where is the Green Sheep?
was perfection. It was her absolute favorite story.
Hannah had moved from her crib to a single a few months ago. I dropped her onto it and laughed as she squealed in delight. She scrambled up and flopped back. When her head hit the pillow, she closed her eyes and pretended to snore.
“Oh no, Hannah’s already asleep. I can’t read her a story,” I exclaimed.
“Mamá tory. Green sheep. Green sheep,” she chanted.
I laughed, my heart filling with endless love. “Of course, sweet girl. Mamá will always read you a story.”
She patted the bed next to her and demanded, “Up. Cuddles.”
This was my favorite part of the day. Hannah was a ball of energy most of the time.
She struggled to sleep during the day, and at night she went a hundred miles a minute until she conked out.
If her bedtime ritual wasn’t followed, she would scream for an hour.
The only surefire way I’d found to ease that transition for her was to read a story, both of us cuddled up on her bed.
I climbed on and handed her the photo of her mom and dad. She kissed them goodnight every evening, and tonight was no exception. Hannah pressed her open mouth to the glass and said, “Night, Mommy. Night Daddy” sweetly.
“Goodnight, Mommy and Daddy,” I repeated.
Hannah popped her thumb in her mouth, and I started reading. She cuddled into me, resting her head on my shoulder so she could see the pictures as I turned the pages. I read the rest of the story to her, then read it again when she was still wide awake.
Finally, I got to the last line and whispered, “‘Fast asleep.’”
I shifted and slipped Hannah’s toy sheep under her arm. She cuddled it close, and her eyes drooped, falling closed as she kept sucking on her thumb. I climbed gingerly off the bed and kissed her forehead, then put the photo frame back. “Goodnight, sweet girl. Mamá loves you.”
I tiptoed out of the bedroom and closed the door after me, then fired up the monitor.
The journal I’d started the day after Hannah came to stay with me was sitting open on the kitchen table.
I recounted the day’s special moments and then sat back, smiling.
She’d had a good day. Journaling might seem silly, but I was loving being able to write about all the fun things she did and said.
I’d been bestowed with the gift of Hannah’s early childhood.
I wanted to make a record of our times together.
My stomach grumbled, and I went on the hunt for the remainder of the ANZAC cookies Carina had baked with the girls.
I devoured one and left the tin on the kitchen counter while I wiped down the bathroom, mopping the wet floor and sorting Hannah’s toys so I didn’t stand on them in the morning when I had a shower.
I looked down at myself and groaned. I had more laundry thanks to the colored bath salts that Hannah liked in her baths.
I was anything but the picture of sexy. With my hair in a messy bun and wearing leggings, fluffy socks, and a loose T-shirt that had a wet patch the size of my entire belly, I looked like I was planning a night of eating takeout and bingeing Doritos.
But I didn’t need to look sexy. I had an apology to make and some begging to do, and that was it.
I tossed Hannah’s wet towel over my shoulder and picked up her clothes.
I hadn’t even taken two steps out of the bathroom to get changed when there was a knock at the door.
I opened it and smiled as Miller held up two takeout bags with enough food to feed an army.
He was stylishly dressed in a pair of dark jeans, Chucks, a grey suit jacket, and navy sweater, while Spencer wore his trademark black-on-black outfit. They looked good enough to eat.
“Come in.” I ushered them inside and gestured to the back of the house. “Go straight through to the kitchen. We can eat in there.”
I watched them walk down the short corridor, both turning their heads at the doorways to the bathroom and living room and slowing to look at the photos of Hannah and me on the wall—all our happy memories mounted for us to see every day.
I looked at my little house through their eyes—they were multi-millionaires. They’d probably be searching for a mansion on the water or in the hills. With staff.
I had me.
My house was small at best, but I liked to think of it as charming.
There were original hardwood floors throughout, white walls, light furniture, and aqua-and-blue accents.
I had a timber anchor and beautiful prints of deserted beaches on the walls in the living room.
The house was crammed with toys, and the kitchen sink still had Hannah’s supper dishes tossed in there.
It was lived in and loved. Imperfect, but definitely enough for us.
I tossed Hannah’s clothes and towel into the washer in my laundry cupboard and followed the boys into the kitchen.
“Where are your plates?” Miller asked.
I reached for them, but Spencer stopped me, taking over to set the end of the table that didn’t have remnants of Hannah’s dinner all over it.
“You didn’t have to do this.” How did I say that I was sorry to Spencer for sleeping with his husband, but thanks for dinner? It was a ludicrous situation to be in.
I kind of stood there, not knowing what to do while Miller dished up food, and Spencer pulled out two six packs of drinks—one of flavored soda water and another of what looked like beer.
He gave me a nod with an uplift of his chin and gestured to the beer.
“I drank Great Northern back home. I found a bottle-o here that stocks them. Do you mind if I have one?”
“Not at all.” I smiled and gestured for him to go for it.
“Would you like one too?” he asked, offering me the bottle he’d freed from the cardboard wrap.
“No, thanks, I’m good.” I opened the refrigerator and asked, “Miller, what can I get you?”
“I’ve got mine here, darlin’.” He held up the lime soda water. “Can I interest y’all in this?”
“Oh, yes please.”
The conversation was awkward, stilted and uncomfortable, like there was an elephant in the room that no one was acknowledging. I still needed to change my wet T-shirt, but I didn’t want to run away from them. I stayed stubbornly still, waiting for Brayden to set down my plate.
“Did Hannah go to sleep easily?” Spencer asked as we sat down.
“Yeah, she’s pretty good if we keep up our routine—supper, playtime, bath, story, and bed. She has this favorite book about a green sheep that I have to read to her every night before she goes down.”
“No! Really?” Spencer asked, his eyes bright. “Not Where is the Green Sheep? I loved that book when I was a kid. Did you know Mem Fox is an Aussie?”