1. Cal #3
Myles ignored me, his default reaction when I griped about his PDA.
He rolled down his window and waved to Khia, who stood with Ruby waving on the front porch of my farmhouse.
It was really too big for two people, but I’d bought it on a whim years ago.
Noelle and I had dreamed of living in a house like that. Some dreams never died.
“Grey said he’d finish your truck this afternoon.” Myles interrupted my train of thought, pulling out of the driveway. “He’ll drive it to the game.”
Myles and Juliet carpooled because my sister was part of the Chargers’ legal counsel, and Myles was our goalie.
Me? I valued the quiet half hour to clear my head and focus, but with my truck out of commission, I’d been hitching a ride.
Something I was sorely regretting now. I didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but that didn’t mean I wanted a front-row seat to my best friend lip-locking with my sister either.
There were some things a man didn’t need to see.
“What do we have to talk about?” I asked once we left Serenity Springs and hit the highway north to Caldwell.
Juliet sighed against the quiet background music of The Backstreet Boys—Myles’s choice—playing over the speakers. “The nanny dilemma.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word, confused.
Juliet had offered to spearhead the process for finding Khia a nanny after Mama’s accident. I trusted my sister to vet the applicants, then consult me on the ones who passed her Hunger Games–level interrogation. So far, none of them had made it.
If I weren’t so concerned about Khia’s safety, I’d probably feel bad for them. Because the only thing more frightening than Juliet Satterfield Delavan on a good day was Juliet, seven months pregnant.
“All of the applicants are very interested in you—not Khia. It’s brought all the jersey chasers out of the woodwork.” Juliet shoved a forkful of pancakes into her mouth.
Myles huffed.
My sentiments exactly. While casual flings might be part of the hockey lifestyle for some guys, I’d done my time and regretted my mistakes. And now that I had a little girl, I definitely wasn’t entertaining that. It’s your past. It’s forgiven. “Seriously?”
Juliet grunted, chewing faster because she never talked with food in her mouth. “Why would I stoke your ego? You’ve got a big enough head without my help.”
I smiled out of habit because she expected it, but it felt all wrong.
Brittle. Carved out of stone. My love life was often the brunt of a joke from my siblings, not maliciously, but in the sense that I was the last unmarried sibling of the family.
Better put—no-longer-married sibling. I’d had no desire to date since Izzy died four and a half years ago, and not for my siblings’ lack of trying to tactfully set me up.
Juliet frowned at my silence, fork midair. “Hey, you okay?”
“Of course.” Noelle was on my brain, and it was throwing me off my game. The woman I shouldn’t want was the woman I couldn’t forget.
Juliet arched an eyebrow. “Was it too much?”
“Nope.” I popped the p.
She snorted. “Liar.” Her tone softened. Well, soft for her. “I’m sorry for how that came out. Any woman would be lucky to have you. Truly.”
I shrugged. Juliet could be severely blunt—hazards of having five overprotective older brothers—but she was quick to apologize when she went too far.
But I wasn’t in the mood for dissecting my love life (or lack of one), so I pivoted the subject.
“Maybe once Khia’s a bit older, I can refocus on the dating game.
For now, what do you recommend about the nanny situation? ”
She didn’t call me out for avoiding the topic. Although Myles’s eyebrow twitch in the rearview mirror told me we’d be talking about that later, too. “Keep looking I suppose. Is there no one else you can think to ask?”
I did a quick mental inventory of our tight-knit small town. Ruby was great in a pinch, but I knew she didn’t want to nanny full time when she had her sights set on a photographer career in Spokane with Juliet’s best friend, Stephanie.
“It’ll work out,” I said simply.
Myles and Juliet exchanged a quick look that said a thousand things, and that annoying tug in my chest returned.
I’d seen my parents do it all my life, and the pulsing ache in my heart reminded me of how Noelle and I used to do it, too.
A simple connection, saying everything without saying anything at all.
I thought I knew her.
No time for sentimentality. I slipped in my earbuds and navigated to a playlist that wasn’t primarily made up of Disney songs and “Baby Shark.” But I immediately regretted my choice when a One Direction song started playing.
The last thing I needed was a couple love-infatuated teens singing about love.
When you were that age, you were clueless and had no business giving life advice—especially while wearing skinny jeans.
Growling, I hit the skip button, and the electric guitar twang of Relient K’s “Be My Escape” flooded my ears. Perfect.
Focus. Head down. Win the game.
And I let the music drown out my concerns.