Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ELLIOT
How can such a good day turn disastrous in the blink of an eye?
Everything was coming up Elliot.
I woke up on time, actually rested for once, and ready to take on the day. The dinosaur cookies for a little boy’s third birthday were iced and packed before the sun even came up. I snuck an extra one into Sam’s lunch, knowing it would make my cantankerous twelve-year-old smile.
Every physio session ran like clockwork—no no-shows, no last-minute surprises. Just focused players ready to put in the work.
And the best part? Will Oliver’s been officially cleared to return to practice. He burst into my session with his teammate, Noah Watts, grinning like a madman, picked me up and spun me around like his arm hadn’t been in a sling just a few weeks ago.
Now, only a few short hours later, I’m freezing my ass off in the parking lot, pleading for all I’m worth.
“I’ve never begged for anything in my entire life. But I’m begging you now. Please.”
I grip the steering wheel with both hands, like that’s going to help somehow. Like maybe it’ll transfer some of my sheer willpower into the dying lump of metal under the hood.
I turn the key in the ignition again. Nothing but a pathetic click and the sound of my own desperation echoing in the tiny space.
“You’ve always come through before. Remember that time you got me home during that snowstorm when Sam’s school closed early? Or when I was running late for my aquafitness class and you got me there on time? You always do. So don’t quit on me now.”
I slump forward, resting my forehead against the top of the wheel feeling more hopeless by the second.
“I’ll take you to the good car wash with the colourful soap. I’ll put premium in your tank. I’ll even stop calling you a piece of shit behind your back. Just this once, please…”
I turn the key one more time.
A cough. A sputter. A death rattle. Then silence.
“Nooooooo.” I feel the hot tears run down my cheeks and frantically wipe my eyes in an attempt to cut them off at the source.
The watch on my wrist buzzes. I don’t need to check it to know what it’s about—my reminder to pick up Sam from chess club in twenty minutes.
The community centre is fifteen minutes away on a good day, and I’m currently sitting in a car that won’t start.
Unless I come up with a miracle in the next ninety seconds, I’m going to be late. Again.
And then I’ll get those looks from the other parents. The ones filled with thinly veiled pity and smug concern, like I’m a living PSA on how not to juggle life.
I pull up the Uber app. The nearest ride is fifteen minutes away.
Shit.
My heart kicks into overdrive. The bus. There’s a city route that runs near the community centre, and I’m pretty sure one should be passing through soon.
I scramble out of the car, half-walking, half-jogging toward the bus stop a block away while opening my phone’s browser to check the schedule. My fingers fumble as I type, attention fixed on the screen.
That’s why I don’t see the wall of a man until I crash right into him.
His chest is like concrete. I slam into it, bounce back a step, and lose my footing. My centre of gravity shifts and I’m bracing for impact with the sidewalk when a pair of strong hands catch my arms and steady me.
I look up—and up—into a face I’ve only seen from a distance since my first day on the job. The day Arthur Stetson dismissed me with a few cutting words that made it clear he didn’t think much of me or my opinion.
“Ms. Baker,” Arthur Stetson says, voice cool and clipped. “I see your inability to watch where you’re going isn’t limited to when you’re behind the wheel.”
It’s not the harshest thing anyone’s said to me. It’s not even the worst thing he’s said to me. But for some reason that one snide comment tips me right over the edge.
My eyes burn. And then I’m crying. Full-on, can’t-speak, can’t-breathe sobbing.
I cry for Sam, who’s going to be waiting and wondering where I am. I cry for the never-ending bills and the unreliable car. I cry because this man keeps finding new ways to make me feel smaller than I already do.
His grip tightens, steady but not unkind. I hear him curse under his breath.
“I didn’t mean to… Jesus. Are you okay?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The tears keep coming, hot and humiliating. He seems more horrified by my crying than I am.
“It’s fine, Elliot. No harm, no foul. You can stop crying now. Please.”
Wow. He does know my first name. I wipe at my cheeks with one trembling hand. “I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice shaking as I turn and walk away.
“Where are you going?”
“The bus stop. My car won’t start.”
“So call a tow truck.”
He’s still behind me, keeping pace easily with his long, slightly uneven strides.
“I don’t have time,” I say without looking back. “I need to pick up my son in fourteen minutes.”
I glance down at the schedule, praying that the timing works out.
“And a bus is actually going to get you there on time? Are they even reliable?”
“More reliable than my piece of shit car.” Hopefully.
“Why don’t you just get a new car?”
I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. “Because I’m a single mom with a mountain of debt and a horrible credit score.”
His jaw tightens and he looks away. Good, I think. He’s not the only one who can use bluntness as a weapon.
I refocus on my phone, scanning the route list, but my stomach sinks.
The bus I needed left ten minutes ago. The next one isn’t coming for another twenty.
I close my eyes for a second, then reopen them and consider my dwindling options.
Maybe my friend Jess is home. She lives just around the corner from us and sometimes has Wednesdays off.
“I can take you.”
The deep voice behind me makes me jump. I’d forgotten he was still there.
I turn slowly, swiping at fresh tears. “Why would you do that?”
He looks deeply uncomfortable. “Mostly to make you stop crying.”
I stare at him. He’s serious. Still standing there, still waiting.
I don’t particularly want to get in a car with Arthur Stetson, who seems to barely tolerate my existence. But I want to be late picking up Sam even less.
I take a breath and force myself to pull it together.
“Where are you parked?”