Chapter 8 - Brianna
The next morning I'm standing outside Seth's front door in light-washed Levi's and a baby blue tank top, two decaf coffees deep, palms slightly clammy, trying very hard to feel optimistic about this entire encounter while looking like I have everything under control.
I do not have everything under control.
I pulled my hair into a high messy bun because loose hair felt too casual and a full blowout felt like I’m trying too hard when I’m really hoping I look innocent.
Not like I had Seth’s tongue shoved down my throat in a gym two nights ago.
To my credit, he initiated it. I was planning on leaving.
I was going to run. I’d stepped away, ready to slip out when he stepped toward me, stopped me in my tracks, and blocked the exit before bringing me in with his magnetism and wild sexual energy.
And now I've been standing here for approximately forty-five seconds longer than I should be because my fist keeps almost knocking and then not when I think about Seth naked.
The house is a nice one—colonial, well-kept lawn, a few bushes still flowering, with a front porch that has two chairs on it that look like they've never been sat in. I think about spending my evenings after picking up Sawyer out here and giving her a chance to wind down.
Here goes nothing.
I knock. There are heavy footsteps coming from inside before a pause and the door opens.
Dark blond hair mussed from sleep, a bad night or both.
White t-shirt pulled tight across shoulders I have personally been held against naked.
Grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips in a way that should be illegal given the circumstances.
His hazel eyes find mine immediately and they are not warm.
He looks good. He also looks furious. Both things I know I deserve.
“Hi.” My voice sounds small.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he says, voice clipped, like I've shown up uninvited to sell him something he doesn't want.
"Did your brother not tell you?" I keep my voice steady. "I'm Sawyer's new nanny."
He stares at me. The processing happening behind his eyes is almost visible—the information landing, rearranging, settling into something that makes his jaw tighten incrementally. His lips part and then press together.
"You've gotta be shitting me," he says finally.
"Dad!" A voice comes from somewhere inside the house while I’m considering how quickly I can run back to Natasha’s place, and we pretend this never happened. "I can't find my knee pads!"
Something shifts in him instantly. The tension breaks just enough to let the dad through. He turns his head slightly, rubbing his temple. "They're in the dryer, babe."
Babe.
I don’t let myself have a reaction to that. I’m a professional. I’m not totally romanticizing the fact that he calls his twelve-year-old daughter babe.
Swoon.
A head appears around his shoulder, a girl, twelve or thirteen, light brown hair like her father's and big brown eyes full of the bright curiosity of a kid who hasn't yet learned to be guarded about it.
She's wearing volleyball shorts and a t-shirt that reads The Brookhaven Blockers, and she spots me before Seth can fully shift himself into a human shield.
"Hi," I say, waving. "I'm Brianna King."
"Hi!" She nudges her dad sideways with tween energy. "You're the new nanny Alessia told me about?"
"That's me." Unless your dad fires me in the next thirty seconds, which is still a very real possibility. "I hear you've got volleyball practice today?"
"I just need my knee pads and then I'm ready." She grins. "You're really pretty."
"So are you." I mean it. She’s got Seth’s eyes and bone structure softened into something younger and entirely her own. "Take your time."
“Be right back!” she chirps then disappears back upstairs and I am once again alone in the doorway with Seth, who is looking at everything except me—the street, the trees, the lawn, the sky. His jaw is ticking, and I know he’s not happy about this arrangement.
I take a breath. "Look. I know I owe you an apology and I want to give you a real one. I should have told you who I was two nights ago the moment I recognized you. I panicked when I saw you at the restaurant and I made the wrong call and I'm sorry for that."
His arms fold across his chest and I can’t help but look at his biceps. They’re huge.
"What part?"
"What?"
"What part are you apologizing for?" It's not quite a question. "The part where you recognized me on Halloween and said nothing. Or the part where you already knew you were going to be my daughter's nanny, and said nothing in the gym?"
I shake my head. “I didn’t recognize you Halloween night.
Yes, I assumed you were a player for the Mayhem, but I didn’t know who you were.
” I take a deep breath. "And when I saw you at the restaurant I froze.
I didn't think we'd cross paths like that.
I thought maybe at the facility, an awkward wave, a small world conversation and that would be it. "
His jaw ticks.
"I didn't expect you to kiss me." I pause. "I should have said something when you did. I should have told you right then that we already had this whole other thing connected to each other and I didn't, and that was wrong."
He exhales hard. "And the nanny job?"
"I didn't know about the nanny gig until last night.
" I watch his face to see if that registers. It’s still completely emotionless.
"Natasha sprung this on me unexpectedly and told me she was going to take it but had to back out at the last minute.
I didn't take the job to get close to you or to create some sort of situation here, I swear.
I didn't even know the job existed until the gym was already behind us. "
Something flickers across his expression. It’s not absolution, but maybe a slight recalibration.
"I need the money," I say, because I want him to know the truth.
"My mom left medical bills I'm still working through.
The nanny pay would make a difference and I have the time between my schedule with the Mayhem, and I genuinely like kids.
That's the whole story. I'll stay out of your way.
You can trust me with Sawyer. And I won't make it weird when we cross paths at the facility. "
His fingers drag over his jaw. For a moment he just looks at me.
"You work for the Mayhem too," he says.
"Physical therapist. Just promoted from intern. And before you ask—yes, I’m also your team owner's daughter. I know how that sounds. I know how all of it sounds but I swear he and I have no relationship. He barely acknowledges that I exist.”
He closes his eyes briefly. Opens them. "I have no idea what to think about any of this.”
I bite my lip. “I know. It’s a lot.” Understatement of the year.
He sighs. "I don't have a choice right now. I need to get to the city for training, and I can't get her to practice on the way or pick her up.” The words come out flat like it pains him to hire me. “You’ve left me with no other option.”
Ouch. "I know." I nod. "I get it."
Sawyer's footsteps on the stairs save us both from whatever comes next.
She ducks under her dad's arm, bag over her shoulder, knee pads located.
"See you tonight, Dad!" She's already moving toward my car like this is completely normal, like the air between the two adults she just walked past isn't vibrating with about fourteen different unresolved complications.
I linger for a second, hoping for something that tells me he’s not planning on firing me after tonight.
His expression is still guarded and pissed.
I hate it. I hate when people are mad at me.
It hardly ever happens. I’m the kind of person who can make friends with anyone and I’m also a chronic people pleaser.
I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable and I certainly hate hurting people, and I can tell Seth feels betrayed by me which makes everything worse.
"I really am sorry," I say quietly. "For what it's worth."
His jaw works. "That's not the part that's bothering me."
I blink. "Then what is?"
He shakes his head once. "Just text me when you're home from practice and she's safe."
And then the door closes. I stand there for a second with the late summer air wrapped around me.
That's not the part that's bothering me?
I have no idea what to do with that.
***
Sawyer talks the entire drive to her middle school volleyball practice, and I freaking love it.
Yes, I know I’ve only known her for a total of ten minutes, but she reminds me of…
well, me. One parent missing from the picture, navigating a new town with a dad who clearly loves her but whose schedule is about to get complicated, so when she has a captive audience, all her defenses drop, and she spills every single thought that’s on her mind in a consistent stream of conscious.
No filter, no hesitation—just pure, raw honesty because she wants to be seen and heard.
And I eat it up.
Underneath all that chatter, I can tell she’s a good kid.
She seems happy and well-adjusted to her new life in Connecticut.
Content. And you really can’t ask for more in a girl teetering on the edge of teenage hood, just on the brink of periods, friend drama, and God help us all especially Seth, boys.
It’s a tough transition, that weird, in-between phase where you’re not quite a little girl anymore, but the world hasn’t fully caught up to the idea of you growing up so anytime you do try to assert your independence, someone’s there reminding you of your age and place in the world telling you to slow down.
The windows are down, and the warm summer breeze rushes through my SUV, whipping our hair around us in every direction.
Sawyer’s grinning, brown eyes so much like Seth’s, shining as she tells me about her new school, the friends she’s made since she moved here a few weeks ago, and how much she likes living in Brookhaven.