20. Tyler
TYLER
The team party is mandatory, which is the only reason I'm going.
I'm standing in my bedroom at six-thirty on Saturday evening, staring at my closet like it might offer an escape route. Harper's downstairs with Nora, and I can hear them laughing about something, and the idea of leaving to spend three hours at Reaper's house makes me want to fake the flu.
"You have to go," Nora says from the doorway, and I turn to find her watching me with sympathy in her eyes. Harper's on her hip, wearing pajamas even though it's barely seven, her little hand tangled in Nora's auburn hair.
"I don't."
"It's a team thing. You need to show up." She shifts Harper to her other hip. "Even if Reaper's an asshole."
"Especially because Reaper's an asshole. He'll notice if I don't show, and it'll give him more ammunition." I grab a dark blue button-down from my closet, not bothering to tuck it in. "I wish you could come."
The words are out before I can stop them, and Nora's expression shifts, growing complicated.
"I'm the nanny," she says quietly. "Not your—"
"I know." I cut her off because I can't hear her say it. Can't hear her remind me of all the reasons this thing between us can't happen. "I know what you are. Doesn't mean I don't wish it anyway."
She doesn't have a response to that, and I leave at six forty-seven feeling like I'm heading to my own execution.
Reaper's house is in one of those expensive developments where every lawn looks identical, and the houses are aggressively large. There are already a dozen cars in the driveway when I arrive, and I can hear music thumping from inside.
I really don't want to be here.
The party's already in full swing. Guys from the team scattered around with their girlfriends and wives, alcohol flowing freely, someone's playlist blasting through expensive speakers.
Reaper's holding court in the kitchen, surrounded by a cluster of veterans, and he doesn't even glance my way when I walk in.
Fine by me.
I grab a beer from the cooler, not because I particularly want one but because it gives me something to do with my hands. Danny appears at my elbow within minutes.
"You made it." He's grinning, already a few drinks in, based on the flush on his face. "Didn't think you'd show."
"Mandatory means mandatory."
"True." He surveys the party. "Reaper's been asking about you. Where's your girl?"
"She's not—" I stop myself. "Nora's home with Harper."
"Right. The nanny." Danny gives me a look that says he doesn't believe that's all she is for a second. "You should've brought her. Michelle's been asking about her."
"It's a team party. Nora's not on the team."
"Neither is Michelle, technically. Or any of the other girlfriends here." He takes a drink. "But whatever, man. Your loss."
He wanders off to find his girlfriend, and I'm left standing alone in Reaper's living room feeling exactly as isolated as I did three months ago.
Some things never change.
I'm nursing my beer and contemplating how early I can leave without it being obvious when a woman approaches. She’s blonde, pretty, and wearing a dress that's definitely too nice for a house party. She's smiling at me in an unmistakably interested way.
"Tyler West, right?" She extends her hand. "I'm Amber, a friend of Reaper's girlfriend."
"Hey." I shake her hand briefly, already looking for an escape route.
"I've been watching you play. You're really good." She steps closer, her hand landing on my forearm. "That goal last night was incredible."
"Thanks."
"You here alone?" Her fingers are tracing small circles on my arm, and I realize with sudden clarity that she's flirting with me. Openly, obviously flirting.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
She's objectively attractive. The kind of woman I would've taken home without a second thought a year ago, back when I was miserable in Pinewood and drowning my problems in bad decisions, but all I can think about is auburn hair and hazel eyes and the way Nora smiles when Harper does something cute.
"I should—" I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen. "I need another drink."
"I'll come with you." She's still touching my arm, still smiling, and I gently extract myself.
"I'm good. Thanks, though."
I escape to the backyard, where it's quieter and there are fewer people, and pull out my phone. There's a text from Nora timestamped twenty minutes ago.
Nora: Harper went down easy. Reading on the couch. Have fun at the party.
Have fun. Like that's even possible when all I want is to be exactly where she is.
I type out three different responses and delete them all. What am I supposed to say? That I'd rather be home with her and Harper than at this party? That watching her smile is better than any social gathering? Or that I'm comparing every woman here to her?
I shove my phone back in my pocket and head inside.
The party continues around me. Guys getting progressively drunker, music getting louder, Reaper's hostility toward me palpable even from across the room, but some of the other guys are warming up.
Danny keeps including me in conversations, Rodriguez asks about Harper, and even a few of the veterans nod at me in passing.
Progress, I guess.
Around eight, Amber finds me again. This time, she's bolder, standing too close, her hand on my chest.
"You're quiet," she says. "Not a big party person?"
"Not really."
"Me neither." She leans in closer. "We could leave. Go somewhere quieter."
All I can think of is that she's not Nora. Her hair's the wrong color, her eyes are the wrong shade, and her smile doesn't make my chest tight the way Nora's does.
"I'm flattered," I say carefully. "But I'm not interested. Sorry."
"Oh." She pulls back, confusion crossing her face. "You're with someone?"
Am I? We haven't defined what we are; we haven't crossed any real lines beyond almost-kisses and hand-holding, and the way we look at each other is like the rest of the world doesn't exist.
But yeah. I'm with someone. Even if she doesn't know it yet.
Even if I'm still figuring out how to tell her.
"Yeah," I say. "I am."
Amber nods, disappointment clear, and retreats into the party. I watch her go and feel nothing but relief.
Liam appears at my side, grinning. "Dude. You just turned down Amber Morrison. She's literally a model."
"Good for her."
"You're so gone for your nanny, it's embarrassing." But he's laughing, not judging. "When are you gonna do something about it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." He claps my shoulder. "You should go home, man. You look miserable."
He's not wrong.
I make it until eight forty-seven before I give up pretending I want to be here. I find Danny to say goodbye, endure some chirping about leaving early, and head out to my car.
The drive home takes fifteen minutes, and I spend the entire time thinking about Nora. The way she laughs at Harper's antics. The way she hums while she's organizing things. The way she looked at me last night after the game, something soft and warm in her expression that made my heart stutter.
The way she calls me Ty now, instead of West, like I'm someone special to her.
The way I want to be someone special to her.
And that's when it hits me.
I'm pulling onto my street when the realization crashes over me like a physical blow, so sudden and overwhelming I nearly miss my driveway.
I'm in love with her.
Not falling. Not heading that direction. Already there, completely and irrevocably in love with Nora Collins.
I can't pinpoint when it happened. Maybe it was gradual, building over weeks of living together, raising Harper, and becoming this strange little family.
Maybe it was that first day when she calmed Harper down within minutes, and I realized I wasn't alone anymore.
Maybe it was every midnight conversation, 2 a.m. feeding, and moments of comfortable silence in between.
But I know it's true.
I’m in love with the way she organizes everything in color-coded systems and the patience she shows Harper. With the way she listens when I talk about Reaper and the team and all the shit I'm dealing with, her kindness, and the way she smiles when she thinks I'm not looking.
And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.
I park in the driveway and sit here for a minute, my hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to process what just happened. This is terrifying, huge, and it could ruin everything if I'm not careful.
But it's also the most certain I've been about anything in my entire life.
I walk into the house at nine twenty-three, and Nora's exactly where she said she'd be—on the couch with a book, the lamp in the corner casting warm light across her face.
She's wearing my Falcons hoodie again, the one that's way too big on her, and her auburn hair is falling out of its bun in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch it.
She looks up when I walk in, and her smile is warm and genuine and everything I didn't know I needed.
The realization is so clear, so undeniable, that I'm surprised she can't read it on my face. I'm standing in my living room on a Saturday night, staring at my daughter's nanny, and all I can think is that I'm utterly, terrifyingly in love with her.
"You're home early," she says, setting her book aside.
"The party was terrible." I force myself to move, to act normal, to not blurt out what I just realized in the car. I drop onto the couch next to her, maybe closer than strictly necessary. "How was Harper?"
"Perfect. Asleep by seven-thirty." She's watching me with those hazel eyes, concern creasing her forehead. "You okay? You look... I don't know. Different."
Different. Yeah. Because I just realized I'm in love with you, and I have no idea how to tell you without scaring you away.
"I'm good," I lie. "Just tired of team parties."
"That bad?"
"Reaper was Reaper. Some woman tried to flirt with me. I left as soon as I could." I lean my head back against the couch, closing my eyes. "All I wanted was to come home."
There's a pause, and when I open my eyes, she's staring at me with an expression I can't quite read.
"You got hit on?"
"Yeah. But I turned her down."
"Why?"
Because she wasn't you. Because no one is you. Because I'm in love with you and everyone else is just background noise.
"Wasn't interested," I say instead.
We sit here in comfortable silence, and I'm hyperaware of every inch between us on the couch and the way her shoulder is almost touching mine. Of how easy it would be to close the distance, and how badly I want to tell her what I just realized.
But I can't. Not yet. Not when she's still calling herself ‘just the nanny’ and maintaining boundaries I'm desperate to cross. Not when telling her might make her run.
"I'm glad you're home," she says quietly.
"Yeah." I look at her, really look at her, and let myself feel it fully. The love, the wanting, the certainty. "Me too, Red. Me too."
She smiles at me, soft and warm, and goes back to her book.
And I sit here next to her, heart beating too hard for a man doing absolutely nothing, my hands loose in my lap so they don't do something stupid like reach for her. I’m in love and terrified, and trying to figure out how to tell her without ruining everything.