Chapter
One
6:00a.m.
The numbers on the clock didn’t make sense. Ryan blinked and pushed himself up, trying to clear the fog from his brain.
6:00 a.m.
Shit.He was supposed to be up at five thirty. No workout for him.
Ryan swung his legs out of bed, and his feet hit the cold floor. He rubbed a hand over his face, then reached for the elastic on his nightstand and tied his hair into a messy bun. He'd grown it out for Amaya. She loved to braid it, and he loved the way her eyes lit up every time he let her. And he looked like a hostel crawler if he did nothing with it in the morning.
Scrambling to his feet, Ryan grabbed his toothbrush and slathered on some toothpaste. He brushed frantically, then rinsed and splashed water on his face. He pulled on a T-shirt and black pants that looked like work slacks but felt like loungewear from his drawer, then shoved his phone into his pocket. Why did schools have to torture everyone? It was the end of the year. Couldn’t they recognize that parents were barely limping over the finish line and take a break from early morning rehearsals?
Ryan padded down the hall to Amaya's room. He cracked the door and peeked in. "Amaya, it's time to get up, babe."
She mumbled something and rolled over, clutching her favourite stuffy. "Five more minutes."
Ryan chuckled. "How about five more seconds? We have to be at the school early for your choir practice, remember?"
Amaya sat up, her eyes still half-closed. "I’ll get to sing my solo."
“Yep.” Ryan stepped into her room and pulled out a pair of leggings and a shirt from her dresser. "Here, put these on. I'll make you some breakfast."
Amaya nodded, then yawned and stretched. "Thanks, Dad."
Ryan headed to the kitchen and grabbed the bread from the pantry. He slotted two pieces into the toaster, then opened the fridge and pulled out some orange juice. As the bread toasted, he checked his phone. There were a couple texts on the Snowballs chat he’d have to read later and an agenda from his boss, Marc, for the meeting that morning.
Ryan slipped the phone back in his pocket. They needed to be on time. It was a twenty minute drive from the school to his office, and he couldn’t be late. His job as an engineer was demanding on a good day, but ever since he'd started playing with the Snowballs, it had become a juggling act. He was grateful Marc had let him take so much time off for the playoffs, but it was coming back to bite him in the ass.
The toast popped up, and Ryan spread butter and strawberry jam on each slice. He set the plate on the table just as Amaya walked into the kitchen, her hair still a mess. "Here you go, sweetheart. Eat up."
Amaya sat down and took a bite of toast. "Are you coming to the concert?"
Ryan nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Amaya grinned and took another bite. "Good. I want you to hear my solo."
She’d mentioned it approximately five thousand times, andhe still wasn’t sick of hearing it. He loved that she had something she was passionate about. Something she was good at. "I can't wait."
Amaya finished her toast, and Ryan handed her a glass of juice. She took a long drink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm ready."
Ryan grabbed his keys from the counter and Amaya's backpack from the hook by the door. He grabbed the brush he kept on the counter and ran it through her hair. "Let's do this."
They stepped out into the cool morning air, and Ryan locked the door behind them. He and Amaya walked down the front steps and climbed into the car.
“I hope my voice doesn’t sound tired.” Amaya cleared her throat as she buckled her seatbelt.
“It’ll be fine. Your teacher will do warm ups, right?” He knew nothing about choir, but he swore he’d heard her mention that before.
“Yeah. But my solo goes to a high F and even with warm-ups it's hard. It’s kind of in my break.”
“Uh-huh.” Zero clue what that meant. His mind already raced with the day's to-do list.
It was never ending. He would never complain about having Amaya full-time, but after two years, he still hadn’t gotten into a good, organized schedule. He was constantly missing the little things. Grocery shopping. Playdate planning. Homework checking. Let alone the books they were supposed to be reading and games they should be playing. It was all him all the time, and unlike hockey, the rules were always shifting.
Ryan pulled out of the driveway, and they set off down the street. The morning light filtered through the windshield, and he reached for his sunglasses. He glanced at Amaya in the rearview mirror. She tapped her fingers on her knee while humming one of her songs. She was nervous.
