The worst one shows Nina laughing with Kai, with acaption that readsSources suggest Bruun may have hidden her son’s paternity to trap the injured player into marriage as her bakery faces financial difficulties.
I tell myself to sleep on it. But I’m restless for the rest of the week. We have some away games and when I get back, dry land training kicks my butt. The thing is, my shoulder doesn’t even scream at me once. It’s all the noise in my head. I keep my nose down and grind through the workouts, but afterward, the tenuous reality of this situation comes back at double the volume.
In short order, I received several messages, most notably one from the school about photographers and press attempting to talk to Kai. They assured me that it goes against school policy and privacy protection laws for minors. I was told Kai is fine, but they’d like to speak to me at my earliest convenience.
Why am I feeling like I’m in over my head?
Let’s see: the other night I found Kai reading under his covers at midnight with a flashlight. Nina thought it was sweet—she did the same thing as a kid. I think it’s a problem since he’s falling asleep in class. We argued in hushed voices outside his bedroom door until Nina reminded me that loving books isn’t exactly a sign of future truancy.
Then, Mya went silent for the evening after Nina denied her after-school cookies because her homework was unfinished from the day before. The house felt arctic until Nina baked Mya’s favorite cinnamon rolls and they negotiated a homework-first, treats-second treaty.
Then the two of us experienced mutual failures. I missed Kai’s parent-teacher conference for a late-running practice, leaving Nina to handle it solo. I admit, I completely forgot. She was furious until she took a nap one afternoon a few days later, didn’t wake up in time, and was twenty minutes late for school pickup, finding two worried kids waiting with theprincipal.
The solution: we called an official family meeting around the kitchen table. I made hot chocolate. She added marshmallows. We hashed out our house rules. Homework before treats, lights out means lights out, and everyone gets one “mulligan”—a mistake without harsh consequences—as long as they learn their lesson.
We’re all trying, and suddenly our fumbling feels less like failing and more like growing, but worry still keeps tugging me out of the zone, so to speak.
Then another reporter shows up on the school playground, I get a call, and Nina has to bribe me with Danish pastries so I don’t go ballistic.
That evening, I chat with Kai and Mya about strangers and safety. The kids seem completely unbothered, brush it off, and are eager to play the epic game of Monopoly we started but didn’t finish last night because, and I quote, “I was losing and they wanted to give me a chance to catch up.”
These two, I tell ya.
Nina is at her book club meeting over at Once Upon a Romance in town. I doze off watching hockey highlights and am startled by getting another call late that night.
Well, it’s dark out, but when I look at my phone, it’s actually shortly after four a.m. Still dark. Not even the hint of a purple-gray dawn along the horizon. It’s Nina. She must’ve gotten home from book club, slept, and left already. Meanwhile, I was passed out on the couch.
“Good morning,” I say, voice scratchy, sleepy.
“Lane, the man was outside the bakery again this morning when I got in to open.”
Nerves fire.
Muscles wake up.
I’m instantly alert and on my feet. “Are you okay?”
Hushed, she says, “Yeah, I’m fine. I kept everything lockedup, but it’s still dark, and I didn’t want to wake you too early, but?—”
An instinctive, powerful force of protection washes over me. I’ve seen how intrusive the paparazzi can be, lived it first hand—Dad practically invited it because he believes that all press is good press. I prefer my privacy and know Nina does too. But more importantly, her safety comes first. “I’m already putting on my shoes.”
“But Kai and Mya?—”
Still getting used to having minors in my care, I beast mode up the stairs before Nina can finish her sentence.
“The kids can see how their favorite pastries are made, and we’ll adapt tonight. Pizza, a movie, and early to bed.”
“You don’t have to come here. It’s fine, I just think it’s the guy from the festival again and …”
“And he thinks he’s going to exploit my family? No chance. And if it’s some creep, he’s going to experience a hockey stick up—wait. You saidagain.”
The line is quiet.
“Nina. Is there something you failed to mention?”
Keeping my phone pressed to my ear with my good shoulder, she hems and haws about how there was a guy who showed up one morning, but it was no big deal. She thinks it was the same loser at the Happy Hockey Days festival—the one I told to back off.
“You sure it’s the same one?” What part of my message did he not receive?
