“Dinner, breakfast after a night in. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just some people eatin’ together.”
“Seriously?” I shook my head and laughed. “I can't do that. It's impossible with my daughter.” I paused. Why had I said that? It was impossible because I wasn’t going to date anyone.
“So, if we made it possible you would?”
“No! Apart from me being a mess, it'd be a major breach of ethics. It’s totally improper for me to date a player… especially one who's married. I—” I looked away, the hurt still too raw after I’d spilled my guts to him. “I won't help you cheat on your husband.”
“He'll be there too, darlin’,” Miller stated matter-of-factly. “We both like you. We both want to get to know you better.”
“Miller, I…,” I whispered.
“That’s not a no. One day I'll change your mind.”
He tapped the armrests of the visitor chair twice and stood up in a graceful move. He was like a jaguar, all coiled energy and grace. He paused at my credenza and picked up a photograph of Hannah the daycare had sent me.
"She looks just like you," he murmured before placing the photo back down and walking out, closing the door quietly after him.
I sucked in a breath and slumped into the chair he’d just vacated. My hands shook, and I wanted. God, did I want what he was offering—to date both him and Spencer. Hell, I’d take even just one night—but even without the specter of my screwed-up emotions hovering over me, I couldn’t. Not with Hannah to care for. Not with my job and my ex to worry about as well.
nine
Keeley
Miller’s comment—she looks just like you—ate at me for the rest of the day. Hannah and I both had light brown skin, brown eyes, and dark hair. But I was raising a child who was not only not biologically mine but also didn’t share my ethnicity. It was something I was acutely aware of, having grown up with a white mom. I hadn’t learned much about half of my culture. It wasn’t something that had occurred to Mom when I was growing up. I didn’t hold it against her—she’d done her absolute best. If anything, it was my father’s fault for skipping out. I’d lost a connection to my Columbian heritage when he left. My abuela and abuelo had taught me a little—a few family recipes and basic Spanish—but distance made things difficult.
I didn’t want Hannah to lose her connection too. The daycare center was amazing. They shared Black music, food, and stories with the kids. Most of the kids who attended there were biracial like Hannah, so knowing the educators went the extra mile to celebrate Black culture was wonderful. Sandra, her mom’s best friend, was African American too. We spoke with her weekly, so Hannah did have a connection, but I was worried that itwas a step too removed like my connection with my Columbian heritage was. Sandra lived two states away, and her illness and my job meant that we wouldn’t be able to see each other regularly. I wanted to do more for Hannah, to do better for her. It was why I was taking her to a gospel church tomorrow for the first time.
The team flew out this morning for tonight’s away game, and I was doing what I did nearly every Saturday—arriving home from a morning picnic at the park with Hannah. We went to the same park her mom used to take her to. It was nothing special, just a neighborhood playground with a swing set, a slide, and a big oak tree that cast plenty of dappled shade. But it was perfect for a picnic, so I tried to take Hannah there weekly. It was another way of trying to connect Hannah with her family. I wanted her to remember her mom for the incredible woman she was.
I didn’t know Elise, but I think I would have liked her. We spoke with Sandra today, too, like we did every week. She’d told Hannah countless stories, and Hannah loved hearing her voice. Sandra had sent me pictures of Elise as well, both old ones with her husband before he passed and newer ones with Hannah. She now recognized her mom and dad whenever I showed the photos to her. Last week she’d toddled over to the low bookcase in her bedroom and picked up the photograph of her mom. She’d kissed it, one of those open-mouthed baby kisses full of slobber and sound effects, then said, “Mommy.”
My heart had shattered into a million pieces, and I’d smiled and told her, “Yes, baby,” with tears streaming down my face. Her parents couldn’t be here to raise their daughter, and the thought killed me. I wished every moment of every day that it was different, that Hannah never had to experience the pain of losing them. But I was so grateful at the same time because without their deaths, I wouldn’t have Hannah.
It made me the worst person on the planet. Who thought that? What kind of person was grateful for a child losing both parents so she could slide into place as her new mom?
It was a fucked-up headspace to be in. Beyond fucked up, if I were being honest. The guilt ate me alive daily. Hannah’s parents were dead, and I was grateful. I was a shitty, selfish person. Karma might not have bitten me in the ass yet, but it was only a matter of time after putting that kind of negativity into the universe.
I exhaled slowly, getting my emotions back into some semblance of calm, and carried Hannah into her bedroom. I laid her down gently so she wouldn’t wake, turned on the monitor, and closed the door. I needed to escape. Seeing my foster daughter fast asleep when I had those thoughts whirling around my brain was a recipe for me taking a nosedive into spiraling despair. And I didn’t have time for it.
I had an hour, at best, while she napped, and I needed to use that time to clean. I trudged into the kitchen and started unpacking the dishwasher. I had laundry to fold, too, the bathroom to scrub, vacuuming and mopping floors to do, and sheets to change. My list was long, and I was desperate for a coffee.
My cell phone rang. I almost didn’t even check who it was. I needed to get moving. Plus, I didn’t want to risk seeing Simon’s name again. I’d be too tempted to give in. I knew, deep down, I’d regret getting back together, but it felt inevitable at this point.
I also couldn’t ignore my cell phone.
I fished it out and instantly swiped to answer when I saw Carina’s name.
“Carina, hi. Is everything okay?” I asked. It was my day off, but that didn’t mean anything. Every chore I had would wait if I was needed.
“Yes. I mean, everything’s fine with us and the team as far as I know.” I could practically see her waving my concerns off. She paused for a moment before asking, “Why? Did you hear something? Jacques didn’t tell me anything, and I just spoke with him a few minutes ago. He called to let me know they landed in Odessa.”
“Okay. Great. No, I haven’t heard anything either. I just wasn’t expecting your call,” I said.
“Sorry, I know it’s out of the blue. I just… wanted to talk. Just a friendly call to say hi. You know, chat about being a mum.”
I smiled. I’d never get over hearing the different way she pronounced words with her accent.
“Yeah,” I said, not really knowing where she was going with this. “It’s great, isn’t it,” I stated.
