“There’s always a right person,” I say. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find them.”
She considers this. “Okay.”
I pull her into a hug. She smells like strawberry shampoo and the grape popsicle she had after school.
She’s so small. I forget sometimes, because her personality is so big, her observations so sharp. But wrapped in my arms, she’s still just a little girl. All knobby elbows and baby-fine hair and a heartbeat I can feel fluttering against my chest.
I want to protect her from everything. Every disappointment, every letdown, every person who might promise something and fail to deliver.
I can’t. I know I can’t.
But God, I want to.
“I love you, Maisie girl.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
She squirms away after a few seconds and wanders to the living room. A minute later, the TV clicks on and I hearBlueyin the background.
I stay hunched over the stove and try to focus on pasta sauce.
I hate this. Hate that she hedges her expectations. That she’s six and already knows promises don’t always mean anything. I’d give anything to unlearn that for her. To show her that some promises actually hold. The problem is, I’m not sure if I believe it myself anymore.
I finish making dinner and pretend I’m fine.
Later, after she’s asleep, I grab my phone and do what I should’ve done three days ago.
I text Bree Lockwood—my teammate Archer’s wife.
Hey, huge favor. My nanny is leaving for Florida to watch her grandbaby. And the road trip starts Sunday. Any chance you could take Maze until we’re back Wednesday?
The three dots appear almost immediately. Bree’s a night owl, thank God.
Of course. She can stay here with the twins. They’ll love it.
Relief floods through me so hard my hands shake.
You’re a lifesaver. I owe you.
You owe me nothing. Hockey families stick together. But Zay—you need a full-time nanny. What’s your long-term plan?
I stare at the screen.
I don’t have a long-term plan. I have duct tape and prayers and a list of agencies that can’t find anyone who meets my “scheduling requirements.”
Working on it,I type back.
Let me know if you need help. Seriously.
I set the phone down and tip my head back against the couch.
This time, I got lucky. Bree came through. But she’s got her own kids, her own life. I can’t keep asking her to bail me out every time something falls apart.
And something always falls apart.
My phone buzzes again with a different number.
Tori:Reminder to ice that shoulder before bed. 20 minutes. No excuses.
