Page 9 of The Big Puck

“So, what’s wrong? Why are you calling in the middle of the day? Are you homesick?”

I laugh. “Not yet. But I am lucky because, if you can imagine it, on our first day at the rink, I landed a job. A really good one, with good pay and housing and meals included and—”

“A job? You? At the rink? Are you going to be living at the rink? What the hell—”

I blow out a breath. “No dad, let me finish. I got a job as a nanny for the coach. He has a sweet baby girl named Krissy and needs someone on short notice.”

“A nanny? You say the pay’s good?”

I tell him how much, and he blows out a whistle. He can’t help being the mercenary man he is; he was born that way.

“Perfect, sweetheart. You love kids. It’ll give you something to do. Keep your mind off that no good—”

“Exactly,” I agree. “And it’ll keep me from getting bored, lonely, and homesick.”

“You know you can come home any time,” he says, lowering his voice like he’s telling a secret.

“No, dad. You know I needed to get away. I’ve committed to being here for Jason for the season.”

“He better be grateful to have someone up there with him who he knows and can trust. I’m grateful.” What he’s not saying, but what we all know in the Hall family, is that Jason needs looking after because he’s too trusting. He got in trouble when he was on his own last season with some woman stealing a shit ton of his well-earned money. Others may call her a con, but I call her a thief. And my brother, well, he’s just too trusting.

On the other hand, the only people I trust are the ones under two feet high who still have their baby teeth.

“That brings me to the next issue. Spence—I mean Coach Logan—needs me to be a live-in nanny, and I don’t want Jason to freak out about it. I might need you to talk to him about it for me.” I know, I know—I’m leaving out the very salient fact that Spence—I mean, Coach or Mr. Boss-man—which I’ve decided I am abso-fucking-lutely not going to call him—is a single man. Not only is he single, but he’s eligible in the hunkiest, juiciest way possible, begging for some lucky woman to rescue him from his grumpy desolation.

That woman will not be me, of course, because no matter how hunky and eligible he is, he’s also not my type. He’s too old, too bossy, too controlling, and too grumpy. Plus, he’s too hunky. I’m totally not open to any man, and why would I be? Why would I jump from the frying pan into the fire?

I’ve come all the way from South Carolina to fucking Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to escape my particular frying pan, and there’s no way I want to jump into another frying pan, let alone a freaking fire. Because Spencer Logan is most definitely fire material. Sure, he’s hot, but I mean the trouble, life-ending kind of fire, the kind that will burn you. Bad.

Dad finishes his pondering of the issue. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll talk to him. You can still be there for him. How far will you be from Jason’s place?”

“I don’t know. We’re in a hotel. We’re going house hunting later. But it’s not that big of a city, so we should be fine.”

“You betcha. This adventure was for both of you to have a fresh start and support each other. He’ll be happy for you to have something going on, so he doesn’t have to worry about you getting bored, and he can concentrate on hockey. All you have to do is find the time to make sure he’s sticking to concentrating on hockey. If anyone can handle it, you can.”

“Thanks, Dad. Call him tonight. Maybe around eight.” That’ll give me a chance to talk to him first. Surely Spence will be home before that.

* * *

I was wrong. I underestimated the hours a head hockey coach works. To Spence’s credit, he called around five and told me he’d be late.

Then I called Jason, and he drove directly to Spencer’s house and refused to leave until his coach got home.

“I don’t like it, Lainey.” He walks in a circle around the mostly empty living room like a caged animal repeating himself for the hundredth time.

“You’re being ridiculous. He’s an old man with a baby, and I’ll be his employee. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He stops and turns to me, and then his thunderous face softens. “Of course, I’m worried about you. After what happened—”

“We promised we would never talk about that incident again. Besides, it proved once and forever that I actually can take care of myself, didn’t it?” Nausea bubbles up as I try to hold onto the fact that despite my harrowing incident-that-shall-not-be-named, I escaped unscathed. Nothing bad actually happened to me. Nada.

Not unless you count the shattering disillusionment and faith in mankind. Dad called it growing up hard. Jason called it un-fucking-forgivable. And Moe? He, the a-hole bastard, called me a liar.

That’s one of the two reasons I’m here and not walking down the aisle of Charleston’s most prominent church with him next week in a stunning Monique Lhuillier wedding gown with five-hundred-plus guests watching.

The second reason I can’t talk about it anymore is because I’m all talked out on that subject, and Jason knows if he brings that up ever again, he’ll likely get a kick in his precious balls.

* * *