Page 102 of The Keeper

I let out a startled laugh. That had not been what I’d expected him to say. “I’m pretty sure they do more than that.”

“Maybe. The point is, a person’s career doesn’t define who they are unless it’s something really shitty, like…being a murderer.”

“I would classify that as a hobby rather than a job. Unless they’re an assassin,” I said, amused. “Anyway, that’s not the point.” My good humor slipped, and I hesitated before admitting something I hadn’t told anyone yet. “Don’t judge me, but I didn’t tell my parents I got fired or that I became a nanny. I was too embarrassed. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a nanny, and I loved working with Evie. But I’ve felt like a huge disappointment to them my entire life, and I thought this might be their last straw.”

I’d tried to tell them the truth, but every time we talked, the words lodged in my throat and refused to come out.

“I was waiting until I had a ‘better’ alternative,” I said. “I thought that if I found something I really loved, a viable career path, then I could tell them what happened. Because there’s hope for that, you know? Like if I decided my passion was violin, I could play for the London Philharmonic one day. Or if it’s astronomy, I could discover a new planet. The odds are a million to one, but they’re not zero. It would at least give them hope that I could achieve something great in the future. But what could I achieve as a temporary nanny that would meet their definition of success? Nothing.”

The confession spilled out of me in a great big rush. When I finished, the resulting silence was deafening. I wasn’t used to revealing so much of myself, and I was consumed by a conflicting mix of relief and shame.

“Hey.” Noah leaned over, notched a finger under my chin, and tilted it up, bringing my eyes to his. “I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid, but I think you’re being unfair to yourself. Success isn’t measured solely by trophies and accolades.”

That brought out a watery laugh. “I have Asian parents. It’s always measured by trophies and accolades.”

“Fair enough, but they’re your parents. They love you. I don’t know much about them, but I’ve lived with you for two months. I’ve heard you talk to them on the phone, and I can tell you have a good relationship. That wouldn’t be possible unless you matter more to them than your résumé. Besides…” He slid his hand up to cradle my cheek. “You’ve already achieved something impossible. You got an eleven-year-old girl to like you and confide in you. That’s harder than finding some inhabitable rock a million light-years away.”

I laughed again, my vision blurry. “You’ve got to stop saying stuff like that, or you’ll get canceled by the astronomy community.”

“Worth it.”

Golden warmth unspooled in my chest and dripped into my stomach. Noah’s palm was steady against my cheek, and I leaned into it, letting his strength hold me up. A gust of wind kicked up, but his body heat kept the worst of the chill at bay.

“I’m sorry for dumping my childhood trauma on you like this,” I said ruefully. “This was supposed to be a fun day out.”

“Nothing more fun than a little emotional catharsis while a bunch of penguins waddle around us,” he said, his tone light. “It should be on every travel itinerary, honestly.”

I snorted. Noah released me, leaving the warm impression of his touch behind, and we sat in comfortable silence for a while. We had to return to the hotel soon so he could drop me off and resume his team duties, but I wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Can I tell you a secret?” The wind picked up strength, muffling his words.

“Always.”

“Sometimes, I wish I’d never gone into professional football.”

My eyes snapped toward him. He stared ahead, his expression pensive.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love the game. I always have,” he said. “My dad enrolled me in a bunch of sports as a kid, but football—or soccer, as we called it back in Michigan—was the one that really clicked for me. I wasn’t that interested in playing the outfield though. I’d have to rely on other people to score, and I didn’t like that. But being a keeper? That was all me. It’s a lot of pressure, but it also felt less overwhelming than putting my fate in someone else’s hands.”

Classic Noah. Even when he was on a team, he chose the loner role.

“If I could just play football, I’d be happy, but I hate everything that comes with it,” he continued. “The scrutiny. The press. The parasocial relationships. I’ve never told anyone how I feel because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Football has funded a very nice life for me and Evie, materially speaking. But sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it. If I had less money—a lot less money—but more time with my family, would that be an acceptable trade-off? Or would the pressure of being a single dad without the resources I have now overshadow the freedom I’d gain?” His mouth tipped up in a rueful smile. “I’ll never know. But I still think about it all the time.”

“I get it,” I said gently. “The scrutiny sucks, that’s true. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have to live under a constant spotlight. But for what it’s worth…” I reached for his hand. “I think you’ve changed a lot of people’s lives for the better. And it might sound selfish, but I’m glad you chose football, and London, and Blackcastle. Otherwise, we would’ve never met. Evie and I wouldn’t have become friends. The team might not be as strong as it is now, and I’m pretty sure Adil would be in shambles. Who else could rein him in when he goes off on one of his side quests?”

Noah chuckled. “You’re probably right about that one.” He interlaced his fingers with mine and brushed his thumb over my knuckle. “Sorry. I guess I’m the one trauma dumping on you now.”

“Not trauma dumping, emotional catharsis,” I corrected. “We’ll call it even, but that’s enough melancholy for the day. Let’s brighten it up with some penguin fun facts. You see those spot patterns on their chests?” I pointed to the colony with my free hand. “They’re unique to every individual penguin. It’s like their version of fingerprints. Also, members of this particular species are known as jackass penguins because their braying calls sound exactly like a donkey’s.”

The change in topic worked. The heavy atmosphere dissipated, and Noah’s mouth kicked up in another smile. “What did I say? You are an encyclopedia of animal facts.”

“I do love learning about them,” I admitted. “It drove my mum mad when I was in school. She said if I spent half as much time on my studies as I did on going down internet rabbit holes about animal mating habits, I could’ve gotten into Oxford.”

“Oxford is overrated. Animal facts are more interesting.”

I nudged his knee with mine, laughter bubbling in my chest. “Is your strategy for consoling me to insult every potential school and career path I could’ve had?”

Noah blinked, the picture of innocence. I saw where Evie got it from now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”