Page 34 of The Keeper

“Not really, but don’t tell Daddy. He’s, like, super into it.”

I laughed. “I hope so. That’s his job.”

“I guess.”

I picked up on a tiny note of reserve in her voice. “What do you mean, you guess?”

“Nothing.” She glanced at the screen and back at me. After a moment, she added, somewhat hesitantly, “I mean, he seems less into it now than he used to be. Like, the World Cup is this summer, and he’s barely talked about it. In the past, he’s hyped for months ahead of time.”

Interesting.

I silently digested this new piece of information. She was right; Noah rarely talked about football unless I brought it up first. I’d chalked that up to a separation-of-work-and-home thing, but was Evie right? Had he lost some of his love for the game? If so, what did that mean?

I read somewhere that his Blackcastle contract was up for renewal soon. He was only thirty. He was too young to retire, especially since goalkeepers’ careers generally lasted longer than those of outfield players. But he’d made enough money to retire whenever he wanted, and if he did quit, he’d probably move back to the US. London wasn’t his home. Not really.

My stomach sank a little at the thought.

I didn’t know how to respond to Evie’s revelation, so I switched subjects instead. “Do you want to watch something else? We can put on that new treasure hunt movie instead.”

She was already shaking her head before I’d finished speaking. “I always watch his matches from beginning to end. I can’t stop now.”

I’d be damned if that didn’t make me all warm and gooey inside. She was such a good kid—much better than I’d been at her age. I’d been a brat. Noah had truly lucked out with her.

“Has anyone ever told you how great you are?” I asked.

Evie grinned. “All the time.”

Despite our mutual apathy toward the sport, the two of us sat there and diligently watched the rest of the match. We cheered when Noah blocked Holchester’s top forward from scoring, and we groaned when the same player slipped a goal past him ten minutes later. It was a nail-biter, but in the end, Blackcastle won by one.

During the post-match celebrations, the camera panned to a quick close-up of his face. He was drenched in sweat, but his eyes shone with fierce pride. He clapped Asher on the shoulder and said something that made the other man grin.

He didn’t look like someone who’d lost his love for the game. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking talking.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I told Evie. “It’s already past your bedtime.”

“I won’t tell Dad if you don’t.”

“Nice try.”

She groaned but followed me obediently out of the den. “I don’t have to wake up that early tomorrow. Dad’s not here to do my hair.”

My eyebrows shot up. “He does your hair?”

“Not all the time. But he likes to help me braid it when I have a big presentation like I do in history tomorrow. I think he’s worried he’ll forget how to do it if he doesn’t practice.”

God, that was adorable—and it did not help my whole no-secret-pining pledge. The hottest thing about Noah wasn’t how good he was on the pitch; it was how good he was at home.

“If you want a braid, I can help you in the morning,” I said. “I know how to do all sorts of styles. French braids, Dutch braids, waterfall braids…”

Evie perked up. “I’ve always wanted a waterfall braid! Dad usually does French, but…” She looked around and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“He’s not very good at it. I usually have to take it out and redo it myself when I get to school, but I don’t tell him because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” She looked worried. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I would never. It’ll be our little secret.” I held out my pinky finger. “Pinky swear.”

Evie giggled and curled her finger around mine.