3. August

Chapter 3

August

C hanging sheets at three o’clock in the morning, August tried to assure his sobbing five-year-old that he wasn’t upset.

“Accidents happen,” he soothed, glad that he’d had enough experience over the years with his nephews to know to use waterproof mattress protectors, “I’ve known grown men who’ve piss—er—wet the bed.”

Her little face was flushed pink —from both the sobbing and her mortification— and her eyes were impossibly blue as she hiccupped and asked, “Really?”

“Yep.” AJ shook his head, recalling the boozy parties of his youth and some of the revolting things he and his teammates had done in the early years of his career. Getting that drunk had been fun back then. Now it just made him cringe. “So don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, eh? You’re in a strange place for the first time, and it’s been a big couple of days.”

Ava was contemplative for a moment. “It’s not a strange place. It’s my home now.”

Despite her mother’s Irish brogue, Ava’s accent was all South London, just like his own. She’d grown up in the area, so he didn’t know why he’d expected her to sound like her mother. He wondered if it would change now that she was living in Australia. Children’s brains were like sponges, after all.

“It is,” he grunted as he stretched out over the single mattress, fighting with it to get the clean fitted sheet on, “but it’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it?”

The statement didn’t solely apply to her. When he’d woken bleary eyed and disoriented at the feel of her timid hand on his shoulder, it had taken AJ a moment to remember that he had a kid living with him now. His heart had leapt into his throat at her tears. Their afternoon had gone smoothly, but he’d been expecting her to cry and scream that she missed her mother. It had never happened. So, when she had woken him clearly distressed, he had assumed the reality of her situation had finally hit her. But, no — she had been upset because she’d wet the bed and was afraid that he’d be angry.

Poor kid.

Having finished re-making Ava’s bed, August fluffed her pillow and handed her the stuffed unicorn she’d clutched like a lifeline when he’d sat by her side and read her a bedtime story earlier. “Still sleepy?”

She shrugged. Considering the difference in time zones, he wasn’t surprised. While kids didn’t seem as affected by jet lag as adults, it would still take her a little while to settle in. Used to not sleeping, he offered her a conspiratorial smile, once again relying on memories of times spent with his nieces and nephews. “Should we have hot chocolates and watch cartoons?”

He knew it wouldn’t be the sort of thing that he would regularly indulge, but it was a Saturday night (well, technically Sunday morning) and their very first night together at that. Plus, the way her little face lit up in wonder told him that it was the right decision.

Later, when she was snuggled against his side on his black leather couch, giggling madly at the antics of a certain animated coyote, his heart felt fit to burst.

This was going to have to become their weekend ritual. At least on non-game day weekends.