Chapter 1

Chapter

One

6:00 a.m.

The numbers on the clock didn't make sense. Ryan blinked and pushed himself up, trying to clear the fog from his brain.

6:00 a.m.

Shit. He was supposed to be up at five thirty. No workout for him.

Ryan swung his legs out of bed, and his feet hit the cold floor. He rubbed a hand over his face, then reached for the elastic on his nightstand and tied his hair into a messy bun. He'd grown it out for Amaya. She loved to braid it, and he loved the way her eyes lit up every time he let her. And he looked like a hostel crawler if he did nothing with it in the morning.

Scrambling to his feet, Ryan grabbed his toothbrush and slathered on some toothpaste. He brushed frantically, then rinsed and splashed water on his face. He pulled on a T-shirt and black pants that looked like work slacks but felt like loungewear from his drawer, then shoved his phone into his pocket. Why did schools have to torture everyone? It was the end of the year. Couldn't they recognize that parents were barely limping over the finish line and take a break from early morning rehearsals ?

Ryan padded down the hall to Amaya's room. He cracked the door and peeked in. "Amaya, it's time to get up, babe."

She mumbled something and rolled over, clutching her favourite stuffy. "Five more minutes."

Ryan chuckled. "How about five more seconds? We have to be at the school early for your choir practice, remember?"

Amaya sat up, her eyes still half-closed. "I'll get to sing my solo."

"Yep." Ryan stepped into her room and pulled out a pair of leggings and a shirt from her dresser. "Here, put these on. I'll make you some breakfast."

Amaya nodded, then yawned and stretched. "Thanks, Dad."

Ryan headed to the kitchen and grabbed the bread from the pantry. He slotted two pieces into the toaster, then opened the fridge and pulled out some orange juice. As the bread toasted, he checked his phone. There were a couple texts on the Snowballs chat he'd have to read later and an agenda from his boss, Marc, for the meeting that morning.

Ryan slipped the phone back in his pocket. They needed to be on time. It was a twenty minute drive from the school to his office, and he couldn't be late. His job as an engineer was demanding on a good day, but ever since he'd started playing with the Snowballs, it had become a juggling act. He was grateful Marc had let him take so much time off for the playoffs, but it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

The toast popped up, and Ryan spread butter and strawberry jam on each slice. He set the plate on the table just as Amaya walked into the kitchen, her hair still a mess. "Here you go, sweetheart. Eat up."

Amaya sat down and took a bite of toast. "Are you coming to the concert?"

Ryan nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Amaya grinned and took another bite. "Good. I want you to hear my solo."

She'd mentioned it approximately five thousand times, and he still wasn't sick of hearing it. He loved that she had something she was passionate about. Something she was good at. "I can't wait."

Amaya finished her toast, and Ryan handed her a glass of juice. She took a long drink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm ready."

Ryan grabbed his keys from the counter and Amaya's backpack from the hook by the door. He grabbed the brush he kept on the counter and ran it through her hair. "Let's do this."

They stepped out into the cool morning air, and Ryan locked the door behind them. He and Amaya walked down the front steps and climbed into the car.

"I hope my voice doesn't sound tired." Amaya cleared her throat as she buckled her seatbelt.

"It'll be fine. Your teacher will do warm ups, right?" He knew nothing about choir, but he swore he'd heard her mention that before.

"Yeah. But my solo goes to a high F and even with warm-ups it's hard. It's kind of in my break."

"Uh-huh." Zero clue what that meant. His mind already raced with the day's to-do list.

It was never ending. He would never complain about having Amaya full-time, but after two years, he still hadn't gotten into a good, organized schedule. He was constantly missing the little things. Grocery shopping. Playdate planning. Homework checking. Let alone the books they were supposed to be reading and games they should be playing. It was all him all the time, and unlike hockey, the rules were always shifting.

Ryan pulled out of the driveway, and they set off down the street. The morning light filtered through the windshield, and he reached for his sunglasses. He glanced at Amaya in the rearview mirror. She tapped her fingers on her knee while humming one of her songs. She was nervous.

"You excited for French toast sticks for lunch?" he asked.

Amaya's eyes lit up. "I forgot! "

Ryan grinned as he turned onto the main road. Brake lights glared ahead in a never ending string. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Amaya looked up. "Good thing we left on time."

Ryan forced a smile. "Good thing." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It was fine. They had a few extra minutes to spare, and it wasn't the end of the world if he didn't get to grab coffee before heading to the conference room.

He was already well-versed on the project they'd be discussing. An energy-efficient design for a new office building downtown. It was innovative, cutting-edge, and exactly the kind of thing that could put their firm on the map. But it was also a logistical nightmare. Hopefully they'd be able to knock out some revisions that morning.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard. 6:35. "Shit." He glanced at Amaya, who was still blissfully unaware in the back seat. "That's a bad word. Don't say that."

Amaya giggled. "People at school say that all the time. And the F-word."

"Mmm. Fantastic."

"Don't you say that?" Amaya looked up.

He pursed his lips. "Sometimes."

"At hockey?"

He nodded as he finally made it to the turning lane.

"But you said those words make you sound unintelligent."

"Yeah. I should find a different word."

"What does it mean, anyway?"

"The F-word?"

Amaya nodded. "Toby says it's about sex."

Ryan frowned. "Who the hell is Toby?"

"That's another swear."

"Sorry."

Amaya pulled a pen from her backpack and started doodling on her arm.

"Don't draw on yourself. "

"Why?"

"Because the ink seeps into your skin."

Amaya kept sketching. "Like your tattoo?"

Ryan glanced in the rearview and drew a deep breath. "So who's Toby?"

"He's in my class. He always wins tetherball."

And talked about sex with his ten-year-old daughter, apparently. "We can talk about the F-word later, okay?"

"We still have to talk about lingerie. You forgot to tell me what that meant."

Ryan stifled a laugh. She pronounced it "linger—ee," and he didn't want to correct her. He also didn't want to talk to her about lingerie. "Yep. We'll add it to the list."

Ryan's jaw clenched as the cars in front of him continued to crawl. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. They were less than a kilometre from the school, but at this rate, it might as well have been a hundred.

Amaya put the cap on her pen just as they pulled into the school parking lot. At least there were no cars blocking the drop-off lane this early.

He checked the clock. 6:55. Amaya's choir practice was supposed to start at seven. He shifted into Park and turned to Amaya. "It looks pretty dead around here. You sure you're supposed to be here this early?"

Amaya nodded. "Eli said his mom was dropping him off at six forty-five."

"Good for Eli's mom," Ryan muttered. He parked along the curb. "Can you run in and make sure it's all good?"

"It's all good, Dad." Amaya grabbed her bag.

"Yeah, but I want to make sure. Just come back out and wave or something."

Amaya nodded, then got out of the car and started up the sidewalk. Moseying.

Ryan rolled down the window. "Love you, Amaya. Also, if you could move faster than a turtle?— "

"I love turtles!" She spun around, her eyes wide. Then she stuck out her tongue and broke into a jog toward the school.

He couldn't be late for his meeting. Going to Denver to watch Jack in the NHL playoffs had burned most of his available vacation days and possibly a bridge with his new boss.

Amaya disappeared into the brick alcove covering the choir and drama entrance. He expected to wait a minute before seeing her again, but she popped back out almost instantly. Not just her, another girl, as well.

Amaya cupped her hands around her mouth. "It's locked!"

Ryan frowned. He was about to get out of the car when a teacher passed from the parking lot.

"Are you girls here for the rehearsal?" the woman asked. Amaya nodded. "Mr. Owen cancelled that last night." She turned to Ryan. "I'm so sorry, didn't you get the email?"

Ryan's stomach sank as he pulled out his phone and swiped to his inbox. Nothing from the school. Though . . . He checked his other folders, and sure enough. A message from Mr. Owen in "Updates" instead of his general inbox.

Ryan forced a smile and nodded to the teacher, then swore under his breath. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He needed to get to work, but school didn't start for another forty-five minutes. He wasn't going to make Amaya wait outside the school.

"Dad? Is it really cancelled?" Amaya was close enough not to shout.

Ryan nodded. "Looks like it." He turned to the girl standing behind Amaya on the sidewalk. She looked to be Amaya's age. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her backpack hung off one shoulder.

Amaya moved out of the way. "This is Bailey. She's in choir with me." Bailey gave a small wave.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Bailey nodded. "My mom must not have gotten the email either." She looked down at her hands. Ryan wasn't sure, but it looked like she may have been crying.

"She left you here?" Ryan asked, his protective instincts flaring. What kind of mother would drop off their kid and dash? Not checking whether they got in safely?

Ryan looked at his watch. He was going to be late. There was no way around it. He ran a hand over his face.

"I don't live far. Ten blocks that way." Bailey pointed down the street.

Was that little girl speak for, "Can you please take me home?" He doubted any mother would be thrilled with their daughter getting in the car with a stranger, but which was worse? Him giving her a ride or her sitting alone outside the school for forty-five minutes? She already looked chilled.

Ryan sighed. "Alright, hop in, girls. Let's get you home. Amaya, grab your backpack."

Amaya rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag off the grass. "I didn't know you lived so close to the school."

Bailey nodded as she waited for Amaya to get in the car, then slid onto the seat next to her. "My parents wanted to be close. So I could ride my bike. But now my dad won't let me."

Ironic. Overprotective dad and a mom who couldn't wait two seconds to make sure her daughter wasn't locked out. He blew out a breath. He shouldn't judge, but his current late-to-work status was colouring his compassion meter.

Amaya and Bailey started talking over each other. ". . . so lame we have different classes this year."

"Yeah, I'm in 4A."

Amaya sighed. "4B."

"I know."

"At least we had second grade together."

Bailey's eyes lit up. "Remember when Ms. Ellen brought in those baby chicks? They were so cute!"

Amaya giggled. "And then one escaped, and you tried to catch it and fell into the bin of construction paper! "

Ryan pulled out of the hug-and-go lane. At least the traffic was better going this direction. There wasn't any point in doing the mental math. By the time he dropped off Amaya, he'd have ten minutes to get downtown. That wasn't going to happen.

Had he known the practice was cancelled, he could've asked Emma or Tyler to pull him a solid and take Amaya to school, but since it showed up in the effing updates folder?—

"Dad!"

Ryan slammed on the brakes. "What?"

Amaya pointed. "Bailey said to turn there."

Ryan caught his breath, his heart racing. "Maybe don't yell my name like that in the car. Unless we're about to hit someone."

"Well you were about to miss the turn." Amaya leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed.

"It's that house." Bailey pointed to a modern bungalow. There were potted plants on the steps leading up to the porch.

Ryan thought about letting her walk up to the door, but given the situation, he figured some explanation was required. No, I didn't kidnap your child from the school, but while we're on the topic of kidnapping, you did leave her there alone.

He parked and got out, walking Bailey up to the door. He stayed to the side on the porch, not wanting to get too close.

Bailey knocked. They waited. There weren't any sounds inside the house. After a few seconds, she reached up and rang the doorbell. It had a camera, and Ryan tried to look . . . not like a pedophile. It was difficult with the scruff on his jaw and the man bun. At least he was wearing a collared shirt.

"Do you want to call her?" Ryan held out his phone.

Bailey leaned closer to the door and shook her head. "She's coming. I think she was just upstairs in the washroom or something."

Ryan slipped his phone back in his pocket as the door flung wide.

"Bailey, what the—" The woman's eyes snapped up, then widened as she saw Ryan standing there .

Ryan had planned on an explanation. He'd mentally prepared to tell Bailey's mother that he'd found her at the school, practice was cancelled, and he was being a good Samaritan. But the words fizzled on his tongue.

Bailey's mother was a tall, lean, athletic looking woman with chestnut hair that was pulled up in a twist at the back of her head. There were water droplets on her shoulders and thighs.

Which he could clearly see.

Because she was standing in her doorway wearing only a towel.