Chapter 1

I'm pacing back and forth in my kitchen, the phone pressed so tightly against my ear that my knuckles shine white. Gemma's apologetic voice filters through, each word landing like a blow as she explains why she can't work for us anymore.

"I'm so sorry to do this last minute . . ." Gemma's voice cracks over the phone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, massaging my forehead as the beginnings of a headache throb to life. The sun hasn't even peeked over the horizon yet, but Gemma's news makes it feel like this day is doomed before it's even begun.

"It's just not going to work out . . ." she continues, her words fading to a murmur under the sudden rush of blood pounding in my ears.

My stomach drops, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I brace for what I know is coming next. This can't be happening. This is actually a lot worse than when my girlfriend broke up with me a few years back.

"I can't be a mother," she said, so I showed her the door and that was that.

Did it hurt? It didn't break my heart, but she made me realize that I had spent two years with a shallow woman.

But losing my nanny—well, this is definitely something I can't handle as easily. What the fuck am I going to do now?

". . . I've enjoyed working with Myra—she's a wonderful child," she continues. "But a family emergency has come up unexpectedly, and I need to leave town immediately. And honestly, I won't be able to come back. I understand this puts you in a difficult position, and I truly apologize."

I stop pacing and grip the edge of the granite counter, knuckles whitening. Irritation and panic swell within me, though I try to keep my emotions hidden. There's no denying that I'm upset at her sudden resignation. I should tell her we have a contract. I paid for her relocation, on top of a hefty bonus and . . . what's the point? She'll still leave because her family needs her.

Isn't that what we all do? Family comes first.

"I understand," I reply finally, struggling to keep my voice steady. What's the point of yelling over the phone when it won't fix anything? "Family comes first. I hope everything is okay on your end." I exhale and try to inject warmth into my tone. "We'll miss you around here. Myra loves spending time with you. And if you ever return to Seattle, we'll be happy to have you back."

There's a pause, and I picture Gemma weighing her next words. "Thank you, Mr. Brynes. That means a lot," she says softly. "Myra is a bright, kind girl and I've loved being with her. I've written down some notes and meal plans to help with the transition of whoever you find next. I'll email them to you as soon as I hang up." Another hesitant sigh. "I wish I could give you more notice, but I really do have to leave as soon as possible. I'm so sorry."

The finality in her voice hits me harder than a slap shot to the chest. I'm not just losing a nanny. We're losing the only person who knows how to take care of Myra. And what the fuck am I supposed to do now? Finding someone on such short notice feels as impossible as scoring a game-winning goal in the final seconds of overtime. I've got a game tomorrow, and come next week, I'm supposed to be on a flight to New York.

There's no way I can bring my almost six-year-old along without adult supervision, or that I could magically conjure up a nanny who can stay with her for the next . . . twelve years?

"Thanks for everything," I say tightly, the words barely escaping as I fight back a swell of frustration and panic. I muster up a semblance of politeness before saying, "Safe travels, and I hope everything works out for you."

As I hang up the phone, the weight of my new reality crashes into me like a brutal check into the boards. Panic claws at the edges of my composure. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

The thought of calling in sick crosses my mind, a laughable solution given the circumstances. Sorry, coach, but I can't make it because my daughter has no one to look after her. As the captain of the Seattle Sasquatches, the newest team in the league supposedly built from the best players available. All eyes are on us, waiting to see if we measure up to the hype.

Do we deserve the hype? It doesn't matter if it's true or not. We have a few weeks to prove this team can go all the way and win the Stanley Cup—and the season opener is just a few days away. And with the clock ticking down to the season's start, the absence of even one player—especially the captain—could derail everything we've worked for in the past few months.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I let out a breath that feels like it's been punched out of me. The timing couldn't be worse. I can't just play hooky because my daughter needs adult supervision. Also, I can't just leave Myra unattended.

I try to focus on preparing a pot of coffee, keeping my hands busy in hopes my mind will follow suit and calm the fuck down. But my thoughts keep drifting back to my daughter and how I'm going to manage this season as a nanny-less single dad while also serving as captain of a brand-new NHL team.

There has to be a way to make this work. I've done it since Myra was born—but I found a nanny right away who helped me. Now . . . I can't even call a family member to come to my aid. Back when we lived in Florida, I could ask my mother. More times than not—and after giving her a hefty amount of money—she would agree to care for her only granddaughter for a couple of hours.

When we moved to Seattle, she said she would stay in Florida. According to her, she's too old to keep up with my daughter. Since when is fifty-three too old? I should remind her of our conversation the next time she decides to travel to some remote location with her friend or some new beau and asks for money.

With no other options, I reluctantly pick up my phone again and scroll to make a few necessary calls. The first is to Jude Decker, general manager and owner of the Seattle Sasquatches. Anxiety twists my stomach into knots as I tap his name, dreading having this conversation but knowing it can't wait.

Jude answers briskly after the second ring, his gravelly voice alert despite the early hour. "Decker speaking."

I clear my throat, steeling my nerves. No way around it now—I have to explain my situation and hope he can offer some miracle solution. But the next words stick briefly in my dry throat as the clock ticks down to my expected arrival at the rink.

"Mr. Decker, Tyberius Brynes here," I begin, my voice catching slightly as I cradle the phone on my shoulder and fill a mug with steaming coffee. "Sorry to call so early, but do you have a few minutes to chat?"

"Please, call me Jude," he corrects warmly. I can hear the smile in his gravelly voice. "No need to be so formal. And for you, captain, I've always got time. What seems to be the trouble?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing my daughter's smiling face to gather courage. Taking a steely breath, I admit, "I'm in a difficult position. My nanny unexpectedly quit this morning due to a family emergency." I sip the cooling coffee, trying not to panic. "As you're aware, it's just my daughter Myra and me. With no friends or family nearby, there's no one to watch her while I'm at the rink." I glance anxiously at the clock as dread twists my insides. "I'm expected on the ice in two hours."

Jude is silent for a moment. I imagine the gears spinning in his head. "Have you contacted the relocation team for help in finding a replacement? They're pretty good at what they do."

I scrub a hand over my jaw, feeling the rough shadow of stubble under my palm. "No. I . . . when we were negotiating my contract and relocating here, my nanny almost quit on me then too. I asked the relocation team for help to secure childcare options, but they said they didn't handle those kinds of services."

"I'll be addressing this issue with relocation directly," Jude states, voice hardened by irritation. "Assisting with urgent family matters should be a priority service they provide. I understand you need to look after your daughter." He sighs heavily. "But, we need you at practice today and on the ice tomorrow night. It's the first preseason game and that's not something you can miss."

I rake a frustrated hand through my hair. "Believe me, I know. I don't want to let the team down, especially not right before the season starts. I'm trying to figure something out, but I might need some flexibility today. Maybe come in late after I get Myra to school and leave early to pick her up. Hopefully by then I can track down a sitter for the game at least."

Jude goes quiet and I picture his face creased in a frown as he contemplates my suggestion. His lengthening silence makes my stomach knot with unease. Is he having second thoughts about having a single dad for his star player before the season has even begun?

"Well, have you gotten to know anyone locally who could help out in a pinch?" he finally asks.

I wince, shoulders slumping. "Honestly? No. Between practices and Myra, I haven't had much time to socialize."

"Okay, let me make a few calls then," Jude states. "Can you get Myra ready and bring her to the training facilities? We'll set up a space for her to hang out while you practice. I'll alert the staff to make sure she's comfortable and looked after. My driver can transport her to and from school."

I exhale in relief, the tight band around my chest loosening slightly. "That would be amazing. Thank you, I really appreciate it, Mr. Deck—Jude," I swiftly correct.

"What about tomorrow night though?" he presses. "You think you'll have childcare arranged for the game?"

My hand rakes through my hair again, frustration mounting. "With everything going on, finding a sitter by then might be unlikely," I admit, failing to keep the uncertainty from my voice.

"You seem unsure. Listen, consider it handled," Jude announces. "Get Myra fed and bring her in with you. I give you my word, she'll have someone utterly trustworthy watching her by puck drop tomorrow night. I'll make sure the relocation director finds you a suitable nanny, even if I have to drag her here myself to interview candidates in person—or even better, she'll nanny for you."

There's a flare of fierce satisfaction in his tone. Like he's actually looking forward to reaming out the director who screwed me over. I shouldn't take pleasure in the threat, but I'm actually happy that she'll pay for all the shit she's put me through so far.

"Thank you, si—" I catch myself with a wince. "Jude. I appreciate you going to bat for me."

"We take care of our people here," he reminds firmly. "So let me handle logistics while you focus on your game and that little girl. My staff will make sure Myra is well-cared for. You just play your best hockey tomorrow night and leave the rest to me, you hear?"

It seems like such an easy solution, yet the weight on my shoulders doesn't lift. Something might go totally wrong and I'm not ready to retire. Not yet.