Chapter 2

"Ugh, shaddup," I mumble, pulling a pillow over my head as my phone's abrasive buzzing shreds the pre-dawn quiet. Who would dare interrupt my slumber? "Whoever's interrupting my beauty rest can leave a message."

I burrow deeper under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut and willing sleep to reclaim me for those last precious pre-dawn hours. But the phone continues buzzing relentlessly atop my nightstand, intent on jangling my already-frayed nerves.

"Meow," David Meowie complains, settling right atop my pillow and head.

Rigby begins nudging my stomach simultaneously, as if the buzzing signals it's clearly time to wake up and feed them.

"One pest at a time," I grumble, extracting David Meowie and placing him gently on the bed. Rigby continues prodding persistently. With an irritated sigh, I flop an arm out, fingers fumbling across the nightstand for the offending device. Caller ID flashes Jude's name—the only one of my meddling brothers who would risk this ungodly intrusion.

"This better be important enough to disturb my sleep," I grit out by way of greeting, not hiding my irritation. Sometimes I swear I feel more like the elder sibling, catering to Jude's endless needs.

Rigby bumps his head insistently under my hand, reminding me food takes priority over venting. "Yes, yes, breakfast is coming," I assure him resignedly, already swinging my legs out of bed and taking a seat on the mattress. David Meowie springs lithely into the warm spot I've vacated, circling to knead the sheets with delicate paws. At least one of us gets to lounge comfortably this morning.

"Rise and shine, princess." Jude's voice comes through, he's annoyingly chipper given the ungodly hour. "Hope I didn't wake you," he adds, not even attempting to sound sincere.

I snort, scrubbing the bleariness from my eyes as I finally leave the bed. Rigby wags his tail, panting impatiently while David Meowie winds figure eights around my legs. "You called just to wake me up," I accuse.

As David Meowie continues to weave around my ankles, Rigby nudges my leg impatiently. I stride toward the kitchen, the pair trailing expectantly. "Okay, okay, breakfast is coming," I assure them, stifling a yawn. I scoop out portions into their bowls before turning to the espresso machine to start my hot water.

"So what's so important it couldn't wait for a decent hour, Jude?" I tweak David Meowie's ear playfully as he passes to eat, eliciting an offended mewl. I straighten, opening the fridge and grabbing a yogurt.

Once I have my mug filled with hot water, and my breakfast set, I meander back toward my room. During all this time my brother hasn't said a word. Not a one.

"This better be good. You're interrupting prime relaxation time," I warn, lowering myself onto the rumpled sheets. Rigby hops up to keep me company, resting his head on my leg as I open my breakfast. "I'm waiting for the life-or-death explanation, big brother."

Jude tsks. "That's no way to greet your favorite brother and general manager."

"Alright Decker, cut the dramatics," I grumble, unable to stifle my irritation. "What's so damn important that you had to call at the ass-crack of dawn and couldn't wait until a reasonable hour?"

"I swear this is really important," he claims.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure it's important." Skepticism drips from my words. "Well, like I've told you before, the answer is no. I have zero interest in coming over to kick out another one of your awkward one-night stands."

My thirty-five-year-old brother is a grown-ass man who needs to get his personal life in order instead of relying on me to tidy up his messes. I'm not here to shame his lifestyle choices, but Jude should take some responsibility and stop creating uncomfortable situations.

"It's simple, Jude—just tell them upfront you don't do relationships and would appreciate it if they leave right after you fuck. No sleepovers," I say bluntly. Crude maybe, but subtlety clearly hasn't worked on him yet. "Set some boundaries before you invite them over. Or get a hotel room and skip the awkward morning-after."

Maybe he should give something real a shot, tell his friend with benefits . . . No, it's best I don't meddle in his love life, or he might start managing mine. I press my lips together firmly. No more kicking out one-night stands for him.

"I wouldn't call my sisters to do my dirty work," he has the audacity to say.

I snort, wholly unconvinced by his denial. "Sure, except our sister Lyric has also had to shoo out a few awkward morning-afters herself recently." I allow an edge of sarcastic exasperation to creep into my tone. "So let's not pretend this is an isolated issue."

Jude sighs heavily through the phone. "Okay fine, fair enough. But that's not why I called . . ."

I roll my eyes but take pity on him. "Fine. What's the current crisis then?" I ask, stifling a yawn and settling more comfortably against the pillows. Rigby plops onto my stomach and I lazily scratch behind his ears, bracing for Jude's latest convoluted excuse or favor.

"Tyberius Brynes," he states, an undercurrent of tension in his usual easygoing tone.

I sit straighter. "Right, number twenty-three and the team captain." No surprise it involves the Sasquatches—everything in Jude's orbit does.

"Look at you, already an expert on the lineup," Jude says proudly. "This is why our team will be successful. The two owners are not only savvy about hockey, but we both care about our staff and players."

I snort. "It's your team, not mine. Once it's running smoothly, I'm out of here, remember?"

"For now, consider yourself my relocation director," Jude fires back before I can argue. "Brynes's nanny just quit on him. Family emergency or something. He's scrambling, and we need a quick fix."

Despite Jude's typical laid-back nature, the quiet urgency and concern in his tone tells me this problem requires immediate handling. I'm already heading to my closet to pick out an acceptable work outfit, David Meowie twining around my ankles while Rigby watches curiously. I need to shower and prep for whatever ploy Jude has cooked up that involves me somehow.

"Well, you know I don't actually have the title of relocation director, right?" I toss over my shoulder as I rifle through blouses and slacks, selecting a nondescript black ensemble appropriate for damage control.

"Well, apparently you told Brynes we don't handle childcare?" Jude snaps, irritation bleeding into his voice.

I pause while rifling through shoe options, wincing at his irritated tone. Heels or flats? Should I hang up or help him? So many choices . . .

"Listen, I talked to a lot of the guys those first frenzied weeks," I hedge, scrambling to recall specifics. "Handling housing assignments for the influx of new staff and players, conversations blur together . . ." Even as I say it, I know it's no excuse. Jude brought me on to support these players, and I clearly dropped the ball with this Brynes guy.

After a couple of seconds, I do remember my email exchanges with Ty Brynes. We'd been overwhelmed with all the people who moved to Seattle. Though, I did put a system in place that made it a little less daunting. Except, there's one player who refused to fill out any specifics and just wanted lists to choose from.

A list of schools, doctors . . . I could've gotten a list if he had given me any info.

Then there was the house—again, he chose not to give me a must-haves list for that too and, well, he lives in a big ass mansion outside of Seattle. His fault, not mine.

"This guy is a diva," I tell Jude once I remember exactly why I wasn't very helpful, according to him. "You say he's good, but in my book he's not the kind of person who deserves to be on this team."

"Regardless, since I'm busy with training, it falls to you now to handle this," Jude states, an undercurrent of frustration entering his typically mellow tone. I picture him nearly crushing his phone, staunchly defending his star player.

Even though I'd love to claim this isn't my responsibility, duty holds my tongue. I rub my temples, striving to view this objectively despite spiraling guilt. "Okay, wait. What exactly do you need me to do here?"

"We have several options. You can call around and get us a nanny for his daughter Myra or . . ." Jude trails off leadingly.

I whip around from the closet, startling David Meowie who was snoozing atop a pile of rejected blouses. "Oh, no. No. No way. You did not just nominate me to play super-aunt-nanny until I find a replacement?" I cry incredulously into the receiver.

"Bingo. You're the best person for the job, Indie-bear. You know it," he says, a hint of pleading in his voice. "It's just until you find a suitable, trustworthy replacement. We can't just leave the kid with some unknown person that walks through the door."

I fling another hanger back onto the rack, disgruntled. Rigby lifts his head, watching placidly from his dog bed as I storm past. So much for a professional look—babysitting calls for comfy clothes instead.

"Sure, make Indigo the team's Mary Poppins because I'm obviously unoccupied," I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

"It's not babysitting. It's . . . strategic team support," Jude counters, barely containing a laugh.

I can't help but roll my eyes, even though he can't see me. "Strategic team support. Right." I retort, hands on hips. "And what makes you think I'm the woman for the job? My outstanding nurturing skills or my vast experience with children?"

"You're organized, you're great with people, and you've been handling the team's relocation like a pro. Plus, all our nieces and nephews love you," he argues, ticking off each point as if it's the most logical conclusion in the world.

The tension in my back ratchets up another notch. Rigby pads over, resting his chin on my leg comfortingly. I scratch behind his ears, to release some of the tension building on my back. "I'm happy to help find a nanny, but babysitting is not in my job description," I reply pointedly.

"Indie, we need our captain for the opening game," Jude insists. "Do you really think we'll find better care by then?"

I refuse to reply, knowing Jude will likely strongarm me into becoming the team's permanent babysitter. I should've gone back to school like Dad said rather than getting roped into Jude's schemes.

"Come on, Indie-bear. I need my baby sister to come through. Please, just one more time."

Why me? I almost say out loud. I swear, he's wearing me out. It's impossible to say no to Jude, especially when I can hear the genuine need in his voice. He's been working on having a hockey team in Seattle for years. I'm the only one he confided in and told about it.

Not even Gabe, his twin, heard of it until this was a done deal. He was afraid that everyone in the family would think it was just another venture he'd abandon by the end of the month.

I know how much it means to him, and I want him to succeed more than anyone.

As little desire as I have to play surrogate parent, family supports each other unconditionally. With a resigned sigh, I meet Rigby's sympathetic brown eyes. Even David Meowie gives a plaintive meow from my pile of clothes, as if reminding me of my duty.

"Fine, I'll help temporarily care for the kid," I concede grudgingly. "Strictly short-term, until an exceptionally vetted nanny is in charge."

"Temporary. Got it." Jude exhales, relief evident even over the phone. "You're a lifesaver, Indie-bear. Ty and the team owe you one."

"They owe me more than one. I'm adding this to my ever-growing tab. And Jude? Next time you decide to volunteer me for something, at least have the decency to ask me after I've had my coffee."

His laughter fills the line, warm and familiar. "Deal. Thanks, Sis. You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, Jude's laughter dissolving the last of my irritation. A smile tugs at my lips as David Meowie bumps his fuzzy head against my leg insistently. I reach down to give him a good chin scratch, eliciting a rumbling purr.

"Send all of Tyberius's info my way since I won't be going into headquarters now," I continue, meandering toward the kitchen. Rigby trots over to stand hopefully by his empty food bowl. "Forward his daughter's schedule too if you have it."

"Will do. I'll text contact details and email additional paperwork," Jude confirms.

As we hang up, I'm already mentally rearranging my day, slotting in a trip to Ty's place and a crash course in Myra 101. This isn't how I planned to spend my day, but family—in all its forms—comes first.

I brew an extra bold cappuccino, loading it with mounds of whipped cream and drizzling it liberally with chocolate sauce—something tells me I'll need the fortification. Cradling the sugar concoction, I shuffle back to my room to change.

"Well, boys, looks like we've got an interesting day ahead," I announce to my furry companions. Rigby gives an enthusiastic tail wag which I optimistically interpret as wholehearted support. "Since we're not going to the office, I'll take you to grandma's house or see who can be with you today."

Maybe this spontaneous adventure will be worthwhile solely thanks to the IOU it earns me from Jude.