Chapter 8

After dropping Myra off, I make my way out of the bustling school. I should really head to the office and start searching for a nanny to take over my duties ASAP. I haven't even checked the team's upcoming schedule yet, but I know they'll be traveling soon.

The thought of staying at Tyberius's house sends my mind wandering in dangerous directions again. Probably best if I call Lyric and convince her to help care for Myra until I can find a permanent replacement.

As I step out of the school, I look across the street at the unassuming building that houses Decker Records—the recording studio where my father spends most of his days.

The structure, with its brick fa?ade and large, tinted windows, always seemed like a fortress of sorts, a separate realm where the ordinary meets the extraordinary. Some of my favorite childhood memories were made within those walls, trailing behind my mom as she brought us kids to visit our dad. Instead of just being in Dad's office, they'd let us be in one of his studios where all the musical instruments are.

Dad, Grandpa Chris, and all the adults in my family always encouraged us to play with the instruments they owned. Learn to love them, and create something different. No limitations. Music may not course through my veins like it does for most Deckers, but I want to think that it's part of my soul.

I loved tinkering with different instruments, though never quite reaching the prodigy levels of my talented cousins. But those days, making joyful noises in the studios my grandfather built, will always be in my heart.

As I push open the heavy front door, that familiar comforting scent greets me—a mix of polished wood and lemon-scented cleaners. This is almost exactly like it was back when I was a little child. No matter how much time passes, some things remain constant in this place.

I smile to myself, remembering the countless hours I've spent here over the years. The lobby sits quietly, the only sound a soft guitar melody floating from the speakers. Dad likes to have some ambient music around. It's just another ordinary morning in this extraordinary place.

"Good morning, Indie," chirps Eloise from behind the front desk.

I wave in greeting. "Hey, Eloise. Is my dad busy right now?"

"For you? Never," she says with a wink. "Go on and head upstairs."

I make my way down the familiar wood-paneled hallway lined with gold and platinum records of the many artists recorded under Decker Records—Dad's legacy that my grandfather started decades ago. Every wall from the lower level all the way to the upstairs has some memorabilia.

Shiny platinum, golden albums, and photos portraying the musicians that have worked with the Deckers over the years, including shots of Dad, Uncle Matt, and even Grandpa looking young and vibrant.

When I reach the third floor, Dad's assistant Dory pops her head out. "Well, if it isn't little Indie," she exclaims.

I smile wryly. I suspect they call me "little" not because of my age, but my short stature among the tall Deckers.

Dory informs me Dad's in studio A before I can ask, adding she's already given him a heads-up that I'm here. I knock softly before turning the handle and poking my head inside the dimly lit room. The final shimmering notes of a guitar chord hang in the air as Dad glances up.

"This is a surprise, little one," he says, his voice rich with warmth, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling as he smiles. He sets his guitar on the pedestal before rising up. "What brings my favorite youngest daughter here today?"

I can't help but roll my eyes in response to the familiar joke."I am the youngest, and Mom forbids you to have a favorite," I remind him, stepping further into the room. The space is filled with vintage posters, each corner filled with instruments and recording equipment.

Dad chuckles, the sound reverberating through the studio. "Your mom forbids a lot of perfectly reasonable things. Did I tell you she's now getting on my case about bacon and cholesterol again?" He shakes his head with a dramatic sigh. "I adore my woman, but she's ‘killing me, Smalls' with all these restrictions lately."

I raise an eyebrow at the movie reference. "We just want you healthy, Dad. Don't forget Grandpa Gabe's heart surgery a while back—you don't want that happening to you too, do you?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Heart problems run in the family. Your great-grandma Janine had it too and after her surgery she lived over a hundred years. Why fight genetics? I'd rather enjoy a few more good years with my favorite vices on the side, extra cholesterol and all."

I huff, planting my hands on my hips. Arguing health with this man is impossible. "Mom's right, you're infuriating. You're lucky she loves you."

He grins. "That I am."

"So, what brings you here so early?" he asks, strumming an absent chord on his guitar. "Did you finally quit that ludicrous job with Jude and decide to go back to school? You can always go back to work for your Mom's PR and take over."

"No, actually I'm here because of that job," I explain with a sigh. I give him a quick rundown of my eventful morning with Myra and Tyberius.

When I finish, Dad scrubs a hand over his bearded jaw, looking concerned. "Taking responsibility for a child who isn't family . . . be careful with that, Indie. Can you find someone to take over on such short notice?"

"I'm going to call Teddy," I say, referring to my savvy cousin-in-law who owns a concierge company and knows almost everyone in the state of Washington. "She can find anything."

Dad nods. "Well, that's good at least." He strums a pensive chord. "You know what else might be good?"

I press my lips together wryly. "Let me guess—quitting on Jude?"

"It would solve a lot of potential headaches down the road," Dad says wisely. "What happens when he sells the team and leaves you holding responsibilities you never signed up for?"

"You're too harsh on him," I remind him. "Just because sometimes he seems like he's not serious about life, it doesn't mean that all those choices he makes are just to fuck around."

Dad presses his lips together skeptically. "He reminds me so much of your Uncle Matt when we were young."

I wave a hand. "And look how great Uncle Matt turned out. Amazing career, beautiful family . . . isn't that what you hope for Jude too?"

Dad sighs, shoulders slumping. "You definitely inherited your mother's compassion."

I give a wry smile. It's sweet that he always treats me like I'm their biological child and I could acquire things from them the way my other siblings do and so I add, "I'm wise like her too."

Dad chuckles, rising from his chair. "Alright, I'll stop pestering you about quitting on him . . . for today, at least." He pulls me into another hug. "Thanks for stopping by to see your dear old dad, Indie. Gotta get these hugs while I can."

I hug him one more time before I head out to start my workday.

Settling in behind the wheel, I pull out my phone and dial Lyric.

She answers all chirpy on the second ring. "Ooh, a call instead of a text? Did something juicy happen that I missed?"

I laugh tiredly. "I'd say pathetic more than juicy. But where to even start . . ."

"At the beginning, obviously," Lyric says. "I'm ready, coffee in hand, for the whole scoop."

A small, incredulous laugh escapes me as I dive into my eventful morning with all the details just like my sister likes it.

"So let me get this straight. Somehow, Jude roped you into taking care of this little girl named Myra."

I sigh. "Yeah, just temporarily until I find a permanent nanny situation."

Unsurprisingly Lyric laughs either at me for being so na?ve or my brother for overpromising things to his players. "Classic Jude, dragging you along," she manages between chuckles. "But come on, there has to be more to this than just playing babysitter. You usually like children and are really good with them. What's bothering you?"

I hesitate, the image of Tyberius flashing across my mind. "Well, here's the thing . . ." I trail my voice, then clear my throat. "Myra's dad."

"You don't like him or is it the mom?" she asks.

"As I mentioned, he's a single dad. No mom in the picture," I clarify. "Just search for Tyberius Nolan Brynes. Go ahead, open your internet browser and just type his name. The man is . . . let's just say, distractingly hot."

"Ooh, do tell," Lyric says eagerly. "On a scale of one to spilling-scalding-coffee-on-myself-because-I'm-ogling, how hot are we talking?"

"Definitely might cause third degree coffee burns," I confess with a blush and small laugh.

I might not be fair to him. There's a lot more so I add, "He's the whole package—we're talking tall, rugged, carefree yet deliberate style. And don't even get me started on his muscles or the fact he's an athlete." I fan myself dramatically. "Let's just say Tyberius Brynes is a walking, talking distraction I do not need in my life right now."

There's a brief pause of silence before I hear Lyric's snicker through the phone. "Mm-hmm, sounds like you really, really like him, Indie. But hot single dads don't just come as eye candy—there's also a kindergartener attached."

I exhale loudly. "Of course, total no-go zone. I know better than anyone that older men, especially hockey players, are bad news." The words slip out before I can censor myself and to save face I add, "More so if there are children involved."

"That's not the statement I expected to hear," she says, concern in her voice. "Have you . . . have you been with another hockey player before?"

I wince. "It was nothing serious," I mutter evasively. "One of my hookups as usual."

No one in my family knows what happened with Frederick. No one. I feel ashamed of telling them what I did. If I hadn't been throwing myself at him . . . and then to top it all I had to quit school because I was having panic attacks during classes. Other times I would freeze in the middle of the coffee shop or the bookstore.

Some of my cousins lived there and would come to help me, but it became impossible to live alone. Mom and Dad took me home. The therapist told them I was probably not ready to live in another state away from my family or handle the responsibilities of a college student. There was also the possibility that I was burnt out thrown in mix. I worked really hard during high school, they assumed I was probably too tired to continue.

Statistics about successful high schoolers not being able to function outside a well-established routine were brought to their attention. I not only let them believe that all of it was true. I convinced myself that was the only reason why my anxiety was out of control.

Right after, I started working odd jobs for my family. Everyone had something for me. Once I had saved enough money, I moved out of my parents' house. It gave the illusion that I was fine and that nothing, nothing shakes me up. The anxiety is gone, it was just a child missing her family. The truth is that the night terrors are still there and sometimes I'm leaning against one of the walls of my house trying to calm down.

"Uh-oh, I searched this Brynes guy and just spilled coffee down my shirt. Literally," Lyric exclaims. "No wonder you're so flustered—I'd probably drop my panties if he so much as winked at me."

I roll my eyes but huff a small laugh, relieved when she doesn't press about the hockey dude I hooked up with. "So now you see my problem."

Lyric's laughter fills the car once more. "Well, you should charge Jude a lot for babysitting this guy's adorable daughter. Also, make sure those fees include a ‘distraction tax' for dealing with the hot as fuck single dad."

I chuckle. "Oh, I fully plan to invoice with a lot of surcharges including emotional distress."

"Still, you haven't told me who the other guy was," she circles back to that.

I groan, banging my head against the steering wheel.

"You thought I would forget." she scoffs. "I don't think so. I bet it explains your whole ‘triple f' dating strategy nowadays."

"My what? Triple f?" I ask confused.

"‘Fun, fuck, fly' dating strategy," she responds. "You know, having fun little trysts but no real relationships. I'm not shaming you, but it's weird that you of all people avoid getting attached."

"Me of all people?"

"For the girl who still tears up watching cute pet adoption videos? And watches rom-coms every single night. The one who bonded with everyone back in high school? Yeah, it's odd," she says frankly. "You haven't dated seriously since that cutie Justin during your sophomore year. What happened, Indie?"

"Justin was a really nice guy," I say with a small, wistful smile. We went out for a few months and then he moved to Arkansas or somewhere around the south. It's been so long I can't remember exactly where he went.

"Okay, so what happened after him?" Lyric presses. "Something must have made you shy away from dating."

I exhale, gripping the steering wheel. "I'd really rather not get into ancient history, Lyr. It was a long time ago and it doesn't matter anymore."

"If it still affects how you approach relationships, then it does matter," Lyric says gently. "But I won't push you to share before you're ready. Just know I'm always here when you want to talk, okay?"

"Love you, Lyr."

"Love you too," she replies. "And clearly being around Mr. Hunky Hockey Dad isn't good for your peace of mind. I'll meet you at your office as soon as I can and we'll sort out a replacement ASAP."

"Thank you for being the best sister ever."

Lyric just laughs. "That is what big sisters are for," she states. "I might check on Harper to see what she's doing. Three heads are better than one."

"Three it is," I agree. "I'll even pick up some pastries."

And just like that, my problems might get solved before lunchtime. It pays to be one of the youngest in my family.