Chapter 2

"S terns," Coach Jacobs calls out just before practice ends. "Haul your ass on over here."

Skating toward him, I pull my helmet off. "Yeah, Coach?"

His dark brown, almost-black hair is starting to show some gray through the temples. Whenever we bust his balls about it, he says it's our fault for stressing him the fuck out all the time. He loves us though; this team and the men on it mean the world to this dude.

"Maddie leaves in three days. Last I knew, you still haven't found a replacement for her." His gray eyes remain on the ice as Ryder Cambridge, our team's left winger, runs through some drills. "We don't need a repeat of three years ago. You need to figure out something for Amy. And fast."

"Yeah. I, uh …" I stumble over my words, dragging my hand up the back of my head. "No one has been the right fit. And I'm not trying to sound like a cocky douchebag, but when they find out it's my kid they'll be nannying for, they get weird." I swallow. " Really weird."

"Preseason starts in a month, Sterns. I love Amy, but I can't have one of my strongest players scrambling to find a sitter before each game. You and Maddie need to choose someone." His eyes shift to mine, and he looks at me in warning. "Understood?"

"I get it, Coach. I do." I lightly lean on my stick. "But this is Amelia we're talking about. My kid." I cringe. "She already got the short end of the stick, coming out and only having me as a parent. I can't just leave her with some stranger."

He looks at me for a beat before he reaches over and clasps my shoulder. "I know, son. With three daughters of my own, I get that. I respect the hell out of it too. But I can't look at this from a father's standpoint. I need to look at it as the guy who's supposed to win the Bay Sharks some games."

"Copy that." I nod. "I'll get it figured out before Maddie leaves."

I'm desperate enough that I'm close to calling one of my brothers and seeing if they can come to Maine for a week or two when Maddie leaves, just until I figure something out. There's been plenty of interest in the job, but nobody has felt right. This is my baby girl. My only job that truly matters anymore is keeping her safe. So, I'm not going to just leave her with anyone. Fuck no.

I could ask my sister-in-law, Tate. I know she'd say yes. But, shit, she and my brother have a family of their own. Not to mention, they live on the other side of the damn country. It'd be a huge ask, but if it came down to it, I know she'd have my back.

I drag in a breath, heading back toward the ice to finish up practice.

"You good, Sterns?" Walker James calls, skating toward me.

He joined our team over three years ago now, and in a way, I think he was the missing piece. Ever since he came on as our center, we've been a well-oiled machine, all of us working together, much like a chessboard with all of its pieces.

"Yeah. Why?" I utter, slapping a puck toward the goal.

"Well, usually, I'm the grumpy-looking one while you're fucking around, cracking jokes and being everyone's favorite Shark. Today, you're the grouch." Suddenly, he grins. "Hey, maybe I'll finally get to be America's sweetheart."

"Pfft, don't get your hopes up. I'll always be the favorite," I toss back. "And I'm not grouchy," I grumble. "Just … fucking stressed over finding someone to help with Amy. Y'all don't get it. It's fucking impossible to just choose a random stranger and be like, Yep, you'll do. Now, please don't kidnap her and also keep her safe while I frolic around the fucking country, playing hockey ."

"You're not much of a frolicker, big guy," he jokes before he tips his chin up. "I can't imagine how hard that is, but you'll figure it out. When does Maddie leave?"

"Three days," I mumble. I hit another puck toward the goal and watch it fly into the net.

"Shit," he says under his breath, and I can tell he's deep in thought. "Hey, Poppy has this friend. She's super nice. Writes books or something. Or she used to write books, not so much anymore. But she's a very well-known author, so you know she's smart. Anyway, Poppy's been saying something about how she hasn't been able to write anything for a while and that she's worried about her career. What if she could do it?"

"What kind of books?" I frown. "Does she write that dirty shit that pops up when I'm scrolling TikTok sometimes?" I grimace. "If so, I don't know about that."

"Christ, Sterns. You do realize that (a), your daughter was made from a one-night stand, and (b), before you were Daddy Sterns, you were rather slutty, my friend." He gives me a critical look. "So, do not stand here and try to act all holier than thou to me. She's a good person. Just consider it, would you?"

I search his face for anything to tell me he's hiding something about this chick, but I see nothing. "I don't know." I pause, standing up straighter. "I mean, how well do you really know this girl? What if she's not as nice as y'all think she is?"

"First off, have you met my wife?" He grins, his face doing that goofy shit it does whenever he talks about the woman he's married to. "Poppy is suspicious of everyone and doesn't let anyone close to her until she's pretty much conducted a background check. Her friend's a good girl. I know it."

I don't answer right away, so he continues, "Let me just have Poppy check with her to see if it's something she'd even be interested in. Maybe she doesn't even like kids. But it's worth a try, right? An option at the very least."

"Everyone likes Amelia," I utter. "She's the bomb." I sigh, putting my stick over my shoulders and stretching my arms. "What's her name? This super-nice, currently unemployed, ex-writer chick."

"Maci," he says. "Maci McKenzie."

I glance at Coach, who looks down at the iPad in his hands. I've been with the guy for five years; I don't want to let him down now. Especially not after he hooked Amelia and me up with his niece when we needed her most.

"Fine," I say, less than enthused. "Let me know what she says. If she's interested, bring her by tonight so that Maddie and I can interview her."

"You got it." He holds his fist out and bumps it to mine before skating away.

On one hand, I don't know this girl, and that makes me uncomfortable. On the other, Poppy and Walker do. And both of them were raised by wolves, making them incredibly wary of people. So, I do trust their judgment here.

Besides, there was a time when I didn't know Maddie. And I had to trust her, and it ended up being the best decision for Amelia and me. Maybe this Maci chick will be the same thing.

"Gee, you don't have much faith in my writing career, huh?" I say, my tone snarky.

"It is not that!" Poppy quickly shakes her head before grabbing one of my Reese's pumpkins and unwrapping it. "But you said yourself the other day that writing has become nearly impossible and that you were considering a change of scenery." She takes a bite of the pumpkin and closes her eyes. "Why do these and the tree-shaped Reese's taste better than the regular ones? It makes no sense. Also, Halloween is nearly two months away. Why are these out already?"

She looks at Clyde, who has drool running out of his large, saggy jowls. "I love you, buddy, but you're gross."

"First off, in my mind, it's already spooky season. There is no wrong time for Halloween candy, decorations … anything. Also, that's the third one you've eaten since you've been here. I'm going to start charging you," I tease her. "And they taste better because the chocolate is, like … softer. And creamier." I hastily shake my head. "Stop trying to distract me from the real reason you are here! You basically signed me up to nanny your friend's kid. Who even is the friend?"

"I didn't sign you up; my big-hearted husband did," she says, defending herself. "And it's Logan Sterns's daughter." She sees my eyes widen and swiftly stuffs the remainder of the candy bar in her mouth, chews, and swallows it. "Don't freak out that he's wildly famous. Trust me, he does not act like it. Ninety percent of the time, he's a giant goofball."

"I don't give a shit about him! I care that everyone would freak out wherever we went because it's his kid!" I huff out. "How old are they? He? She?"

"She's three. Her name is Amelia, but he calls her Amy. She's named after her grandmother, who died of cancer years before she was born." She gives me absolute puppy-dog eyes. "He's a single dad. The girl who's been caring for Amy since she was born is moving, and he could really use someone to look after her."

"What happened to the mom? Why can't they switch their schedules around to make it work?"

She grows antsy, moving around slightly before she clears her throat. "Um, well, she's just never been involved in Amy's life. Logan has full custody."

Leaning my elbows on the counter, I allow my head to hang and close my eyes for a moment. Pulling in a breath, I let it out slowly before looking at her again.

" Fine. I'll meet the kid. But even if I say yes once I've met her—which I might not—I am only agreeing to this for six weeks. Okay? Six weeks will allow him to find a true replacement, and it'll give me time to clear my head and get me ready to begin writing again. To really, really start writing."

"Okay, six weeks!" She shoots from the stool and heads toward the door. "Get your shoes on!"

"Wait, what?" I frown just as I'm reaching for a Reese's of my own.

She bites her bottom lip, sliding her feet into her sandals. "Welp … so that's the thing. Logan wants you to come by tonight. So, Walker's waiting outside to take us there. Like … now."

"How did you guys know I'd say yes?" I groan before I tip my head forward and shoot her a deadly glare. "You, Poppy James, are on my shit list."

"Eh, join the club. I'm on a lot of people's shit lists." She shrugs, patting Clyde on the top of his head. "Bye, buddy." She looks at me. "Meet you in the truck!"

She quickly exits, closing the door behind her, and I drag my hand over my face. Because what the hell am I getting myself into?

And worst of all, I don't even think I like kids. Not to mention, I don't know shit about them.

From the kitchen, I watch this Maci chick interact with Amelia as Poppy and Walker sit on the couch opposite from them. Her hair is brown. Not a dark brown, not even a light brown. Just a mousy, no-nonsense, plain ol' brown that sits just past her shoulders in loose, shiny waves. Some pieces frame her face, as her sunglasses are pushed onto the top of her head.

She's naturally pretty with minimal, if any, makeup. And dressed in a white T-shirt, a pair of green cargo shorts, and bulky sandals that women seem to obsess over. Her outfit certainly doesn't scream for attention, but it is something I imagine a mom would wear, though Poppy didn't mention that she had any kids of her own.

When she came in, she quickly introduced herself, not seeming to want to look me in the eye for long. She was polite but a little standoffish. Within a few minutes, Amelia asked her and Poppy if they wanted to look at her new excavator book with her.

Seeing me looking their way, Poppy gets up from the couch and heads toward me. "I can see your wheels turning. You're trying to get a read on her," she utters, taking a seat on the stool across from where I stand. "But at least consider it, okay? For now, it'll get you out of the predicament you're in."

"I don't know her," I mumble. "And Maddie knows the right questions to ask. You know, about CPR and all that shit. She couldn't make it to ask her all of that."

Maddie was supposed to be here, but something came up, leaving me to decide whether Maci gets the job or not.

"But she's your baby, Logan. And you know I adore Amelia. Walker and I both do. We would never suggest someone we weren't sure was a good fit." She gives me a soft look. "Hey, if you really don't want to say yes, I'll help you out as much as I can with Amy. But between performing in some of the local shows and teaching a few classes a week, I'm not always around. Maci is."

"Yeah. And what's up with that anyway? Why isn't she working right now? Where is she from, and how old is she? Has she ever been a nanny or even babysat a kid for long periods of time?" I grip the counter, pressing my body back. "I mean, does she even want to do this job? Because my kid is fucking amazing, and I only want people around her who know it too."

Poppy bobs her head back and forth dramatically at my slew of questions. "Okay, that was, like … a shit ton of questions at once. Calm your pickle down." She rolls her eyes and stands. "Let's go talk outside."

"It's more of like an eggplant. Or at the very least, a giant zucchini," I say, following behind her.

Spinning around, she grimaces. "Ew, Sterns. TMI, dude. I don't want to hear about … anything to do with that situation. Now, come on. Let's go talk outside and figure this crap out."

"Fine," I grumble, continuing to follow her.

On my way by Amelia, I stop, putting my hand on her hair. "Be right back, my little muffin. I need to go talk to Poppy about some grown-up things."

"Okay, Daddy. Don't say any bad words, okay?" she says, pointing her finger at me. "And I mean it."

I laugh. "I'll try my best. But it's Poppy you should say that to. Not me." I glance at Walker. "Your wife swears like a pirate."

"Trust me, I'm aware," he utters.

Amelia ignores me as she continues to flip through the excavator book, showing it off to Maci. And when my eyes look at Maci, she simply watches Amelia and points to the pages.

"Wow, this one is really big!" she whispers, clearly trying to sound more impressed than she probably is. "Show me which one is your favorite."

I watch them for a second longer before I follow Poppy as she slides the door open and walks out onto the patio.

Plopping herself down in one of the Adirondack chairs next to the propane firepit, she sits forward. "Okay, well, let's get through your million questions. You're lucky I have a good memory.

"First off, she's an established author with a huge following. But a few years back, she started to have trouble writing. Her father had died in a car accident, apparently, though she doesn't talk about it much, and not long after that, her fiancé left her. Ever since, she's struggled to put books out the way she used to."

I can hear the sympathy in Poppy's voice as she speaks about her friend.

"She grew up in Boston but moved to Maine some years ago. She's twenty-seven. I don't know if she's ever been a nanny or even babysat. But what I do know is, she's very sweet and extremely organized. Oh, and she only agreed to six weeks of this anyway. So, you can still be on the hunt to find a nanny with a flashy ten-page résumé. Maybe someone who used to babysit for Tom Brady's kids or some shit."

She shrugs. "Look, I brought her here because I know everything to do with Amelia falls on your shoulders. I wanted to help. And Maci might not know this yet, but she needs this job."

"Did you—" I start to say, but she holds her hand up, cutting me off.

"No. I didn't tell her why you're a single dad. I simply said that Amy's mom has never been involved and that you have full custody. It's not my story to tell. Besides, I know you've never wanted it in the press to protect Amelia later in life." She gives me a small smile. "I'd never tell anyone your secrets, Logan. Walker's family is the Sharks. And Walker's family is my family."

That's the thing with Poppy James. She's ride or die. If she considers you a friend, she'll do anything she can to help you out. And that's why I know deep down that this Maci girl is good.

I put my hand on the back of her chair and sigh. "All right. Fine. Six weeks. But for the first few days, can you maybe stop in and check in on them while I'm gone?"

"Of course." She nods. "And like I said, I want to help as much as I can. But I can't always be around, is all."

Dragging in a breath, I bob my head up and down. "All right. Let's go." I wink. "But just so you know, I'm going to need her Social Security number because I will be running a background check on her before she ever watches Amy."

"I'd expect nothing less, Sterns." Poppy grins before pushing herself to stand. "It's going to be great. You just wait and see." Stopping, she pokes her finger into me. "Don't waste your time trying to get in her pants though. She's a hard nut to crack, and she doesn't date. Ever."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I say, holding my hands up. "I don't date either."

"Yeah, but you sleep with girls when you're away at things that you can't bring Amy to," she points out. "Which I get isn't often because you're the dad who can't stand leaving his kid—as it should be. But still, I know you've hooked up with your share of puck bunnies."

"Well, yeah, Pop. Every now and then, I like to use the thing that hangs between my legs for old times' sake. You know, to make sure it still works and all." I shrug. "Also, even though I might fuck, I would never fuck my kid's nanny."

"Well, on second thought, that sounds kind of hot. Annnnd my girl could use something to loosen her up and give her some material for writing." She pats my chest playfully. "Even so, you stand no chance."

"I don't want a chance!" I'm basically yelling now, clearly letting her get under my skin. "Dear God, there's plenty of women I could … you know, get jiggy with who wouldn't be taking care of my kid."

"Did you just say get jiggy ?" Her mouth hangs open. "Who are you, Will Smith? How long have you been out of the game? My God."

"I'll never be fully out of the game." I wink. "Come on. We'd better get inside before your husband thinks I'm trying to steal you away."

"Ha! He knows better." She snorts.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"He knows you've got no shot, Sterns. No shot at all." She laughs, walking toward the door. "You're too fucking soft and goofy for me, Logie Bear. I'd eat you alive."

"What? I am not soft."

"Dude, you let your three-year-old paint your nails last week and then forgot to take it off and wore it to practice," she says, walking backward.

"I didn't forget to take it off. I started to, and Amy was sad—" I stop when I see her face. "All right, fine. I'm a giant fucking vagina. Happy?"

"That you are, Sterns. And yes. Yes, I am," she says before sliding the door open and walking inside.

I guess I have a new nanny.

I've never been a babysitter. Well, that's not entirely true. When I was in high school, I tried it a few times with kids in my neighborhood, and I hated it so much that I decided to scoop ice cream for the summer instead. Though the money from babysitting was better, working at Scoops had its perks because who wouldn't want cotton-candy ice cream anytime they felt like it? Which, for me, was a lot. But my point is, I hated babysitting back then. I assumed when I walked in here tonight, the same thing would happen. I figured I'd be annoyed with the toddler after a few minutes and come up with some reason why I couldn't take the job. Or worse, I'd have to act like a bitch just so that Logan would say absolutely not.

Instead, the opposite happened.

The kid, Amelia, who is three years old, might be the cutest kid I've ever seen. And I guess it was my fault for expecting more of a babbling baby, but this kid talks in complete sentences, making it way more enjoyable to converse with her. And with her love for things like excavators and not just regular cows, but specifically Highland cows? I find her delightful.

And why wouldn't she be adorable? Her father is Logan freaking Sterns. I've seen him in commercials on TV and on his very large picture in sporting stores, but I assumed he wasn't as flawless in person.

Yeah, I was wrong about that. If anything, he's even better-looking in person. With his light-brown hair that seems to fall perfectly on his head, his bright blue eyes that match his daughter's, and … oh, his dimple? Because, of course, Logan Sterns has a dimple. He's striking. But that doesn't change this arrangement one bit because when it comes to men, I'm untouchable. I was engaged once. And at the darkest time of my life, the person who was supposed to hold me together—or at the very least, hold me through it—couldn't do it. Instead, he left me.

"Helllllo, did you hear me?" Amelia says, her small hand touching mine.

Snapping my focus back to her, I shake my head. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked you what your favorite animal is. 'Cept you can't say Highland cow 'cause that's mine."

"I said turtle," Walker mutters. "I froze up. She looked at me with those big blue eyes."

Poppy walks back into the room, catching what Walker said before sitting down. "Awww, babe. See? You're going to be the best dad to this b—" She stops, putting a hand over her mouth, her eyes growing huge. "You're good with kids, is all."

"Oh, hell yes!" Logan cheers, closely following Poppy. "James is fixin' to join the dad squad. Don't be trying to steal my dad jokes though."

"Dude, your jokes aren't even funny," Walker says, keeping his tone low.

"Daddy! Put a quarter in my jar! Hell is a verrrrrrry bad word," Amelia scolds her father.

"Way to go, big mouth," Walker teases Poppy, but his lips are turned up. "Sterns is not good at keeping secrets."

"Says who?" Logan frowns.

"Um … every dude on our team who has ever done anything stupid," Walker says matter-of-factly.

Logan's expression relaxes as he collapses on the couch, pulling his daughter with him as she giggles and flails. "Well, that's different. That is funny. This? This isn't my business to tell." He almost pouts, I swear. "I'm offended you think I'd tell."

"You're pregnant!" I say, somewhere between a squeal and a yell. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

Poppy leans back, sighing. "Because I'm afraid it's too good to be true—that's all." She glances nervously at Walker. "I just don't want to get my hopes up. And the fewer people who know now, the fewer people who will have to awkwardly comfort me if something happens."

I know Poppy had a miscarriage a while back. It must be close to eight months ago now, and even though she tried to put on a brave face when it happened, it was hard on her. Walker too.

Reaching for her hand, I give it a squeeze. "This baby is going to be fine. I can feel it," I whisper, giving her a sincere smile. "I'm so happy for you guys."

"Thanks," she says tenderly, her eyes growing misty. "We really, really want this."

The sadness in the room is quickly swallowed up by Amelia when she yells at her dad. "Daddy! Put me down!" she whines. "I want to show—" She pauses, looking at me. "What is your name?"

I smile an honest, genuine smile. "Maci."

"Right. Maci. I need to show her my room," she says, nodding her head before patting her dad's arms around her. "Let go right now, Daaaady!"

Finally, he releases her. "All right. Show her your room, but after that, Miss Maci and I need to talk." The way he drawls the words is a sure sign he's from the South, even though he's been in Maine for a few years.

"Come on, Miss Maci!" She grins, grabbing my hand in an attempt to pull me to my feet.

Standing up, I look nervously at Logan once Amelia has rushed toward what must be her room. "Do you mind if she shows me her room?" I chew my bottom lip anxiously. "I know we just met and all. I'm a stranger."

"Should I mind?" he says in a serious tone to match his eyes, which are now slightly narrowed. "You planning to kidnap her? Or cut all of the heads off of her stuffed animals? Is that what you do?"

"What?" I blurt out. "No. No. I would never."

"Logan, stop before I punch you in the nuts," Poppy warns. "Ignore him, Mace. He is hardly ever serious. I think his three-year-old might be more of a grown-up than him."

"She's kidding. I'm very mature," Logan drawls. "Go ahead. Just don't steal my kid."

I look at him, unsure if he's kidding or not, eventually, I turn away from him and walk to where Amelia just ran off to.

"So, this would be your room." Logan pushes open the door across the hall from Amelia's. "Bring whatever you want for it, and I can give you money for whatever bedding you'd like."

Even though he's at least four feet from me, I can smell him. And I hate to admit … he smells scrumptious. When I'm writing characters, it's always hard to articulate in words exactly what they smell like. In my mind, I know what I'm trying to explain on the pages, but it's sort of up to the readers to use their imaginations to think of the scent.

I stare at the room before I frown, looking at him. "Uh, sorry. I'm a little confused. Why would I need a room?"

Down the hall, I hear Walker and Poppy playing with Amelia, which gives Logan and me a few minutes to discuss the logistics of the next six weeks.

He leans against the doorframe, putting one arm up over his head. His gray Sharks T-shirt hugs his muscles, and a sliver of his abdomen peeks out, but I force myself not to gawk.

"Well, I mean, I leave really early. And on game nights, it's too late for Amy to stay the whole game, so Maddie would bring her back early and just stay here." He must see the hesitation on my face because he swallows. "I mean, you don't have to stay here. But you can whenever you want."

"Maddie is your current nanny?"

"Yeah. She's been with us basically since Amelia was born. This place was her home. She lived here." He pauses. "She was supposed to be here tonight, too, but something came up."

My eyes shift from the room and back to him before I clear my throat. "It sounds to me, Mr. Sterns, like you're looking for a mother for your child." I take a step back. "I am not interested in that."

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoooa," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and yet somehow still grinning playfully. "I sure as shit am not looking for a mother figure for my kid. Trust me, I have no interest in that. Having one female in my life is more than enough. But, look, I'm a professional athlete who's a single father, Maci. So, yeah, I kind of need someone to seamlessly slide into Amy's life and be around to care for her when I'm not here."

"And what about when you are?" I raise an eyebrow. "What then? We all just hang out and act like we're playing house?"

"I mean, sometimes, Maddie would stick around and hang out with us, and sometimes, she'd go stay with her parents. She was taking online college courses, so a lot of times, she'd be in her room, studying." He shrugs. "When I'm home, you are free to do whatever you want. Stay here or go home and just arrive really early. Whatever works for you."

He sighs. "I need my daughter to have structure. I need her to be here, in her own environment. And I'd feel like a dick, making you wake up at the ass crack of dawn to drive over here every morning, especially when Amy sleeps clear until eight."

"What's the pay?" I say, changing the subject and crossing my arms in front of my chest.

"You're a famous author. What's it matter?" He smirks, catching me off guard because he knows I'm a writer. When I roll my eyes, he laughs. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding. I was paying Maddie ten grand a month. If she traveled with us, I'd pay her way, and if she had to work more than usual some weeks, I'd give her more."

My eyes must bug out of my head. That's a lot of money for babysitting. Though my books are still earning, sales are down right now because—let's face it—my readers are moving on. And if I don't produce something fast, it will only get worse. So, this money? It'd be a nice sense of security. It could also help me pay for promotion leading up to my next release.

"All right," I utter, holding my hand out. "Six weeks. But if I suck at this whole … kid thing, you can blame Walker and Poppy. It's their fault."

"Deal," he says, shaking my hand. "You'll be fine. But, like … you're not going to give her full-sized grapes or anything, right?"

"What?" I gasp because this no-go on full-sized grapes is news to me.

He must see the shock written all over my face because he cringes.

"Tomorrow, if you're free, stop by anytime in the morning. Maddie will be here; she'll teach you everything you need to know. About grapes and all the other crap that I had to learn." Releasing my hand, he winks lightheartedly, but not flirtatiously. "Don't worry; I didn't know shit about kids or raising one. If she can help me, she can help anyone."

He jerks his chin toward the living room. "Better go see what they are up to, I suppose. The new parents-to-be."

Following him, I glance at my friend, who's sitting on the floor between her husband's legs. Though I can see the fear on their faces, I can see the love and excitement too. And I love that for them. I love it so much.

They share the sort of love that I've written about. The kind I'm scared I'll never get to experience.