4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Leo

Still can’t believe Catharina is moving in, that she agreed to help with my kids. Not that she hadn’t before. But that was different, being it was always because she was helping with Jake. This time, she’ll be living with me. In my house until the end of the season.

Well, until the end of the school year. That was the agreement we made. This way she doesn’t have to worry about housing when work gets crazy with state testing, grades, and paperwork.

But I trust her to have Stella’s and Mason’s best interests at heart. I don’t worry about being away with them in her care. I know her, sort of. More than I would a random nanny. And she won’t meddle in my life, offering unwanted advice the way my mother does.

So it works out.

My footsteps echo softly on the hardwood floors as I move from room to room, double-checking every detail, the fresh scent of lemon cleaner lingering in the air. Everything’s in order. Clean. Organized.

No sooner do I complete a final sweep of the main floor when the doorbell rings. She’s here. Why am I sweating?

Wiping my hands on my joggers, I walk toward the front door, then answer it. The side of my mouth twitches. It’s always odd whenever we interact that I have to look down at her. She’s tiny. “Can’t believe you agreed to help.”

She pulls her jacket tighter around her, a gust of cold air rushing past her and into the house. “Yeah, well. I’m kind of tired listening to Wyatt all day long. At least you don’t talk as much.”

I grunt in agreement, still standing in the doorway. A moment passes and she pulls in tighter on herself, her breath visible in the frigid air. Dammit. It's freezing outside and I'm a dumbass. “Come in.”

I grab her bags without a word and head toward the guest room. “The room’s this way.”

We walk through the living room, then down the hall to where she’ll be sleeping. Figured having her on the first floor would give her more privacy and maintain mine.

I place the bags down on the corner by the windows, then cross my arms and lean against the wall. “Kids’ rooms are upstairs. Mine too.”

Cat unzips her jacket, then pulls her knit hat off. Her thick, wavy hair, slightly static, frames her face. “Are you going to give me a tour or am I just supposed to figure it out as I go?”

I scratch the stubble growing on my chin. The rough texture grounds me, giving my hands something to do. “Got a point.”

She pulls off her jacket and places it on the bed. My eyes drift over the light pink sweater she’s wearing right to her perky breasts. Shit. Can’t go there. This is a business deal, and Catharina is off limits. I force my gaze back to her face, hoping she didn't notice my momentary lapse.

After she agreed to help with the kids, Wyatt made sure in no uncertain terms I understood I was to keep my hands to myself. Then he busted out laughing along with Ian. Yeah, the two found it hysterical once the threat left Wyatt’s mouth because I don’t date.

As far as they’re aware, I’ve been a loner. Not that anyone needs to know my business. Like how I only hook up at away games. I have needs . . . just don’t want the headache of someone wanting more. It’s my way of making sure things stay as a one night stand, not that I fuck often.

Sometimes, I think I have a problem because getting off is nothing more than an itch to be scratched. But when Wendy died, so did something inside of me. Some feelings or emotions.

“You just going to stand there or are you going to show me around?” Cat quirks a brow, her tone playful but with an edge of impatience.

“Yeah, this way.” I push off the wall, leading her out of the room.

We walk back out into the hall, and I point toward the end of it. “On the right side is a full bathroom. That’ll be yours. On the left side is the linen closet, so extra towels and stuff are there.”

She nods and we head toward the living room, then into the kitchen. “There’s an alarm on the double French doors. Make sure you turn it off in the morning or you’ll wake the whole house.”

We continue upstairs, the wooden steps creaking slightly under our weight. “To the right is Mason’s room and to the left is Stella’s room. My room’s at the end. Basement is finished with a game room. Mason’s usually down there. Stella stays upstairs unless you want the TV to yourself, then she can watch her shows downstairs.”

Cat and I walk back down to the first floor and into the kitchen. She leans against the granite island, her lean frame and perky breasts stupidly stealing my attention. Again. “Stance on cooking?”

I clear my throat, forcing my gaze and concentration onto those large, round eyes of hers. “What do you mean?”

“Am I expected to cook all meals all the time?”

I shrug, the movement causing my shirt to stretch across my shoulders. “Don’t want the kids eating out all the time. But you work, so I don’t expect you to do it all.”

“Where have the kids been staying since Bella left?”

I rub the back of my neck. “With my parents in Greenwich.”

She tilts her head to the side, a wavy strand of brown hair falling over her eyes, which she brushes aside with lithe fingers. “Your parents live close by? Why not have them help out?”

My back straightens as my muscles tense. It’s the question everyone asks and I never know how to answer. Sure, everyone has family drama. But I don’t like people to know my business.

Less is more. “Too far to travel back and forth constantly and I want them here. And as Wyatt already said . . . my mother can be a bit much.”

Cat opens her mouth as if to say something when the front door bursts open. Stella stampedes in, her brother following behind. The sound of their excited chatter and footsteps fills the house. “We’re home.”

“In the kitchen.” I haven’t had time to talk to my kids about Cat moving in. But they know her and I’m sure Stella will be excited. And Mason just goes with the flow. He makes my life easier.

Except my son has an air of maturity about him that unsettles me. Some days I wonder if I'm the reason, or if Wendy's death caused it.

Probably me, since his mom died when he was too young to remember her. At least Stella has little moments. They're fuzzy and sometimes she has no clue if she's imagining a specific moment or actually remembering something.

The kids come into the kitchen and Cat waves. “Hey guys.”

My daughter’s hazel eyes flicker between me and Cat, a sly smirk on her face. Fuck, no. Not sure where my daughter gets her meddling nature from, but Cat is strictly here for them.

Not me.

“Cat’s going to be helping us out. Couldn’t find a nanny yet.”

Mason smiles wide. “You think Jake will want to come over here sometimes then?”

Cat nods. “I’m sure he will.”

“And Nora, too.” My daughter bounces up and down, her excitement palpable.

Somewhere in the past few months, Nora Thoma has become my daughter’s superhero. Not that I mind. Wyatt’s fiancée is a great role model, a fuckin’ powerhouse athlete, and an overall amazing person. Stella even goes to a youth CrossFit class on occasion at Nora’s gym.

A moment later, my mother clicks into the kitchen on her heels, the sharp sound cutting through the air. She immediately zones in on Cat with a critical eye. “And who might this be?”

My jaw tightens, teeth grinding together as I exhale slowly through my nose. “A friend. She's going to help out with the kids for a while as a nanny until I can find someone more permanent.”

Mom's lips pinch together in clear disapproval. “A nanny? Don't be absurd, Leo. The children belong with me. It’s what's best for them.” She turns her nose up at Cat dismissively. “I'm not sure this . . . girl . . . is qualified to care for my grandchildren.”

Cat gives a firm shake of her head, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed. “My name is Catharina Rafealla Alonso, and I assure you my qualifications are much better than yours being I’m a certified teacher. You know, cleared by the state to be around children, teaching the future generation. May I ask what your master’s degree is in?”

The corner of my mouth twitches as I try to fight the smile forming. No one has ever talked back to my mother. Beverly Hartman is a force of nature and not in the best way. She gets things done, sure. But piss her off and there will be hell to pay.

But Catharina has her. My mom doesn’t have a degree, not even a bachelors. She’s old-school money and married young, then raised my brother and me. She was more about PTA meetings and being on fundraising boards to exert her financial dominance.

My mother’s nostrils flare as she exhales and turns her attention back to me. “Be that as it may, I still think—”

“Enough.” My voice comes out sharper than intended, but I don't back down. “This is my decision. The kids will be fine with her. This arrangement is temporary until I hire a nanny.”

“I see.” She straightens her spine, chin lifting a fraction. She adjusts the strap of her purse, and turns back to Cat. “I should be going. It was . . .nice . . .to meet you, Catharina.”

My mother says goodbye to the kids before she turns on her heels and strides out, posture rigid. Her shoes click sharply on the tile until the sound fades down the hall and the front door closes.

“Your mom’s a bitch.” Cat’s eyes go wide when Stella chuckles. “Mierda. Sorry, Leo. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

“Is Cat going to live here like Bella did?” Mason asks as he takes a banana from the basket on the kitchen island and immediately peels back the skin.

I nod, watching as he takes too large a bite. If there’s one flaw my son has, it’s that he shoves too much into his mouth without properly chewing, as if the food will disappear.

“Sweet. Come on, let me show you my room.” My daughter grabs Cat’s arm and pulls her along.

My son eyes me, pausing before he takes another bite. “You okay, Dad?”

Am I okay?

No.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mason, you all right with Cat being here? With her helping out? I should’ve talked to you two about it first.”

“Yeah, Dad. She’s awesome.”

My shoulders relax at seeing his face light up. He really means what he says. My kids are comfortable. They feel safe. And ultimately that’s all I want because they’ll be spending a lot of time with Cat.

More than with me.

The thought grates on my nerves and my chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat. Balancing my career and fatherhood isn’t easy. I miss so much, more than I want too, and they’re growing up fast. Too fast. Soon enough, they won’t need me.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod and walk over, giving my son a hug. Being away from them for a week is probably just catching up with me.

With Cat here, things will go back to normal. Or as normal as a professional hockey player’s life can get.