Page 70 of Skate the Line

Sure, she’s Ellie’s nanny and lives with us, but I don’t have to takeher places.

Ellie zooms up the steps and stops in front of Marco. “Marco!”

“Rapunzel!” He gets on her level. “I brought the birdseed.” A bag of seed appears in front of Ellie’s face, and she claps.

I unlock the door and let them pass by to fill the bird feeder before grabbing all of Ellie’s hockey gear out of the truck and the bag of clothes for Sunny.

The house is quiet—and clean. I shake my head at the thought of her vacuuming and mopping the floors with her bandaged finger.

With a heavy sigh, I head up the stairs. I could leave the bag of merch on the kitchen counter or have Ellie give it to hertomorrow before the game, but I want to clear the air between us.

Last night left me feelingoff.

Sunny shared something personal, and I don’t want there to be any weird tension between us orfor her to think I’m going to look at her any differently.

She thought I was going to fire her.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not thatbigof an asshole.

Truthfully, I’m not even really an asshole. I’m just reserved. I grew out of my impulsive behavior a long time ago, and I know how to control the little emotions that I do have. It’s called being restrained.

Or stony.

Unapproachable.

Maybe a little aloof.

What the fuck ever.

I stand outside the guest room—Sunny’sroom—and stare at the small crack in the door. Her voice slips out into the hallway, and I watch her move around on light feet.

“Um, what the hell is that?” someone says.

Is someone visiting her?

I didn’t approve of that.

My heart beats harder. Maybe I’m not as restrained as I think I am.

Sunny moves past the crack in the door, unaware that I’m standing here.

This time, I see that she’s holding her phone.

“Oh this?” She holds up her bandaged hand. “I accidentally cut my finger.”

The person on the other end of the phone shrieks, “Allison Edwards!”

“Ruby,” Sunny hisses.

“Sorry…I mean”—there’s a faint clearing of a throat—“Sunny Edwards!”

Sunny laughs, and I hate that it sounds so sweet. “That’s better. Anyway, I was cutting a cucumber and sliced my finger.”

I suddenly feel like a fucking creep again as I listen to her conversation, so I step forward and push on the door to make myself known. To my surprise, she doesn’t hear me.

At least I attempted, right?

“Are you okay? Did you have to get stitches?”

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