Page 4 of Delayed Penalty

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask her.

Flora nods, and I let my shoulders relax. I was warned things might be a little rough with her initially, but what I didn’t expect was the bloodcurdling scream she let out our first night together. We were still in my apartment, and I was sleeping on the couch so she could have my bed. She shrieked so loudly I bolted upright around two AM and ran into my bedroom only to find her still sleeping, her little legs kicking andher breaths uneven. I watched her for a good thirty minutes until she finally settled down and back into a normal sleep. I didn’t shut my eyes again that night, and when I asked her about it the next morning, she said she couldn’t remember her dreams. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.

She’s only had one other incident since, but those two times have still been enough to keep me on edge every night. Well, those and my own recurring horror story. It’s been the same one since she moved in with me—I’m in a crowded place with Flora, and one second, she’s there, then the next, she’s gone, and I spend the rest of the dream running around trying to find her until I wake in a sweaty panic.

It reminds me how utterly unprepared I am for this. I never wanted kids—and, frankly, I still don’t—but none of that matters anymore. My brother, Aiden, made sure of that, so all I can do is embrace it.

“Are you hungry?” I scratch at my beard, which I desperately need to trim, but I can’t seem to find the time to do so. Just like I haven’t had time to hit the store. If she’s hungry, we’ll need to go out for something. I’m used to living in a city where everything is a short walk away. Yeah, we have a few places nearby, but nothing compared to the options I had there. Yet another way my brother has managed to put me out.

Flora nods in response again, and I hold back an irritated sigh. I get it, she’s not used to someone giving a shit about her, but giving me just a little help would be nice.

“Want to get donuts?” I ask.

There’s the faintest hint of a spark at the mention of donuts, and when she nods again, there’s a bit more urgency to it. Flora translation:She’s excited.

“Go get dressed, then we’ll head out. Sound good?”

Another nod as she aims the remote at the television, turning it off before placing the devicejust soon the tray in the middle of the coffee table. She scampers by me, her steps quick as she beelines straight for her bedroom.

She doesn’t fling the door closed. No, she gently presses it into place, like she’s afraid closing it too hard might destroy it. Or maybe she’s just scared of loud noises. I can’t tell quite yet.

I follow behind her to my bedroom, swap my sweatpants for a pair of jeans, leave the gray t-shirt in place, and toss a flannel over it. It’s a sunny Saturday in September, not a cloud in the sky, and I likely won’t need a jacket. When I step out of my bedroom to find Flora waiting back on the couch wearing her squeaky pale pink rain jacket and matching boots, I know there’s a goodchance I’m wrong about the weather. I ignore it anyway.

“You ready?” I ask.

Another nod.

“Flora…” I say softly. “You have to try to remember to use your words. It might seem silly, but you need to get used to talking to people. Your teacher was very adamant about that.”

She goes to nod again but corrects herself. “Yes, Uncle Adam,” she says in a whisper-soft voice, her lips barely even moving with the words. It’s the bare minimum, but I’ll take it.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat, then paste on a big grin. “Now, how about some donuts? I’m thinking trash-can flavored with extra slivers of rotten bananas on mine. What about you?”

Her lips tip upward—but only barely—before she slides off the couch and marches past me to the door without giving me an answer. It might be the world’s most microscopic hint of a smile, but I swear it’s the biggest win I’ve had all week regarding her.

Flora isn’t like other kids, and I don’t just mean because she’s quiet. She’s smart, and I suspect it’s the kind of smart that could have her skipping several grades if I wanted to get her tested. It’s evident not just in how she carries herself but also in her eyes. They’re old.She’sold. She may only be seven, but she’s beenthrough more than some adults have in their entire lives, thanks to the shit my brother put her through.

I try to shake away all thoughts of him. If I spend too much time dwelling on him and his actions and choices, I’ll get angry, which will only lead to me drinking far too much, which Ireallydon’t need to be doing with the season so close. I need to be sharp and ready to prove that this new predicament I’ve found myself in with the kid won’t affect my game so I can stick around, because I really fucking want to stick around.

I certainly wouldn’t tell them because it would just inflate their already big egos—especially Lawson’s—but I like my teammates here a lot. Initially I was pissed when I found out I was being traded from the Carolina Comets. I’d just won a Cup with those guys, and we were really starting to build something good. When I got the call saying I was being shipped off to the Emerald City, where rain boots are required and a vitamin D deficiency is a real concern, I thought for sure it was the worst thing that could happen. Turns out it might have been the best, even if they’restillbickering back and forth in our group chat, my pocket buzzing incessantly. I have no doubt it’s because Lawson and Keller are at each other’s throats.

I let the messages go unread as I follow Flora out the front door, pressing the lock button on the keypad.We turn right onto the sidewalk, heading toward the shops a few blocks up. I’m not overly proud to admit it, but we’ve often walked this same path since we moved in two months ago. I don’t do well in the kitchen, so stocking the fridge has never been my priority. Thus, donuts for breakfast are almost becoming routine at this point.

It takes us fifteen minutes to walk to the small bakery, and Flora is silent the entire time. No small talk, not even a sigh or a grunt. She’s quiet per usual. Hell, her feet barely make noise against the cement. She doesn’t even get excited when a couple, each steering two dogs, goes by us.

The bell chimes over my head as I open the small lilac-painted door to B’s Bakes, one of the best bakeries I’ve ever been to, and the dark-haired woman behind the counter whips her head up. It takes only a moment for her to shoot us a megawatt grin.

“Miss Flora!” Bess, the bakery owner, rounds the counter and bends until she’s my niece’s height. “How are you this lovely, sunny morning?”

“Good,” Flora says in her usual tiny voice.

Her shyness doesn’t deter Bess one bit. “Well, I’m so glad to hear that. What are you in for today? Let me guess…you want a donut with sprinkles?”

Flora starts to nod, then peeks up at me before giving Bess her attention and saying, “Yes, ma’am.”

I can’t help but smile.She’s learning.

I like that she’s learning, that she’s listening. I know how this is for me at twenty-five, so I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her at seven. She’s not only being thrown into this unfamiliar environment but now is saddled with a guy she doesn’t even know. That would be rough on anyone, let alone a kid.

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