Page 12 of Puck Your Nanny

My car tires crunch on the gravel as I pull up to the house. I used to love the sharp, modern lines and how hard I worked to decorate it, but now all I can think about is how much things have changed. I was gone for a few days, and now the whole place feels off because she's here, the Beta.

I turn off the engine. The silence is a stark contrast to the thoughts racing through my head. It's unsettling, the idea of a Beta nanny living here, even though Nate and Calvin practically drooled over the phone about her.

"She's great, Peter."

"William loves her."

As if her presence magically fixes everything.

Nate's a mess. I understand why. Grieving, overwhelmed, and now saddled with a kid he never planned on, a kid that's not even part of our pack. A constant, living reminder of his dad's life choices. I get it, I really do. But a woman? Living in our house? It feels wrong, a violation of our established dynamic, to have a beta living here. It's one thing for betas to work here and leave, like our housekeeper; it's another to have them here, constantly. If a woman is going to be here, she should be ours, our Omega. I would treat our omega like a queen, only the best for her.

I've never wanted children. My life is carefully ordered, deliberately focused. Work, the pack, hockey, that's it, and that's enough. A baby, and now this Beta woman, was never part of the deal. But there is no way I can say that to Nate, not right now. He'd lose it, completely. And, the thought of William in foster care… I don't think I could live with that either. So, we're stuck.

I sigh, shaking my head at my internal conflict. I'm being an ass; I haven't even met her. She's probably fine as a person. I'll just get used to ignoring her. Nate and Calvin can be responsible for her. I'll just deal with the business side of things, same as it's been since I was forced to retire. At least she's a Beta. Nate mentioned she had no scent, which is weird, sure, but at least it means no distracting pheromones, no heat drama, and no risk of another Alpha trying to challenge for dominance.

I step out of the car and wince as pins and needles shoot through my right leg the moment I put weight on it. My knee threatens to buckle, a lingering reminder of that old injury, but I fight through it. All I want right now is my massage chair, a stiff whiskey, and some damn peace. I limp to the trunk, pop it open, and yank my suitcase out. The movement jolts my leg. If I'm lucky, I can slip inside unnoticed and put off meeting her until later.

I drag the suitcase behind me, favoring my throbbing leg, and head towards the front door. It's unlocked, which is unusual.We're usually pretty strict about security. I push the door open and step inside. A faint scent lingers in the air. It's not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Floral, maybe?

The house is quiet, too quiet, considering there's supposed to be a three-month-old and a new nanny somewhere. No crying, no cooing, no… her. Good. Maybe she's already proven herself incompetent, and Nate's sent her packing. Knowing him, he'd probably just feel guilty and keep her on.

I head toward my room, my sanctuary, the one place in this house that's still mine. The door is closed, thank God. I reach for the gold handle, ready to shut myself away.

"Peter?" Nate's voice carries down the hall.

I turn and find him walking from the kitchen, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Behind him, Calvin hovers near the living room, a look of amusement on his face. And next to Calvin, partially obscured by his larger frame, is her.

Daisy Johnson. The Beta nanny.

She's smaller than I expected, petite, with a smooth blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wears simple jeans and a sweater, her face delicate and pretty. Big blue eyes, a delicate jawline. But it's her scent that throws me. The others said she didn't have one. I can pick up on something faint. The floral that hit me when I walked in. But it's so faint, it's strange. Perhaps it's her perfume, and it's worn off.

"Peter." Nate steps forward. "This is Daisy. Daisy, this is Peter Sinclair."

She offers a tentative smile. "It's nice to meet you, Peter." Her voice is calm and low, but not timid.

I force a nod, my jaw tight. "Likewise." The word comes out clipped, harsher than I intended.

A heavy silence fills the space, stiff and uneasy. I can feel Nate's gaze on me. Calvin clears his throat.

"Daisy is making dinner. If you want to join us in a few minutes." Calvin gestures vaguely towards the kitchen.

"Fine." I turn back towards my room. "I'll be in here."

I don’t wait for a response. I push open the door, step inside, and close it behind me. The familiar scent of leather and old books greets me, a small comfort in this suddenly unfamiliar house. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I head straight for my massage chair, sinking into its embrace with a sigh of relief. I turn it on. The whiskey will have to wait. Right now, I just need to escape. To forget, for a little while, that my carefully ordered world has been turned upside down.

I close my eyes, letting the chair's vibrations work on my aching muscles, trying to push the image of her from my mind. The faint floral scent, so different from the usual sterile emptiness of the house, lingers. It's unsettling.

Along with her eyes, those big blue eyes. It had thrown me off guard, that unexpected flicker of connection.

I shift in the chair. Damn injury. Some days, like today, after a long drive and stress, it flares up.

Resentment washes over me. This is all so unnecessary. Nate's sudden foray into parenthood, this stranger in our house, the disruption. It's all because of his father's impulsive decision. And now, we're all paying the price.

I reach for the remote, turning up the intensity of the massage. The quiet hum can't cover the faint sounds of activity beyond my door: laughter, muffled conversation, clinking dishes. Her laughter, most likely. Nate and Calvin are always suckers for a pretty face.

I clench my fists. I need to focus on work, the pack. Anything but Daisy Johnson.

After about twenty minutes, I get out of the chair.

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