Page 62 of One Last Shot

I hold back the jokes about coming that spring to my mind. “I’m not saying I slept with her,” I say, keeping my voice low so they don’t hear us from inside, “but would it be so wrong if I had?”

“Yes!” His outburst is unexpected and so is the way his palm lands on the table, making the remaining glasses rattle. “Yes, it fucking would. You’re trying to enter into a legal agreement with her, and sex screws everything up. It puts emotions into the equation, and that will mess shit up quick.”

I don’t have a response to that. There’s no question that emotions are involved, at least for me, but they always have been. I’m less certain how she’s feeling. I wanted her to tell me more last night in the solarium. I opened up about my feelings, told her I’d always wanted this kind of sexual relationship with her, and told her the things I loved about her. In response, she told me how good the sex was. It’s not like I didn’t want to hear that, but I was hoping for a bit more.

Perhaps expecting to have a meaningful conversation when I was balls deep inside her wasn’t realistic, but the words about feelings flow more naturally when we’re intimate. For me, at least. For Petra, it feels like she has one foot out the door when I want her here permanently.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Tom asks when I don’t respond.

“Do about what?”

“Are you planning on making this an actual marriage, rather than a marriage on paper only?”

The question makes my heart speed up.Is that what I want?I loved my single life. It allowed me to focus on skating, to become one of the best hockey players in the league. I made more money than I knew what to do with, there were always women around, and I had Niko and his family nearby. It was perfect. But something changed when I got Stella. She’s a type of happiness I didn’t know I wanted, and having Petra here with us has made me think, for the first time ever, about how I want a family of my own. I don’t want to just be the guardian of my niece. I want to adopt her, to be her father, and to share that responsibility with someone else. To have more kids. To have something worth coming home to.

But Petra’s already told me that’s not what she wants in life. She said she didn’t want kids, and I after watching her with Stella for the last two weeks, I don’t understand how that could be true. I don’tbelieveit could be true.

“I don’t think that’s what Petra wants,” I tell Tom.

“You don’tthink? You haven’t even talked to her about it?”

“I told you, you don’t pressure a woman like her. She’ll come to a decision in her own time.”

“I found you an immigration attorney,” Tom says, as if this attorney can save me from myself. Before he’s even done with his statement, the door to the terrace opens. Petra steps out with Avery on her heels, and they cross over to the table in just a few steps. Petra has a bakery box in her hand with the dessert Avery and Tom brought.

“Stella is the cutest,” Avery sighs as she sits down, which I guess means bedtime went well. She looks over at me. “You’re doing a great job with her, Alex.”

“I’m trying. But for all my work over the past few months,” I say and glance over at Petra, “she’s only really seemed happy the past couple weeks, since Petra’s been here.”

Her eyes widen before her face relaxes into a serene mask. “Don’t let him fool you,” she tells Avery, “she’s amazing in her own right, and he’s doing a great job raising her. The issue of finding a nanny, aside.”

“Feels like there’s a story there,” Tom says, then takes another sip of whiskey. Petra regales him with the story of Irina, the evil Russian nanny who sounds even more like a witch when Petra retells it.

Avery alternates between laughing and looking horrified. “So, did you find someone new yet?”

“I’ve got several meetings set up this week,” I tell her. “We’re interviewing the first two tomorrow morning.”

Petra looks surprised by this information, even though I’d watched her put the meetings into the calendar on her phone when I told her all the dates and times. I realize how much she must rely on her assistant to keep her schedule straight, set up meetings for her, and so on. I wonder what it would be like to be juggling so many balls at once. Before Stella, I had two balls: hockey, and all the shit—media appearances, brand relationships, etc.—that comes with it.

Petra opens the bakery box and hands each of us a small dessert plate. We all choose something, and then Petra says to Tom, “Did I hear you say you’d found us an immigration attorney?”

Tom glances at Avery. I’m guessing he doesn’t normally discuss confidential client information with her. “It’s fine,” I tell him.

“Actually,” Avery says, “I’m going to go use the restroom.” She excuses herself and disappears through the door back into the den. I appreciate her discretion, even though I don’t mind her knowing the details of our situation. If Tom trusts her, I trust her.

“Yes,” Tom says once the door closes behind Avery. “She specializes in both immigration and adoption law. I talked to her yesterday, explained the situation to her, and she’s happy to take on your case. She said there are a few different options.” He picks up his phone and asks for Petra’s number. When he sets his phone down, both our phones buzz with a text from him containing the contact info for the lawyer.

Petra looks like she has questions, but she’s chewing on her lower lip instead of asking them. “What are you thinking?” I ask her.

She pauses a beat before responding. “I’m not willing to lie about our marriage,” she says apologetically. She turns toward Tom. “I’m not sure if you expect us to walk in there and tell her that we’ve been living together off and on like you’d suggested in your office, but I don’t want to lie. I need us to be honest with her and let her tell us the best way to proceed.”

Tom opens his mouth. “Done,” I say, the word so definitive there’s no point in him arguing with me about it. “Lying about this isn’t worth the risk. I don’t want to jeopardize my guardianship of Stella or my potential path to citizenship. Let’s trust the process.”

Tom shakes his head. “You’re in for a much longer road this way,” he tells us.

“That’s fine,” I tell him. “At least it’s not unethical.”

I notice the way his shoulders tighten at the mention of ethics. “Hey, you told me to figure out thefastestway for you to adopt Stella, and that’s what I did. You didn’t tell me to find the most ethical way.”

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