Page 27 of The Nanny Goal

“She’s asleep,” I whisper.

She nods. “Do you think you could lift her up so we can get this on her?”

Slowly, I ease Inessa up against my torso. In her sleep, she winds her arms around my neck, and my chest squeezes tight. “It’s okay,” I murmur. “Harper’s going to take you home.”

CHAPTER9

ALEXEI

By the time my mom is admitted to the ICU, it’s almost one in the morning. I’m exhausted, wrung out physically from the game and mentally from the hours spent at the hospital translating for my parents.

But my father—who also reacts to stress by turning into a stubborn bull—is refusing to come home with me.

When I tell him it’s time to go, he gets a mulish set to his mouth. “What if she needs me, Alexei? You go home and sleep. I’ll wait until morning. When you come back, I’ll sleep for a bit.”

“You’ll have to use English.”

“I can use English.”

I’m going to hold him to that later, I think darkly.

To prove his point, he switches languages and asks a passing porter, “Where is the waiting room?”

It turns out it’s just around the corner. There are two of them, a quiet room for families only, and across the hall a bigger space with more chairs, a play area for children, and some vending machines.

I steer him into the quiet room, where I hope he can maybe stretch out on a couch or something, and I’m so tired I don’t immediately register why my body comes to a sudden stop.

Recognition on a cellular level happens first. The brain takes a second to catch up.

In front of me, leaning back on a recliner, is Emery Granger.

She’s wearing a Highlanders jersey, and my daughter is sleeping on top of her, clutching one of the team’s plush mascot toys.

“Emery?” Her name tears out of me, my brain still short-circuiting from seeing Inessa sleeping in her arms.

She lifts her head with a jolt. Blonde waves, like silk, brush her shoulders.

“Alexei.”

My name on her lips, soft and worried, is so fucking wrong.

“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds hoarse as I rake my gaze down her arms to the number on the jersey.

My number.

Emery’s gaze widens for a painful, confusing beat, then she glances down at Inessa. “She woke up on the way home and wouldn’t stop crying, so we came here.”

We?

Who the fuck iswein that sentence?

She pulls a lever on the side of the seat and sits up. Inessa protests, but Emery shifts her to the side and slides out from under her and the plush toy.

Somehow, my daughter stays asleep.

My dad folds himself into the recliner beside Inessa’s seat and closes his eyes.

Time slows as Forrest’s sister rises to stand in front of me.

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