Page 19 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

Panic spikes, hot and sharp. “I’m heading out again next week and have a game tomorrow,” I say tightly, unable to keep the tension from my voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here for her,” Indie assures me gently. “But there are a few things we should probably discuss first . . . in private.” Her eyes flit briefly to Myra, as if saying this isn’t a conversation for young ears.

I feel my brow furrow slightly. Does she want to discuss her living accommodations here? Could this be about a significant other? In a fleeting moment of curiosity, my gaze drifts to her left hand. The absence of a ring confirms she’s not engaged or married—at least, not that I can see. A surprising sense of relief washes over me.

I mentally scold myself, Stop it, Brynes. This isn’t the time for such thoughts. Focus on what’s important—figuring out what’s best for your child.

Attempting to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, I adopt a lighter tone. “If it’s about choosing one of the empty rooms or deciding how to decorate it, just say the word. I’ll have the relocation team get it furnished for you,” I offer, paired with a playful wink. “They seem to be very responsive.”

One eyebrow arches up in a sassy retort to my failed attempt at humor. “Ha, ha. Aren’t you hilarious?” Indigo’s response is immediate and dry, her voice devoid of amusement. “Though, I would check on that, the other thing can wait until tomorrow, during your day off.”

“Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, why don’t we go and get a snack?” I suggest, trying to keep the atmosphere light and friendly.

Indie’s gaze shifts to her watch, a slight crease forming between her brows as she checks the time. “If it’s okay with you, I have to leave.”

“Why? Do you have something to do?”

She nods. “I have to pick up David and Rigby from my parents’ place.”

I give her a blank look, clearly not following. Does she have children? No wonder she’s great with my daughter, but she’s so young. And also, I wouldn’t want her to leave them with someone else to care for my daughter.

Is she going to suggest bringing them? Can she take care of three children?

“You lost me—who exactly?” I admit, feeling a bit out of the loop.

“David Meowie and Rigby Barks,” Indigo clarifies matter-of-factly, as if the names should ring a bell. “Though everyone in my family adores them, I think they’ve overstayed for today.”

It takes me a few seconds to understand and actually laugh at the ingenious names of her pets. “So your dog is named after Eleonor Rigby?” I confirm since the cat is obvious.

Indie nods proudly and Myra perks up instantly. “You have pets?”

“They’re more than just pets. They’re my family,” Indigo replies, her voice softening. She shows me her phone. “I’ll text you later so we can discuss them.”

And with those parting words the puzzling, beautiful woman walks away.

Chapter Eleven

Indigo

“Honey, I’m home,” I call out when I arrive at my parents’ home.

Nobody answers. I pull out my phone to see if they sent me a message, but all I found is one from Tyberius.

Ty: So, are these pets an issue? Will you be able to stay with Myra or . . . it’s a little concerning. Since I’m afraid of your response, I made a few calls, and my only option might be to send my child to Mom’s place in Florida and believe me that’s the last thing I want to do.

My shoulders tense as I read his concerns. My fingers hover over the screen as I debate how to respond. Before I can type a reply, Rigby comes barreling toward me, tail wagging excitedly.

“Hey, buddy. Are you here on your own?” I pat his head. “Did Grandma and Grandpa leave you in charge of the house?”

“Woof.” The goofy guy grins and pants. I squat to give him a good ear scratch. His tongue lolls out as he covers my face in happy puppy kisses.

I stand, glancing around. “Where’s David hiding?”

Rigby tilts his head, but of course doesn’t respond to me. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to say, who’s David and can we go home now? If we leave the feline with the grandparents, he’d be the happiest puppy in the world. My furbabies have this love, hate relationship that I’ll never understand.

“Why don’t we go search for him and get you a delicious treat before we go home?”

At the mention of a treat, Rigby barks and races toward the kitchen. I follow, refilling the water bowl before grabbing a cookie from the jar. Rigby gobbles it up eagerly.

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