Page 5 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

“Well, apparently you told Brynes we don’t handle childcare?” Jude snaps, irritation bleeding into his voice.

I pause while rifling through shoe options, wincing at his irritated tone. Heels or flats? Should I hang up or help him? So many choices . . .

“Listen, I talked to a lot of the guys those first frenzied weeks,” I hedge, scrambling to recall specifics. “Handling housing assignments for the influx of new staff and players, conversations blur together . . .” Even as I say it, I know it’s no excuse. Jude brought me on to support these players, and I clearly dropped the ball with this Brynes guy.

After a couple of seconds, I do remember my email exchanges with Ty Brynes. We’d been overwhelmed with all the people who moved to Seattle. Though, I did put a system in place that made it a little less daunting. Except, there’s one player who refused to fill out any specifics and just wanted lists to choose from.

A list of schools, doctors . . . I could’ve gotten a list if he had given me any info.

Then there was the house—again, he chose not to give me a must-haves list for that too and, well, he lives in a big ass mansion outside of Seattle. His fault, not mine.

“This guy is a diva,” I tell Jude once I remember exactly why I wasn’t very helpful, according to him. “You say he’s good, but in my book he’s not the kind of person who deserves to be on this team.”

“Regardless, since I’m busy with training, it falls to you now to handle this,” Jude states, an undercurrent of frustration entering his typically mellow tone. I picture him nearly crushing his phone, staunchly defending his star player.

Even though I’d love to claim this isn’t my responsibility, duty holds my tongue. I rub my temples, striving to view this objectively despite spiraling guilt. “Okay, wait. What exactly do you need me to do here?”

“We have several options. You can call around and get us a nanny for his daughter Myra or . . .” Jude trails off leadingly.

I whip around from the closet, startling David Meowie who was snoozing atop a pile of rejected blouses. “Oh, no. No. No way. You did not just nominate me to play super-aunt-nanny until I find a replacement?” I cry incredulously into the receiver.

“Bingo. You’re the best person for the job, Indie-bear. You know it,” he says, a hint of pleading in his voice. “It’s just until you find a suitable, trustworthy replacement. We can’t just leave the kid with some unknown person that walks through the door.”

I fling another hanger back onto the rack, disgruntled. Rigby lifts his head, watching placidly from his dog bed as I storm past. So much for a professional look—babysitting calls for comfy clothes instead.

“Sure, make Indigo the team’s Mary Poppins because I’m obviously unoccupied,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

“It’s not babysitting. It’s . . . strategic team support,” Jude counters, barely containing a laugh.

I can’t help but roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “Strategic team support. Right.” I retort, hands on hips. “And what makes you think I’m the woman for the job? My outstanding nurturing skills or my vast experience with children?”

“You’re organized, you’re great with people, and you’ve been handling the team’s relocation like a pro. Plus, all our nieces and nephews love you,” he argues, ticking off each point as if it’s the most logical conclusion in the world.

The tension in my back ratchets up another notch. Rigby pads over, resting his chin on my leg comfortingly. I scratch behind his ears, to release some of the tension building on my back. “I’m happy to help find a nanny, but babysitting is not in my job description,” I reply pointedly.

“Indie, we need our captain for the opening game,” Jude insists. “Do you really think we’ll find better care by then?”

I refuse to reply, knowing Jude will likely strongarm me into becoming the team’s permanent babysitter. I should’ve gone back to school like Dad said rather than getting roped into Jude’s schemes.

“Come on, Indie-bear. I need my baby sister to come through. Please, just one more time.”

Why me? I almost say out loud. I swear, he’s wearing me out. It’s impossible to say no to Jude, especially when I can hear the genuine need in his voice. He’s been working on having a hockey team in Seattle for years. I’m the only one he confided in and told about it.

Not even Gabe, his twin, heard of it until this was a done deal. He was afraid that everyone in the family would think it was just another venture he’d abandon by the end of the month.

I know how much it means to him, and I want him to succeed more than anyone.

As little desire as I have to play surrogate parent, family supports each other unconditionally. With a resigned sigh, I meet Rigby’s sympathetic brown eyes. Even David Meowie gives a plaintive meow from my pile of clothes, as if reminding me of my duty.

“Fine, I’ll help temporarily care for the kid,” I concede grudgingly. “Strictly short-term, until an exceptionally vetted nanny is in charge.”

“Temporary. Got it.” Jude exhales, relief evident even over the phone. “You’re a lifesaver, Indie-bear. Ty and the team owe you one.”

“They owe me more than one. I’m adding this to my ever-growing tab. And Jude? Next time you decide to volunteer me for something, at least have the decency to ask me after I’ve had my coffee.”

His laughter fills the line, warm and familiar. “Deal. Thanks, Sis. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I reply, Jude’s laughter dissolving the last of my irritation. A smile tugs at my lips as David Meowie bumps his fuzzy head against my leg insistently. I reach down to give him a good chin scratch, eliciting a rumbling purr.

---