Page 42 of Offside Devil

I swipe out of the video and call Mira.

“I told you to stop texting,” she snaps in lieu of a greeting.

“What’s going on?” I strain to hear any background noise, but there’s nothing.

“We’re at the hospital,” she deadpans. “Remember when I said I’ve never locked anyone in a dryer before? Well, that streak ended today.”

“I’m serious,” I growl. “I can hear him crying on the video.”

“Are you seriously spying on me right now?” she explodes. “You’re supposed to be in a scrimmage! That’s what the insane, minute-by-minute schedule you had your assistant email me this morning said.”

“I wanted you to be able to get in touch with me if anything went wrong.”

“Well, you did a great job. That thing is so thorough that I know when your bathroom breaks are. Which means,” she spits, “I’ll get in touch with you if anything is wrong.”

I didn’t think being away from Aiden would be a problem. I was away from him for the first four years of his life. What’s eight more hours?

Turns out, eight hours is a fucking lifetime.

As soon as I closed the door behind me this morning, a kind of worry I’ve never felt before kicked in.

I planned for this. The entire reason Mira is there with him is so CPS can show up and see that I’m in a functional—albeit completely fictional—relationship with a woman Aiden likes. The fact Mira is the only person he talks to is proof enough that they get along.

I don’t have anything to worry about. And yet…

“Clearly, something is wrong, or else he wouldn’t be crying.”

“Yes, and as you know, four-year-olds save their tears for only the worst heartbreaks and traumas. I’ll tell you why he’s crying now, but let me warn you, it’s dark and gruesome and twisted.”

I grit my teeth. Maybe hiring the woman willing to call me an asshole to my face wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

“Are you ready?” she continues. “Are you sitting down? Here it comes: Aiden is crying because I found mold on the straw of his Spiderman water bottle and I put it in the dishwasher.”

Oh.

I tried to put that bottle in the dishwasher last night, but his lip went wobbly and his eyes filled with tears. I have no problems standing my ground when a line of padded-up men charges at me down the ice, but put a whimpering four-year-old in front of me and I fucking buckle.

I should thank Mira for doing my dirty work, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.

The door to the rink slams open and Daniel is glaring at me. “Popov is asking where you’ve been. They’re back on the ice, Z. What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Give me a minute,” I bark.

He shakes his head and spins around, letting the door bang closed behind him.

“Zane, go do your job,” Mira chides. “And let me do mine.”

Everything is fine at home.

That thought should be comforting, but as I stomp back out and skate onto the ice, a new thought rises to the surface. What if he doesn’t need me?

I mean, of course he doesn’t fucking need me. He did just fine for the last four years. But now, he’s back at my house getting attached to Mira.

That Morris bastard said a lot of bullshit the other day, but he made a good point: Aiden has had a lot of people come and go from his life. What will happen when CPS finally puts down their pitchfork and Mira is no longer needed?

It’s only been a few days since she moved in, but everything feels different. The condo smells like her vanilla perfume. When I’m home, I can hear her moving around in her room through the wall.

When she leaves, Aiden might miss her.

---