Page 64 of Offside Devil

“I’ve just… I’ve never been good at doing anything halfway. It’s an addict thing.” I scratch the back of my head. “I can’t give my all to hockey when I know Aiden needs me. I don’t even want to. He deserves all of me.”

Mira frowns and brings the mug to her lips. “No one expects you to go halfway with loving your kid. But Aiden needs stability. I can tell you from experience that money helps with that. So, maybe you need to think about it like that. When you’re giving your all to hockey, you’re doing it so you can make a living and give him everything he needs. At the end of the day, it’s all for Aiden.”

For the first time all day, the fog lifts. One piece of the scattered puzzle that has become my life snaps into place, and I have Mira to thank.

I don’t do that, obviously. She’d be annoying about it and she’s opinionated enough without encouragement.

Still, for the first time since we met, it feels like we’re on the same team.

No one is more surprised than me by how much I like that feeling.

27

MIRA

I’m wielding a soapy dish sponge like a microphone and singing along way too loudly to Shania Twain when someone knocks on the door.

I drop the sponge immediately and it splashes into the sink. Water sloshes over the side and soaks the bottom few inches of my shirt.

“Shit!” I’m wringing my shirt over the sink when another flurry of knocks resounds through the condo.

Zane just left for a run ten minutes ago. There’s no way he’s back already. But the persistent knocker shows no sign of going away soon, so I turn down the music and hustle over to the door.

The second I open it, a woman with wavy red hair and a garment bag held over her head whisks inside. “Finally. This suit is heavy.”

She hangs the bag from one of the ridiculously high kitchen cabinets and then turns to face me. Her eyes slip from the sloppy bun balanced precariously on top of my head to my wet shirt to my slippered feet. Her face puckers. “Where is Mr. Whitaker?”

“He went for a run.” I blink at the woman and then shake my head. “I’m sorry, who are?—”

“Hanna. We’ve corresponded.”

“Oh. Zane’s assistant.” I palm my forehead. “Obviously. Hi. It’s nice to meet?—”

“When will Zane be back?” She swipes her finger over the countertop like she’s checking for dust. I feel like I’m in the middle of a pop quiz.

“I’m not sure. His runs usually last an hour. Sometimes longer.”

Not that I ever stick around to see him come back. He usually runs early in the morning. I hear him coming back from my cozy spot in bed.

This morning, he got a later start than usual. We stayed up last night… talking.

I’m still not sure how to process Zane and I being in the same room for more than an hour without fighting, but it happened. If only there’d been someone else around to witness the historic moment.

Then again, if there’d been anyone else around, I’m not sure it would’ve happened. It feels oddly like Zane lowered some walls last night.

It also feels like I was way too desperate to scale those walls.

“What happened last night?” Hanna asks suddenly.

I wonder if Zane’s assistant has the ability to read minds until I see her pointing at the untouched pizza box still on the counter.

“He didn’t eat the pizza.” She frowns. “Is he sick?”

“Oh. Um. No. I made dinner, remember? I mentioned that on the phone.” Why is this so awkward? “We had chicken alfredo.”

Hanna slams the cardboard lid closed. “Wow. A nanny and a personal chef. Zane is getting a discount on you.”

“Thank… you.” I think? I’ve never been more offended by a compliment.

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