Page 1 of Puck Me at Midnight

Chapter One

Spike

Six months.

It’s been six months since Tyler and Kara—my best friend and his wife—were killed in a car accident. Six months since my life turned upside down, and I became the legal guardian of their boys, Sam and Charlie. Six months of trying to balance diapers, tantrums, and bedtime stories with the brutal schedule of a professional hockey player.

And so far? I’m failing.

The smell of burnt toast drifts through the house as Sam, four years old and full of energy, runs circles around the coffee table. He’s waving a plastic hockey stick like he’s going for a hat trick. Charlie, two and just as determined, toddles after him, clutching a sippy cup like it’s a trophy.

My phone buzzes on the counter for the third time this morning, but I don’t have the hands or the energy to check it.

“Sam, don’t hit your brother with that stick,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. Sam stops for half a second, looks at me with those big, questioning eyes, and then goes right back to swinging.

“Great. Cool. Glad we’re listening today,” I murmur to myself.

I shove two pieces of toast onto a plate, both more burned than not, and slide it onto the table. The boys don’t even notice.Charlie is now crying because Sam took his sippy cup, and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Again.

I’ve already been through two nannies since I was given custody of the boys. The first quit after three weeks. She didn’t like the hours, the chaos, or the schedule that comes with my job. The second… well, she wanted something more than just being the boys’ nanny. I found her naked in my bed one night, claiming she thought we had “a connection.” I fired her on the spot.

Now I’m alone with two kids who deserve better than burnt toast and a man who has no clue what he’s doing. My teammates’ wives have been helping me, but I have to find a reliable nanny.

Sam’s laughter echoes through the house, a sharp contrast to Charlie’s frustrated wails. I scoop Charlie up and try to soothe him, bouncing him gently on my hip. He’s so small, barely more than a baby, and every time I look at him, I feel a wave of grief. It’s just not fair that his parents aren’t here.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay,” I murmur, brushing a tear off his cheek. He hiccups, his tiny fists clutching my shirt as he calms down. Sam pauses his game to watch us, his expression serious in a way that makes him look older than four.

“Is Charlie sad?” he asks.

“Yeah, bud,” I say, my throat tightening.

Sam nods solemnly. “I think he misses Mommy and Daddy.”

Before I can say anything, the doorbell rings, sharp and unexpected, cutting through the chaos. Sam immediately stops running and looks at me. “Who’s that?” he asks, curiosity lighting up his face. He’s moved on from his moment of grief, and I’m grateful for the resilience of his little heart.

“Probably the new nanny,” I say, more to myself than to him.

I try to put Charlie down, but he clings to my leg as I walk to the door. His sippy cup is miraculously back in his hands. I glance at the clock. She’s early. That’s a good sign, I hope.

I open the door, and the woman standing there is nothing like I expected. She’s young, maybe early twenties, with dark blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Her eyes light up at the sight of Charlie and Sam.

“Hi, I’m Emma Quinn,” she says, her voice steady and confident. She extends a hand. “You must be Mr. Kelley.”

“Spike,” I correct, shaking her hand. It’s small but firm, no-nonsense. “Come on in.”

As she steps inside, she takes a moment to survey the scene. Her gaze moves from the toys scattered across the floor to the dishes piled in the sink, then lands on Sam, who’s peeking out from behind the couch with a mix of curiosity and caution. Charlie, still clutching my leg, peers up at her with wide eyes.

“It’s a little messy,” I admit, scratching the back of my neck.

Emma’s smile is warm but professional. “That’s normal with kids this age. Besides, I’m not here to judge your housekeeping skills. I’m here to help.”

I feel my shoulders relax. Help is exactly what I need. Someone who can step in, take charge, and give these boys the structure and care they deserve.

“This is Sam,” I say, gesturing to the boy now stepping out cautiously from behind the couch. “And this little guy is Charlie.”

Emma crouches down to their level, her movements slow and deliberate, like she knows she’s being carefully considered. “Hi, Sam. Hi, Charlie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Sam tilts his head, studying her. “Are you the new nanny?” he asks, his tone skeptical.

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