Page 7 of Pucking Secret

I groanat the blaring alarm. Ugh. I don’t want to wake up yet. I was just having the best dream. Sebastian Stan was just ripping his clothes off because I accidentally spilled chocolate sauce on him. My alarm is persistent, and the shirtless image of chocolate covered abs slips away.

I slam my clock off, roll over, and throw my tangled mess of red hair out of my face. At the sound of little feet hurrying down the hallway toward my room, I grin sleepily.

Looking toward my door, I murmur, “Ten, nine, eight…”

Before I can finish my countdown, my rambunctious six-year-old bursts through the door, her red hair wild around her face and her blue eyes wide and bright. I feel a jolt in my heart at the sight of those blue eyes. It happens almost every time Millie looks at me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but seeing his blue eyes peering up at me from my daughter’s face always jars me.

“Mommy!” she exclaims, jumping up onto the bed. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Millie,” I say with a smile, wrapping her in my arms. “How’s my little snug-bug this morning?”

She giggles and wiggles out of my arms, then hops around the bed on her knees. She is pure joy wrapped up in an adorable little package, and I am so lucky to be her mother.

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?” she asks.

How does she have so much energy so early in the morning? It’s barely 5 am.

Grinning, I gently boop her nose. “All right, sweetpea. Pick out your outfit for school, okay?”

She darts out of the room without a backward glance. I chuckle and shake my head, then get up. The morning proceeds as usual. I make breakfast and Millie comes rushing into the kitchen, dressed in a pink dress with a teddy bear on the front and matching pink leggings. While she eats, I work to tame her wild mane, spraying it with detangler and brushing through it before braiding it and tying it off with a pink scrunchy.

We’ve got this routine down to a science, but it hasn’t always been like this. I love Millie with all my heart, but being a single mom is no joke. Raising a baby when I was still basically a kid myself was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Thankfully, I had my Gram to help me until she had hip surgery last year and decided to go to an assisted living facility. As for Ow… I mean, he who shall not be named, he made it very clear what he thought of me, his child, and our relationship.

I quickly push any thoughts of him from my mind. It hurts too much to remember how he abandoned me.

Once Millie’s ready for school, I get myself ready for work. Midway through, just as I pull on my polo shirt with the Night Hawks’ Logo embroidered on the front, Millie comes running in again.

“Mommy, you’re going to make me late for school!”

I laugh. Millie really reminds me of Grace sometimes, with her Type A personality. She can’t stand being late, but since she’s six and can’t really tell time yet, she always just assumes that we’re falling behind.

“We won't be late, baby,” I assure her.

“But you’ve been up here for five hours!”

I tie my hair back into a ponytail.

“Honey, I’ve only been up here for about fifteen minutes.”

“But it feels like forever,” she whines, then stomps away. “Fiiiiine…”

I finish getting ready, knowing I have a limited amount of time before Millie’s patience runs out completely, and she starts getting restless. That would only lead to trouble. One morning, I took too long getting ready and when I got downstairs, she’d somehow managed to unplug every single electronic she could find and remove the batteries from all the remotes because she’d been bored. I found her building a tower out of the batteries in the middle of the living room floor with the satellite receiver box as its base.

Once I’m ready, I hurry downstairs and find Millie waiting for me with her shoes on and backpack secured around her shoulders. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, impatient.

“All right, all right, let’s go,” I say with a chuckle, ushering her out the front door. I lock it before heading down to the car, parked in the driveway. I’m lucky to have this house and this space—it’s Gram’s house, but she insisted that Millie and I stay here after she moved out. It’s been our home since Millie was born, and Gram didn’t want to take that from her.

We hit the road. I drive Millie to school, drop her off with a kiss, and head on my way; as much as I want to watch her walk into the building, I have to get to work. Once I’m pulling away from the elementary school, I dial up Lilah, her babysitter. She answers after two rings.

“Hey, Stacey,” she says in a chipper tone. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Lilah, I just wanted to confirm that you’re picking Millie up from school and watching her until I get home. I’m probably going to be a little late today.”

I still can hardly believe I was able to land this residency. I’ll forever be grateful to Grace for helping me get it through her connections with the team. Her brother and boyfriend are both players, and she’s the social media manager for her brother and several of his teammates. When I found out she was living in Denver, I’d wanted to reach out, but I was nervous. It’d been so long since we’d seen each other—what if she wasn’t the Grace I remembered? I finally gathered the courage to message her through social media a little over six months ago, and when we met up, it was like no time had passed at all. It was a huge relief, and I’ve loved having my friend back.

I’ve also loved everything about my physical therapy residency so far, even if it’s mainly consisted of organizing charts and preparing for the guys to arrive. Now, I’ve got a pile of checklists and paperwork waiting for me on my desk that needs to get done, plus I’ve got to get everyone on the team scheduled for the initial PT visit of the season. The next few weeks are going to be busy as we prepare for practices to officially start.

“Oh, yeah, meant to text you,” Lilah says and my shoulders tense. “I can pick Millie up, but I can’t watch her for very long today. Study group tonight.”

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