Page 47 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
“Seriously, what’s up with the ‘it’s Blake thingy’ today?” I shoot him an incredulous look. "Besides, do I look like someone qualified to be a nanny?" I gesture at myself. "I can barely keep a cactus alive!"
"I know. Which is sad for you."
Without hesitation, I grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at his face. "You’re impossible!"
He catches it last second, laughing. “Jeez, okay, okay, don’t kill me.”
I exhale, rubbing my temples. “This is ridiculous.”
Keith watches me for a second, and then his expression shifts, turning serious. “Look, Whit…, if you can help him out, it’d be great. Blake doesn’t say it - not even to me, his best friend - but he’s struggling. He’s been on edge these past few weeks.”
I glance away, my fingers curling into my sweater.
“He’s got a lot on his plate,” Keith continues. “And yeah, he’s a good dad, but he can’t do everything.”
Silence lingers between us for a moment. I hate that I feel…, something. A twinge of sympathy, maybe.
Keith leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, baby sis, no pressure. You can decide not to do it, and no one would hold it against you. But before you say no…” His voice softens. “I’m asking you to think about it. Please.”
I press my lips together, staring at him.
Think about it.
Yeah, like it’s that easy.
****
Three days have passed since Blake’s proposition, and somehow, it has been taking up way too much space in my head. No matter how hard I try to push it aside - whether while making and editing my videos or helping out with wedding planning, it lingers in the background, looping over and over like a song I can’t turn off.
And honestly? It’s annoying.
I don’t want to blur the lines between our present and our past - whatever it is we had. Or didn’t have. Or almost had. The point is that there are complications, and this would just add another layer to it.
But then…, I can’t shake the image of his face from my mind.
The desperation in his eyes. The resignation in his posture. The vulnerability in his voice when he asked me to think about it.
I roll onto my back on the bed, arms flung out wide as I stare at the ceiling. "Seriously," I groan aloud, "this is hard."
“But then…,” I sit up abruptly, running a hand through my hair. "I’m not really doing it for Blake," I mutter, trying to convince myself. "If I do decide to do this, it’s for the kids, right? After all, what’s so wrong in taking care of them for just a few weeks?"
I pause. Then groan.
“Oh, I don’t know, Whitney. Maybe the part where you’d have to see him every day? Be around him, be in his space, and pretend like your history doesn’t exist?”
I fall back onto the bed, covering my face.
But then, another voice - stupidly reasonable - whispers, "and maybe the part where you’d actually be helping two kids who need stability?"
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"This has disaster written all over it."
I exhale sharply, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. Before I know it, my fingers are dialing his number like they’ve got a mind of their own.
It rings once.
Twice.
