Page 120 of Nanny for the Athletes

The four of us were stunned as she sprinted out of the room. Pickles, Heidi, and Hank came running into the kitchen to eat the bacon off the floor.

“You know,” Braden said into the silence, “I was just thinking to myself that Claire hasn’t thrown a tantrum in a while. Sorry for jinxing it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing Logan’s back. “She didn’t mean what she said.”

Logan shrugged. “I know.”

But I could tell her words stung more than Logan wanted to admit.

“You’re a great father,” Christian said.

“Yeah! Totally!” Braden agreed.

Logan shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it right now.”

The television had been on this whole time, and I hadn’t paid it any attention. But when I heard Logan’s name mentioned, I whipped my head around to the screen, along with the other three guys.

“The star left wing has apparently left the team in Montreal prior to their game tonight against the Canadiens,” the news anchor was saying. “When reached for comment, many other Blues players mentioned they were shocked by Logan Landry’s abrupt disappearance.”

“I’m not a good father,” Logan muttered, “and apparently I’m an even worse teammate.”

The television cut over to an interview with the Blues coach, Craig Berube. “I don’t know what happened to Logan, and I’m working to figure that out. But any absence like this is inexcusable. Our organization doesn’t tolerate this kind of behavior from our players, I can assure you.”

Logan got up and walked into the other room without a word.

After tending to the dogs with Ken and Suzie for an hour, I went back inside and changed into a pantsuit that I hadn’t worn since I was still working in an office. I didn’t know if small claims court was as formal as a regular courtroom, but I sure as heck didn’t want to under-dress for the day.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I told my three boyfriends. “There’s nothing you can do to make it better.”

“We want to show our support,” Braden insisted. “We’re here for you, for the big things in life and the small ones.”

Logan gave a curt nod. Next to him, Claire was still pouting from the scene she’d made at breakfast.

“Besides,” Christian added, “the courthouse is near the stadium. You can drop us off for practice afterwards.”

“Just don’t draw any attention to yourselves,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of judge we’re going to get, but I’m sure he won’t appreciate his courtroom turning into a celebrity spectacle.”

The sun was rising between the skyscrapers as I drove into downtown St. Louis. The Gateway arch punctuated the skyline, looming majestically in the soft morning light. The city exuded a serene energy on this Friday morning; it was waking up, streets calm, storefronts slowly opening and pedestrians bustling about their day. The Enterprise Center, where the Colts played, loomed to our left as I pulled into a parking garage adjacent to all the municipal buildings.

My three boyfriends and Claire sat in the very back row, while I sat a little closer to the front. Christian and Braden wore baseball caps that they pulled low over their eyes, a suitable disguise. Logan didn’t bother, and sat up straight with a challenging twinkle in his eyes. When I glanced back at them, Braden winked at me.

Trip was already there, sitting in the very front row. He stared straight ahead, never glancing back. I was grateful for that—I wasn’t sure what kind of face I would make if he locked eyes with me.

Everyone stood as the judge entered the courtroom. He was an older gentleman with a bushy white mustache and a crown of similar white hair around his temples, bald on top. He instructed everyone to be seated, and then he called forward the first case.

Our case was fourth in line on the docket. The first case was a disagreement between two neighbors over who was responsible for replacing a fence that was damaged in a storm. The second case involved slander on social media, and the third case was a dispute about rent between a landlord and a tenant. The tenant was a woman around my age, and the judge made an off-hand comment about her wearing a low-cut top in his courtroom. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had dressed more professionally.

In every case, the judge worked quickly. It seemed that there were a lot of cases to get through today, and he was in no mood for nonsense.

Finally, it was our turn. The judge called our names, and Trip and I walked up to the two podiums before the judge. There was no lawyer with Trip; he must have been bluffing about that. Typical.

The judge put on a pair of reading glasses while reviewing the papers in front of him. Finally, he looked up at us. “The plaintiff is requesting an $800 reimbursement from the defendant for a hockey ticket. Is this correct?”

“Yes, your honor,” Trip said with all the formality of a murder case.

“Please state your case.”

“I took my then-girlfriend, Beth Foster, to a Blues hockey game,” Trip explained. “She broke up with me shortly after this.”

---