Page 159 of Fighting Chance

“Hey!”

Johnson shakes his head. “Never lasts long.”

“Stop picking on Irving,” Grayson grumbles. “He’s like an infant.”

“That classifies as picking on me, Cap.”

Grayson ignores him and goes on. “We’re meeting back here at seven o’clock, so cancel all the plans you had.”

Johnson chuckles. “What bunny are you canceling on, Irving?”

He flips him the bird but does pull out his phone. Besides Grayson and me, Valenti is the only other one who doesn’t. He notices me staring and gives me a small shrug.

He and I both know exactly why he doesn’t have plans on a Friday night.

“Go home and freshen up. The girls also have a night planned so no excuse to bail,” Grayson adds, picking up his duffel bag.

“Can I at least know what I’m dragging my beautiful daughter into?”

“Nope,” Grayson calls over his shoulder before pointedly looking at Irving. “Everyone on their best behavior. No cussing.”

“Fucking hell,” Irving grumbles.

All Grayson told me to do was bundle Emmy in warm clothes. He wouldn’t budge on anything else, even when I cornered him in the parking lot. Yet he must’ve told Layla because as I walk inside the house, Emmy runs at me full force, already dressed in a scarf, coat, beanie, and little gloves.

Why are kids’ clothes so cute? Her little mittens fit two of my fingers.

Scooping her into my arms, I hold her to my chest. “Hello, munchkin, how are you doing?”

My only answer is her laying her cheek on my shoulder, her little hands reaching around to play with the back of my hair. Dropping my duffel bag, I soak up the moment. Just two monthsago I used to walk into an apartment with no one to greet me and now I have this little bundle in my arms that makes my heart want to explode.

Venturing farther into the house, I lay my head on top of Emmy’s, something in my chest loosening at her warmth. Except my smile slowly begins to fade as Layla steps out of the kitchen and gives me a weary smile.

“Hey, how was practice?” It takes one glance, one fleeting look to know something is wrong. She tries to straighten her spine and give me a full smile but can’t. Even her complexion is pale.

“What’s wrong?” Leaning forward, I place the back of my hand on her forehead. She has a slight fever. “Are you sick? Did Emmy pick something up at the park and give it to you?”

Layla takes Emmy to the park every day, rain or shine. If it’s raining, they wear adorable little rain boots and coats—matching, of course, because Emmy wants to all but morph into Layla.

Those are my favorite photos she sends me. Them two at the park, my daughter admiring Layla as much as I do.

Seems both the Ashfords are enamored with the nanny.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she says, and yet she doesn’t stop leaning against the kitchen archway, as if she doesn’t have enough energy to even stand.

Sliding my hand from her forehead, I gently cup her jaw to tip her chin up, making those icy blue eyes lock on mine. “Don’t lie to me,” I tell her.

Swallowing, she shrugs. “I just feel a bit run down. Perhaps a cold is coming on? It was raining yesterday, maybe I stayed out with Emmy for too long.”

Before I understand what I’m doing and can stop myself, I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. “Go lay down on the couch. I’m home now, so you can rest. I’ll make you some chicken noodle soup.”

Pulling back, I realize what I’ve done.

Realized that I’ve crossed a line Layla drew. This isn’t something on her life list. There’s no reason for me to be touching her this way, and yet it feels so utterlyrightI can’t force myself to apologize.

I don’t think she has enough energy to scold me, though, because she just blinks a few times before sighing and dragging herself over to the living room.

“I don’t want to cancel,” I hear her whisper under her breath.