Page 8 of Fighting Chance

What about daycare? Are they in preschool or something?

The ding of the elevator has my eyes snapping open.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I hold Emmy close to my chest, not daring to let go of her until she pulls away first. I yank my keys out of my pocket and slide it into the lock, pushing open the door. The sound of it slamming behind me rings out at the same time I come to a skidding stop.

I don’t make it past the entryway.

Everywhere I look, all I can see is how I’ve defiled every nook and cranny. The couch that Grayson likes to remind me is the exact same as his, the walls, the windows, the kitchen—fucking hell, I’m a whore.

Don’t even get me started on the bedroom.

I can’t help but grimace. Emmy can’t touch anything in here.

This is not a home.

There’s no warmth, no art, no photos, furniture. I promised Emmy ahome. And this is certainly not one that she should ever live in.

My eyes close of their own accord as my hold on Emmy tightens.

“You deserve better,” I whisper gutturally before spinning on my heel and never looking back.

Call it whatever you want—coincidence, fate, the universe, serendipity—but the only house available to move into today, if I threw enough money around, is the one across the street from my best friend. The house I passed every time I visited him, the one I looked at and thought I’d never have, because why would I buy a house that big just for myself? Why would I subject myself to the ache of loneliness?

Yet here I am, standing in a four-bedroom, two-story house, now officially neighbors with Grayson Crawford. The keys in my hand feel light, as light as the pen used to sign the paperwork to buy said house thirty-four minutes ago.

I had to pay a lot more than the asking price to get things moving as quickly as I did, but the thought of even staying in a hotel with Emmy after all she has lost, after being ripped from her home and placed into foster care and bouncing around with me, didn’t settle well.

Especially since she still hasn’t let go of my neck, her head lying on my shoulder.

God, the real-estate agents’ faces when I walked into their office and demanded a house that I could move into today were priceless. Shock doesn’t even begin to cover it. I wish I had the forethought to capture a photo. I was only taken seriously because one of the agents is a fan of IceHawks and knew I had the money to back up my demand.

I suppose when you have money, anything is possible.

Isn’t that a sickening thought?

Taking a seat on the entryway steps that lead to the large living room, I gaze around the place, making a mental note of everything I need to buy.

A sofa. I can bring my flat screen TV from the loft but I’ll need a new coffee table. And two beds. I don’t want Emmy near my old mattress. That thing should be burned.

She’ll need toys. Clothes as well. She only had a handful of clothes that barely fit her.

Stools for the kitchen. And maybe a high chair? Do three-year-olds sit in high chairs?

Oh my god, do I need to baby proof everything? Is she still a baby? No, she’s a toddler. What the hell do you feed a toddler?

I need to get her a therapist…along with a speech therapist. Or is that a two-in-one situation? She’s suffered too much trauma at her young age already.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking through my thoughts and giving me a second of reprieve.

It’s probably Grayson, though I know he isn’t the only one blowing up my phone. The entire team has reached out asking what happened. Even Coach left a voicemail, said he would be chewing out my ass if it weren’t for the fact I’ve never run out in the middle of practice.

That, and apparently it looked like I had seen a ghost.

I had.

The ghost of my past.

I know the foster home number by heart, and when I checked my phone while taking a bathroom break, my heart lurched in my throat, beating erratically when I heard the matron’s voicemail. Despite being twenty-eight years old, her voice made me feel like that petrified little boy again, my body bracing for inevitable impact. By the pounding of my heart and the tightness of my chest I was mere seconds away from having a panic attack.