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“We met at a party when we were eighteen,” I said. “She was an incoming freshman at the local university, and I was celebrating getting signed to West Ham. We started talking, and one thing led to another, but our relationship didn’t last long. I was focused on football and my move to the UK; she was busy with her summer program and college prep. We only dated for three months, but that was enough for her to get pregnant.”

I vividly remembered the night she’d told me. We’d broken up two weeks prior, so I knew something was up when she asked to meet. I’d sat there in stunned silence for a full two minutes, my mind blank. Sarah had had to physically shake me out of my trance.

“My parents freaked out. I freaked out. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but I wanted to be part of our child’s life. I couldn’t stay in the US, and she wasn’t moving to the UK. In the end, we agreed on joint custody. Sarah would take care of Evie during the season, and I’d have her during the off-season. My parents lived near campus, so they were able to help out when she had class and work. It wasn’t ideal, but it was manageable.” My throat closed. I stared into my tea, the edges of my vision blurring. “Then, when Evie was ten months old, Sarah went to a friend’s birthday party. It was close to her dorm, so she walked home after. She’d only been a block away when some drunk frat guy sped around the corner and hit her with his car. He kept driving. She died before the paramedics arrived.”

I hadn’t talked about the incident in so long that the words tasted foreign on my tongue. Saying them aloud dredged up memories I’d buried for years.

The UK was five hours ahead of Michigan. I’d received the call in the early dregs of morning, but I didn’t remember the conversation or how I’d reacted. I only remembered the scream building in my throat that never made its way out.

I’d flown back to the US immediately. I’d planned the funeral, talked to my parents, talked to a shitload more people whom I didn’t care about but who hovered like a swarm of big-eyed, pity-faced gnats. I’d held Evie and wondered how the hell I was going to explain what happened to her mother when she grew up.

My team at the time had rallied around me and kept the truth of my sudden absence a secret from the public. But despite the chaos, I’d felt like an observer watching a movie about my life. I’d done what I needed to do, but I’d been consumed by numbness mixed with the sheer terror of having to raise a child by myself. I’d learned to manage it over the years, but that terror had never really gone away.

I finally looked up again. Carina didn’t rush to fill the silence, but her eyes shone with unabashed emotion. It wasn’t pity. I couldn’t stand it if it was pity, and her calm presence was what gave me the strength to keep talking.

“I’d asked her to marry me, you know. I thought it was the honorable thing to do, but she said no.” I gave a rueful smile. “Sarah had her own dreams and goals, and they didn’t involve being a footballer’s wife. Plus, if we’d married, we would’ve done it out of obligation rather than love. She thought we both deserved more than that, and she was right. I hadn’t been in love with her, but I’d admired and respected her. She would’ve been—she was—a great mother.”

I tried not to think about how her absence had affected Evie’s life. If I did, I’d spiral. I did my best to fill the role of both parents, but deep down, I knew there were some things only a female role model could provide.

“After her death, my parents offered to raise Evie, but I couldn’t let them do that. My dad had injured himself at work a few years prior, and he wasn’t fully mobile anymore. My mother was busy with her own job as a teacher. They didn’t have the time or energy to raise a newborn. Plus, Evie is my daughter. I didn’t want to give her up, so I took her with me to England. My parents moved here temporarily and helped take care of her until I found a great nanny. Tabitha worked for me for years before she retired. After that…”

“You had trouble finding someone to fill her shoes,” Carina finished when I trailed off.

“Yes. Until I hired you.”

Her entire face softened, and her throat bobbed with a swallow as my words hung in the air.

I’d had my doubts about working with her at first, but Carina was a great nanny. Relaxed yet capable, warm yet disciplined. She was different from the matronly, no-nonsense Tabitha in almost every way, but she was exactly what Evie needed right now.

She might be exactly what you need too.

I shut down that train of thought before it gained momentum. It was destined to hit a dead end, one way or another, and yet…

Our gazes held for a fraction too long before we glanced away at the same time. Carina’s cheeks were pink, and I looked down, my jaw tightening as I tried to steady myself. Thankfully, she shifted the conversation back to Evie’s grandparents before I said something I’d regret.

“What are you going to do about the Andersons?” she asked.

I exhaled, welcoming the change in subject. “I have to talk to a lawyer and figure out next steps. I also have to figure out when and how I’ll introduce them to Evie. No matter how this custody situation shakes out, I can’t deny them the chance to meet her. They’re still her blood relatives.”

“I guess not.” Carina examined me, her brow creasing again. “Do you want to give them shared custody?”

“Of course not.”

“But?”

I should’ve anticipated she’d pick up on my hesitation. She had an eerie ability to see through my bullshit in a way no one else could.

“But they raised some good points. They said they were willing to move to London, if that was what it took. It would solve my long-term nanny problem. And they were right about the impact of my constant work and travel on Evie. She needs more stability.” My chest clenched. “Maybe they’ll do a better job of being there for her than I have.”

For the first time since we sat down, Carina’s composure cracked.

“Noah.” She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “You can’t seriously believe that. You’re an amazing dad, and you’ve done an incredible job of raising her. Look at her. She’s smart, mature, empathetic. Literally the best eleven-year-old I’ve ever met. That’s because of you. Like yeah, maybe some of it is innate, but she couldn’t have grown into who she is without good parenting. So stop selling yourself short.”

“The credit goes to Tabitha. She did the heavy lifting.”

“I doubt that.”

“You weren’t there.”