The Langfield Brothers: Box Set

38. Millie

THIRTY-EIGHT

MILLIE

I check the time on my phone for the fifth time in the last two minutes. Have I waited long enough? I don’t want to chance another run-in with miserable Gavin, but I want to be there in case Vivi wakes up. I missed her tonight.

Since dinner ended two hours ago, I’ve been sitting in the corner of the lobby, typing out fragments of lyrics into my phone. My brother and Camden tried to convince me to come out for a drink with them—risky, since they have a game tomorrow and they have an early curfew—but I wasn’t interested.

And since I also had no interest in being glared at, I avoided our hotel room in hopes that Gavin would be asleep when I returned.

It’s after eleven now. With the early morning he has, I’m sure Gavin is hiding in the bedroom, and I’ll be able to quickly change and settle on the couch until Vivi decides she wants her middle-of-the-night bottle.

The sound of the lock clicking is loud in the dim, silent hall. I push the door open and blink at the light from the lamp in the corner. Gavin is perched there, with his attention fixed on his phone. Vivi is fast asleep in her Pack ’n’ Play beside him.

Confused, I skirt the pull-out couch and peek in on her. Chubby fingers grip her binky loosely, and her face is relaxed as her chest rises and falls steadily.

I peer over at Gavin. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

He still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Enjoy dinner with your brother?”

“Yeah, it was fine.”

“Was it just the two of you?” He finally lifts his chin and locks those dark eyes on me.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe, and I drop a knee to the edge of the bed to keep from wobbling. Gavin’s eyes don’t warm as they meet mine, but I can’t stop my perusal of him. He’s in a Bolts T-shirt, and his brown hair is mussed. His eyes widen as if he’s waiting for me to answer him, but I’ve forgotten his question.

“Um, what?”

As I move to sit on the bed, he holds up his hand. “I’m staying out here with Vivi. Take the bed.”

This again? I sigh as I push to a stand. “It’s my job to wake up with her. You have to be up early with the team. Go sleep in the bed. I got this.”

“No.” His voice is clipped, his face a hard mask that doesn’t even resemble the man I once knew.

“Are you upset with me?”

His glare hardens further, if that’s possible. “I’m nothing with you. I thought I was clear about that. You work for me.”

The words are sharpened, thrown with the intent to maim. To draw blood. To hurt.

And they land perfectly, flaying me open, making it difficult to breathe. When his expression remains angry, the pain intensifies, like he’s pushing the knife in deeper. Unable to take his wrath for even a second longer, I spin on my heel and head for the bedroom door, slamming it shut and pressing my back to it. A breath later, Vivi is crying and Gavin is muttering a not so quiet fuck .

Fuck is right.

Now not only do I not feel like I’m enough, but I feel worthless too.

This is so not working.

My plan for the next ten days is to avoid Gavin as best as I can. Fortunately, when we arrive at the next hotel, there are two bedrooms in the suite. Despite my protests, he brings Vivi’s playpen into his room, making it clear that he’s going to fight me on her sleeping near him every night.

The next morning, hoping to gauge how our day will go, I ask how she slept. He merely glares at me. Without knowing, though, it’s hard to be tuned into when she needs a nap or to determine whether she’s eating enough to satisfy her.

So I resort to a little stalking. I noticed at home that he had a few parenting books on the counter that were suspiciously gone when we were leaving the apartment to head to the team plane. I wait until Gavin leaves for the arena and then tiptoe into his room, my eyes darting in every direction like I’m in a James Bond film.

Though my body aches to lie on his pillow and soak in the scent of him, my mind is wise enough to know I have little time and that would only derail any progress I’ve made on the be strong front.

For Vivi and for Gavin, I need to not be a lovesick twenty-four-year-old girl. I need to be a woman on a mission. And I am. Gavin didn’t make it hard either. The books are stacked on the nightstand, a pen pushing the top of one up, letting me know precisely what he was reading last night. When I open the book and see blue underlines throughout the page and his messy writing in the margins, my heart breaks.

The section relates to an infant’s memory and how using bright objects could help stimulate their brain.

At four months, infants can remember an image of an object for a week. They can remember photographs of faces for two weeks. Your baby will be able to remember objects or faces for longer periods of time as they grow older .

His notes: Ask doc how much a baby will remember at six months. Does she remember her mother? Will she know she was abandoned? What signs should I watch out for? How can I make sure she knows she’s loved?

Tears stream down my face. While I’ve been focused on how Gavin treats me, he’s focused on this. As he should be.

I go through each one of the notes in the margins of his books, promising myself that I’ll spend the day researching the answers. Then I do a crazy thing, and I leave a response to a few of the less heart-wrenching questions.

Is she getting enough tummy time? He wrote on the next page.

In blue writing, I reply. She doesn’t love it, but if I lay flat on my belly and sing to her, we can normally get fifteen minutes done.

I hold my breath practically all night, worrying that I overstepped and he’ll walk into my room and fire me on the spot. But the next morning, he watches me for a long moment as he’s saying goodbye to Vivi, and then, if I’m not mistaken, he almost smiles.

I practically run into his room as soon as he leaves and search for the page in question.

There is no response to my note, but on the next page it says: Vivi slept through the night for the first time.

The grin that takes over my face is completely irrational. Like the man wrote me a love letter in those nine words.

It can barely be considered progress, but over the next few days, we exchange notes back and forth in the margins of his books. It gives me the tiniest bit of hope that he doesn’t hate having me as Vivi’s nanny anymore.

During our last stop—in LA—it’s hard not to soak in the perfect weather, even if I am ready to head back to Boston and get back into a routine. Vivi and I are sitting outside. She’s in her stroller, gnawing on a teething toy while I once again play on my phone, working on my latest song.

“Oh, Vivi girl, what rhymes with pick?”

“Dick!” Sara sings as she saunters up, wearing a big smile. When she spots Vivi, though, her face goes red. “Oh shit. Don’t tell Gavin I said that.” She cups her mouth and winces. “Shit, not shit. I meant duck.”

I giggle. “Don’t tell duck you said that?”

“No. Duck instead of shit. And maybe instead of dick? I don’t know. The Langfields confuse me sometimes.”

I laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Sara crouches beside the stroller. “Hey, little Viv. How’s it going?”

The cutie’s eyes widen, and she latches on to Sara’s hand and pulls it toward her mouth.

“She’s teething pretty bad,” I explain as Sara gently extricates herself. I dig through my bag and pull out the Ziploc containing a cold, damp towel I brought for her to gnaw on.

Sara points to the seat beside me. “Mind if I join you?”

I shake my head and shift to give her more space.

“God,” she says, lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes. “It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

“It is.” It’s sunny and seventy. So very different from the weather at home.

“You must be ready to get back, though. Hotel life with a baby can’t be easy.” Sara turns to me, her blue eyes warm and her expression soft.

With a slow breath out, I let myself relax. I haven’t spent much time with her, but she seems down-to-earth, and if she’s as cool as Lennox says, I think we’ll be good.

“She’s not the problem. If not for the teething, I’m pretty sure this girl would be fine anywhere.”

“So who is the problem?” Sara asks, giving me a knowing look.

“Oh, no one.” I plaster a big, phony smile to my face.

“Hmm, I know a certain someone who also likes wearing a fake smile. Name rhymes with pick too.”

I giggle. “Gavin’s not a dick. He’s just—” I breathe out a resigned sigh. “He’s got a lot on his plate.”

“And the woman he’s obsessed with is now his nanny, and he can’t touch her.”

My jaw drops open, and all the air leaves my lungs. “How…?”

She grins. “I’ve been where you are, babe. Slightly delusional and unaware that a Langfield is obsessed. Want some advice?”

My chin tips up and down, like it’s got a mind of its own, because my brain certainly isn’t on board with discussing this so openly.

“You’re his Peaches.”

I cough out an uncomfortable laugh as my heart trips over itself. “What?”

A wistful smile crosses her face, and she pats my hand, rubbing her thumb over my wrist.

For a second, I’m distracted by the move, but I forget about the odd interaction when she continues. “Even when you were apart, he kept you close.”

“How so?” As far as I know, we hid our relationship from everyone.

Sara shakes her head, her blond ponytail swaying. “Just…” She presses her lips together. “Just pay attention to the little things. He still keeps a piece of you close to him. He’s not over you. And if you’re here to prove to him that you’re all-in, then you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

My heart thunders against my ribcage as I consider her words. “And what is that?”

Sara nods toward Vivi. “Putting her first. But,” she says, bumping my shoulder, “can I give you a little hint as to how to maybe move this along a little quicker?”

Once again, I cough out a shocked laugh at her persistence. “Sure?”

She leans in close. “Do you know about the jersey thing?”

I frown. “The what?”

“Oh goodie. You don’t.” She claps, making Vivi grin and wave her hands, trying to mimic her. “I didn’t know about it either until a few months ago, but let me tell you, it works.” Teeth pressed into her bottom lip, she fights a grin. “Although you should encourage Gavin to sanitize his desk at the arena when we get back. It’s seen things.” The face she makes is half cringe, half starry-eyed smile, if that’s possible.

“You’ve lost me.”

“The first time Brooks saw me in his jersey, he fucking lost it. You should have heard the feral tone he used on me. I wish I had a recording of it. That sucker would come in useful on the nights when—” She shakes her head. “Actually, there’s never really a night when he doesn’t give me the D, so I guess I don’t truly need a recording.”

A surprised “oh” slips out of my mouth, and my cheeks heat.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” She grimaces. “I’m totally making you uncomfortable. Sorry. Sometimes I go off on tangents and forget that not everyone is as insane and open as I am.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” I smile. “But it’s good. Now tell me about this jersey thing.”