I'm not going to tell him I know. Not until he tells me himself. Because if I tell him I overheard, he doesn't get to choose to tell me—he just has to confirm something I already have. He needs to be the one who decides when I get to know. He needs to be the one who hands it to me.
And I owe him that. I owe him the chance to choose.
I'm good at waiting for things people aren't ready to give me yet. I've been doing it for two years. I waited for my mother's voice to stop being the first sound I expected when I picked up my phone. I know how to wait.
So I'll wait for this.
When he came back into the living room and told me, in the dark, that he meant what he said at the park, I almost saidI heard everything.Almost saidI love you anyway.Almost saidwhatever it is, you don’t have to be afraid of telling me.
I saidI'm terrifiedinstead, which was also true.
The train slows. We're coming into a station I don't recognize, and the announcement crackles through the speakers in that bored voice train announcements always have. Harper makes a small sleeping noise against my chest, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.
I'll wait. Until he's ready.
And if he never is… well. That's also a thing I'll know. But I don't think that's where this is going.
Emma's waiting at the platform with Ethan and Sofia, both kids bouncing with excitement when they see Harper.
"Baby!" Sofia shrieks, reaching for the carrier.
"Gentle," Emma reminds her, scooping her up. "We'll see Harper at the house. Come on, let's get you guys settled before the game."
Emma and Chase's house is beautiful—a renovated colonialin a quiet neighborhood with a huge backyardandan ice rink. Ethan immediately drags me to see his room, Sofia toddling after us, and by the time we're back downstairs, Emma's got coffee waiting.
"Tyler's going to lose his mind when he sees you," she says, settling onto the couch with her own mug. "He texted Chase this morning, complaining about away games. Said he hates being away from you two."
"He said that?"
"His exact words were, ‘This would be better if my girls were here.'" Emma grins. "Hisgirls, Nora. Not just Harper."
I busy myself with Harper's bottle, not ready to examine what that means.
I look up at Emma, and for a second, I think about telling her I overheard last night. That I know.
I don't.
She looks at me a moment longer than she needs to, like maybe she's clocking something on my face, but she doesn't say anything either. We drink our coffee. Sofia steals one of Ethan's blocks and gets yelled at in the next room.
We head to the arena around twelve-thirty, early enough to get good seats in the family section. The Wolves’ arena is bigger than Ridgeport's, louder, more intimidating. Emma navigates us through the crowds with practiced ease, Sofia on her hip and Ethan holding my hand. I slip Harper’s ear defenders on her before we get too close to the rink, and she tolerates them with the resigned patience of a baby who has done this before.
"Mama, I want popcorn," Ethan announces.
"After we find our seats."
Once we settle into the family section, Emma’s already digging snacks out of her bag, including the promised popcorn, which Ethan accepts happily.
I’m immediately aware that this is different from home games. Here, everyone knows Emma—she’s Chase’s wife.People say hello, coo over Sofia, and ask about Chase’s injury from a few seasons ago.
And then they look at me with Harper and make assumptions.
"Is this Tyler's daughter?" one woman asks, leaning over. "She's beautiful."
"Yes, this is Harper."
"And you're..."
"Nora. I'm—"The nanny, I should say.Just the nanny. "I'm with Tyler."