No. I shake those thoughts from my head. Sure, I want to leave Aaron because I know what we have isn’t love anymore—it may have never been. I think we were just young, and I was mystified by the fact that someone wanted to call me theirs.
But save me? From what? His words? His callousness? I could have it so much worse.
Thankfully, Aaron is just type-A and has control freak tendencies—he’s very particular about a lot of things, like how I dress, how I do my hair, what perfume I wear, what the house looks like, how his suits are pressed, what I’m allowed to read, and what he deems worthy of my time. I used to appreciate his decisiveness; I thought it was a redeeming quality.
If he knew I got this nannying job, he would demand I quit immediately. Of course I had to tell him something to cover my tracks. I told him a former classmate of mine had a baby and needed someone to help watch her daughter until she could find a more permanent solution. He doesn’t know I have a separate bank account where McKenna direct-deposits my paychecks.
Aaron was ecstatic for me to start “practicing” for our future children. When he said that, it was near impossible to hold back the gut-wrenching nausea at the thought of having children with him. That’s another thing I’ve had to hide from him—the IUD I got at the women’s free clinic a couple of months back.
I’ve been slowly coming around to the idea of leaving him for a few months now. Things took a turn when he thought I was “eye-fucking” one of his colleagues at a work dinner this summer. When we got home that evening, he was more cruel than ever. He showed me a side of himself I can’t unsee.
Needing to change my headspace to ease my anxiety, I roll down my windows and blast one of my favorite songs, “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks, as I finish my drive.
A few minutes later, I put my car in park in front of McKenna’s brother’s house and roll up my windows before turning off the ignition.
Walking in through the front door of the house, I turn to hang up my coat and come face-to-chest with the most divine-smelling specimen.
“Whoa, Austin. Where’s the fire?” he asks in a teasing tone as he catches me by the shoulders. Looking up, I find the most bewitching blue eyes sparkling back at me.
Carson Wilder is trouble with a capital T. It should be sinful the way my new employer’s twin brother fills out a three-piece suit. His beachy blonde tresses are a slightly darker honey, still wet from the shower. The forest green suit he’s wearing is paired with a crisp white dress shirt with one too many buttons undone on top—likely intentional so the gold chain he seems to never take off can peek out. My eyes trail down his expansive chest and catch on his antique gold Rolex adorned on his wrist. He finishes off the look with cognac loafers that match his dress belt. And when did I become so turned on by seeing a man’s bare ankles peek from his tailored suit pants?
He looks as good as sin. I shouldn't be gawking at another man while I'm still technically married—especially a man who is much younger than I am. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I’m two years shy of thirty while he just earned the right to legally drink alcohol.
But I can’t help my attraction toward him. Anyone who says they don’t find this man attractive is a bald-faced liar.
“No fire. I just didn’t see you there.” I take a few steps back. “Good morning, Carson.”
“Good morning. I think I like it better when you call me Mr. Wilder or Golden Boy.”
“Is that so?” I chuckle nervously.
“Mhmm. It makes me feel special,” he muses with a cocky smirk.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got your first game today. I’m sure the thousands of people who will be cheering for you will make you feel extra special.”
“There may be thousands of people screaming my name, but the only spectator I’m interested in playing for today is you. Are you ready to take in your first hockey game?”
I nod my head in response, causing a piece of hair to slip from the claw clip that’s holding my hair up off my face. Ever the gentleman, Carson steps forward and brushes the fallen strands behind my ear. His movements aren’t hesitant; confidence pours out of him at all times. Instead of pulling away, his hand lingers momentarily, his thumb swiping across my cheek. When he pulls away, his fingertips gently trace my jaw, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.
His touch is dizzying and dangerous. I take a large step back and he flexes his hand at his side. “I should probably go get Cadence ready for your game. Did McKenna say when she would be back from practice?”
Carson puts his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and rocks back on his heels, making him look relaxed again and effortlessly sexy. “She should be back within half an hour. I think she just had morning conditioning, not a full practice. I appreciate you coming earlier to help out.”
“No need to thank me. It’s part of my job, Carson.”
“Even though it may be part of the job, I’d still like to thank you. I can see some of the weight has lifted off of Mack’s shoulders since you started. She always felt guilty asking my mom for help watching Cadence. I’m not sure why, because my mom adores her granddaughter.”
“I get where your sister is coming from. She told me she felt bad because she wanted your parents to be able to enjoy being empty nesters. If anything, I should thank your sister for giving me this opportunity. I don’t think anyone understands how badly I needed a fresh start.” The words barely leave my lips before I wince at what I’ve just let slip.
Before Carson can ask me anything, I take off toward the playpen in the living room, where I see Cadence playing. She squeals in excitement when she sees me, and a sense of calm washes over me.
“How was your morning, little darlin’?” I ask as I pick her up in a hug.
“What did you mean by needing a fresh start?” Carson asks from behind me.
My shoulders stiffen at the sound of his voice. I close my eyes and scold myself for being so careless with my words. “Oh my, did I say fresh start? I meant to say something to bide my time. You know, until I figure out what I’d like to do with my degree.” I don’t dare turn around, knowing if I do, he will see how bad of a liar I am.
“Austin—” he starts but is cut off by an alarm sounding from his phone.
