Page 33 of The Keeper

“Yes. I was just asking Dad to buy me a city hoodie. It’s my favorite travel souvenir.” She peered up at me, her eyes so similar to his that they were practically a carbon copy. “What do you want him to get you?”

“He doesn’t need to get me anything. I’m—” I almost said I’m just an employee, but that didn’t feel right, even if it was technically true. “I’m not a big souvenir person.”

“Really?” Evie sounded baffled. “Why not?”

“Because not everyone likes to hoard sweaters the way you do,” Noah cut in. A teasing note tempered his otherwise gruff tone. “Do you have everything you need for school? Supplies? Snacks? Homework?”

Evie’s eyes rounded. “Oops. I forgot my maths worksheet upstairs. Be right back!” She grabbed her backpack out of my hand and ran upstairs.

“Watch out,” Noah said after she was gone. “She tends to get a little hyper when I’m away.”

Evie had slept over at her friend’s house the last time he’d had an away match, so this was my first time taking care of her overnight.

“We’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I know how to handle hyper kids.”

“You have my number, but if you can’t reach me for whatever reason, I emailed you Coach’s number, my agent’s number, and the number of the hotel we’re staying at. Remember, turn off screens at least an hour before bedtime. That includes her phone, which she’s limited to using for one hour when she’s at home. Don’t let her stay up too late no matter how much she begs, or she’ll be a zombie at school the next day. If⁠—”

“Noah. Relax.” I placed my hands on his shoulders. He was six-one and I was five-four, so it was a bit of a reach, but he needed to calm down before he freaked me out. “This is not my first day or even first week. I got this. Stop worrying, get your head straight, and go kick Holchester’s ass.”

“Right.” He blew out a long breath. It took a minute, but his muscles eventually relaxed, and I released him. “Are you going to watch the match?”

“You mean, on the telly?”

“Yes, unless you and Evie have a trip I didn’t know about.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” I huffed. “Football’s boring, but if there’s nothing else on, I might watch it.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “Boring? You’ve been to every home match, Vu.”

“To support my girls, who are there to support their boys. You are neither my girl nor my boy.” I smiled sweetly up at him. “Let me know how it goes when you get home.”

“Who’s being the smart-ass now?” he muttered. But I swore I saw the shadow of a smile as he headed toward the exit.

“Wilson.”

He stopped and looked back at me.

“Good luck,” I said.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then his expression softened, and he gave a short nod before he disappeared into the hall.

I remained in the kitchen, my palms still warm from where I’d touched his shoulders. I had the ridiculous urge to run after him and say one more thing—though what that one thing might be, I had no clue.

Also, I lied. I totally watched Blackcastle’s match against Holchester the next evening.

Once Evie finished her homework and piano practice, and I’d called my parents for a check-in after suffering through thirty minutes on the treadmill—they’d finally replaced all their ruined furniture and were fully settled back in at home, thank God—I made us a big bowl of popcorn and turned on the TV in the den.

I really did think football in general was boring, but I was invested in the Blackcastle team, so their matches were the only ones I cared about.

Unfortunately, Holchester was giving them a run for their money tonight. The first half was drawing to a close, and no one had scored yet.

I munched mindlessly on the popcorn, my eyes wandering the room during a lull in the action. Vincent and the Holchester captain were arguing with the referee, their faces twin masks of frustration.

There was a tall stack of letters and postcards on the side table. Noah said it was fan mail, but they’d been there since last week. I was tempted to open one just to see what fan mail looked like, but even I knew that would be crossing a line.

I glanced over at Evie instead and caught her yawning into her hand.

“Do you like watching football?” I asked. I’d assumed she did, but I might’ve overestimated her interest in the sport. Just because her dad was a player didn’t mean she loved it too.