Page 85 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Come on,” I say, clearing my throat and getting my hands on her waist, smiling at her as her eyes shine up at me. Slowly, I lean down and press a kiss against her lips. She leans into it, not caring about the million cameras flashing in the background.

Quietly, so only she can hear me, I pull back and whisper, “Let’s go home.”

Epilogue – Finn

If there was an MVP for pregnancy performance, I’d have won it, hands down.

Penny has been hard at work helping me manage everything. We’ve color-coded my supplements by time of day and importance. Every day, I take a slew of pills: vitamin D, DHA, iron, calcium, magnesium, probiotics.

My meal plan optimizes fetal development while helping me maintain my energy levels. The kitchen at Sam’s apartment looks like a clinical lab, with macros and nutrients planned out for each meal I eat.

“Dr. Finley Asher,” Dr. Chen laughed, shaking her head when I ran my plan by her. “Optimizing her pregnancy.”

Heart rate, sleep cycles, exercise—everything is tracked and controlled. Sam’s been helping me, taking me to the Burlington Wellness Center for aquatic workout sessions. Easier on my body, gentle on the baby.

Fallon and Lola have been hard at work, planning the baby shower. It feels like every day one of them shows up with a new thing Ijust have to have, whether it’s a tiny little Vipers jersey or a high-tech baby gadget Fallon wants to get out of their house.

And having both been pregnant, they are there to talk me through my fears, through the strange sensations and illusions that I won’t be able to do it. That there’s something fundamentally wrong with my body.

“You are capable of so much more than you know,” Lola said one day, holding my hair back for me as I threw up in the middle of brunch. “Imagine what the guys would be like pregnant.”

I laughed, remembering how laid out Sam was when he got a cold. Pregnancy would level him.

“That’s right,” Lola said, laughing and rubbing my back. “You’ve got this.”

Penny and I have treated this project like any other. We analyzed pregnancy pillow firmness. Created flow charts for various scenarios. Interviewed potential midwives and pediatricians.All this to say that I’ve planned every single minute of my pregnancy. Done everything in my power to negate any sort of stress or upset.

And yet, here I am. Four months in, and doing something I absolutely shouldnotbe doing. My hair whips around my face, the roar of the air deafening. I got strange looks when I showed up at the airfield with Sam, visibly pregnant.

But I’m not the one jumping.

“Ready for round two, hockey star?” Leila asks, grinning at Sam. Her braid is tucked into her jumpsuit, and, as always, she’s the picture of calm. I wonder how someone who jumps out of planes for a living finds their thrills.

The plane levels out at jumping altitude. Through the open door, we can see the landing zone below, impossibly far away, down on the ground. Small.

On the way in, Sam told me this would be different than last time, saying, “I’m excited to show you what I can do.” I’d rolled my eyes at him, but he carried on, “The fear is still there, but it’s not controlling me anymore.”

I’ve talked to Sam about my fear, too.

Our baby registry is organized by developmental stage, and everything is in place. I’ve been preparing for this for a long time, and still sometimes I find myself gripped with fear. Fearthat I might not be a good mother, or that I might end up like the people who abandoned me.

My biggest fear, of course, is that something might happen to my baby before I can get them into the world.

“We’ll deal with everything as it comes,” Sam said, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes serious as he locked gazes with me. “I wantyou, Finn. Baby or not. It’s important to me that you know that.”

Sometimes, sitting alone and reviewing my labor preparation or analyzing my latest blood work, the baby kicks. The slightest flutter that’s completely outside my control reminds me that once our baby does come, they’ll build their own life separate from mine.

I’m growing a life inside me that won’t care about my schedules and plans, and something about that is oddly comforting.

“Feeling good?” Leila asks now, starting the final equipment check. When Sam nods, she continues, “Remember, arms crossed until I tap your shoulder, just like we practiced on the ground.”

Below us, Vermont is spread out like a patchwork quilt, the early summer sun turning Lake Champlain into liquid gold. It’s gorgeous, breathtaking. I watch Sam look out the window and grasp at that familiar warmth in my chest. The sun catches in his hair, his strong jaw line accentuated by the light.

My body looks different in pregnancy, and it hadn’t occurred to me to be nervous about how Sam might feel about that until he revealed exactly how he did: great.

My arms and legs are a little thicker, like my entire body is a ply heavier to help me carry out baby. Sam can’t get enough of it. If anything, it’s like he’smoreattracted to me, now that I’m pregnant.

Once, he growled against my chest and said, “I can’t help it. Every time I see you, I just want to take a bite out of you.”

---