Page 8 of A Stag Family Christmas

"Shit," she says. "I don’t know why I'm this tired. I mean, I've been going hard but notthathard. I didn't even row today."

"You missed your workout?" Juniper has never missed a workout since I've known her. She holds meetings from the indoor rowing machine sometimes if shit is really busy, with her assistant taking notes while Juniper bangs out a few miles. "You feeling ok, babe?"

"Hmm," she says. "I guess I'm not. I'm really run down. When are you back?"

I promise her I'll take the redeye, fly home before the team. My JJ needs me. "I'm going to take you to the doctor tomorrow morning. Get some sleep, babe. Whatever you were going to do tonight can wait." She yawns, and I try not to worry. I clean out my hotel room quickly and text my manager that I'm skipping town early. As I hail a cab to the airport, I feel this sinking sense of dread that I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

I know this is my job. It's not like I'm out of town getting laid or sitting on the beach somewhere. But my family needs me and I’m not there. That’s not ok. They've all come to expect me to not be helpful, and more and more, that pisses me off. I stare out the window, thinking how much my shoulder hurts and how empty my win feels knowing the people I love are hurting, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Juniper is out cold when I get home, and in the furor of Election Day, she won't agree to go with me to the doctor in the morning. We walk to the polls together and I don't even pull on a baseball cap. I want to be seen voting for my JJ. I hear some of the poll workers explaining to people in line that they can't just show up here to vote--they have to go vote in their own neighborhood. Once I click the button I walk over and sign some autographs, encourage them to go back to make their vote count.

Some of them follow us when we start driving to her campaign headquarters, but I don't mind that either. I promise Juniper I'll put them all to work for her when we arrive. It weighs on me that she has dark circles under her eyes. Alice is chipper as always, greeting us with breakfast sandwiches and bunches of hot coffee, but I see her frown when Juniper runs off to the bathroom to throw up. "It's just nerves, right?" I ask my brother Tim. He scratches his chin and makes eye contact with Alice. Whatever. I don't have time to interpret their secret eyeball language.

I start making calls for Juniper. I love this part of helping her campaign. Every time I get a potential voter on the phone, I reassure them that yes, it's really me. Yes, hockey players care about political stuff…it helps when my hot-ass wife is the one running for office.

By mid-day, it seems like we are doing really well and I convince Juniper to come sit and have a sandwich. She really seems to perk up after that.

I spend some time goofing off with my brothers around the campaign office. I can’t think of the last time we all spent time together like this. It must have been since before pre-season started for me.

Emma stayed home today. Thatcher said she doesn't want to get involved, since her dad is running for re-election, too, and she kind of hates her dad. We don't talk about the pregnancy thing. From what Tim said, Emma still doesn't want to go through with it…but she's sort of on a timeline for when she has to make that choice. My guts ache for Thatcher, thinking about his position right now. It's not like he's always wanted to be a dad, but he and Emma have a good thing going. He's really great with our nephew. I shake my head and get back to the phones. No time to worry about all this stuff today.

The polls close at 8 and Juniper is nowhere to be seen. Some folks are here from the news, which makes me really wish we had Emma around, because she knows how to talk to these reporters. Emma works for a huge newspaper and her writing is the main reason I ever read anything anymore. Television reporters give Emma more space if she’s ever hanging around me, since she works with them at the Post.

I guess I’m the next best thing to Juniper, wherever she is, and I sidle up to talk to the press. “Hey, guys, what's the good news?" I ask them, hoping I can buy some time until my wife turns up.Where the hell would she go right now?I wonder.

I shoot the shit with some of the reporters, trying to keep the conversation related to the Fury since I have no idea how to talk about politics stuff. It’s a little weird to me that being a judge is something you have to get voted into, not promoted. But whatever, Juniper will kick ass either way. I'm neck deep in a conversation about our playoff potential for this season when I finally see Juniper coming down the hallway. She must have been in the back doing…god knows what.

Her campaign manager-slash-rowing coach runs up and grabs her arm. He shouts excitedly, "Did you see the reports, Juniper? You're in!"

She doesn't answer him. She must be overcome with happiness. I can relate. Sometimes it takes a minute for good news to sink in. She makes a face at me, connects with my eyes and locks me in place with her stare. “JJ,” I say, walking toward her. "Did you hear Derek? You won, babe."

"I'm pregnant," she says, and I look down to see she's holding a white plastic stick. Camera flashes start popping and all the sound leaves as the walls close in around me. The stick in her hand sayspregnantin bright blue letters.

8

TIM

Alice shakes me awake much earlier than I need to be up. We are supposed to go buy a Christmas tree later, even though it's not December yet. Alice insists we need the tree up and decorated by the time we host Thanksgiving here and I'm trying not to think about all those people in my houseplushaving to string lights and sweep up tree needles.

"Babe, it's not even light out yet," I grumble, but she plunks Petey on my stomach and there's no going back to sleep after that. He starts patting my face and pulling my hair, so I pretend I'm a grizzly bear and growl at him for awhile until I hear the magic words from downstairs.

"Guys! Breakfast is ready!"

"What do you say, Champ?" I ask Petey, tossing him upside down over my shoulder.

"Let's eeeeeeeeeat!" he yells as I jiggle him around. We pass my grandmother in the hall on our way past and she smiles. I love seeing the look in her eyes when she sees me with my son. I just never imagined this part of my future, and so each day that I'm here with my family in a home—a real home, not just a house—it feels like a dream I never even hoped to wish for. I kiss my Gram on the cheek.

"Timber," she says, pulling up a chair in the dining room. "I think you need to go talk to Emma."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Pretty sure Thatcher has that under control, Gram. Alice, this is amazing." She made muffins and sliced strawberries, although Petey has eaten most of those by the time I reach over to grab the bowl.

My grandmother shakes her head. "Thatcher's panicking. Emma is, too. You're good in a crisis." Grabbing a plate and a coffee, she heads back upstairs without a look back. That's her M-O. She drops truth bombs and takes off to play bridge online.

Alice sits next to me and rubs my leg while I chew. "I think she might be right," she says.

Talking with my mouth full, I ask, "Shouldn'tyoutalk to her? You're the one who experienced getting pregnant unexpectedly!"

Alice nods and ponders that for a minute. "Yeah," she says. "That's true, Tim, but I think your grandma is right about this. Emma listens to you, in a competitive, wise-old-man type of way."

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