Page 152 of The Goal

Before I can lean down to kiss her, a hearty cry wails through the apartment.

“Andthat,” I murmur, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to either one of us.”

A tear breaks free from her lashes and slides down her cheek. “Yes. It is.”

Jamie lets out another bloodcurdling shriek, and we both hurry toward the corridor that leads to the bedrooms. Right outside the nursery door, though, I stop Sabrina by taking her hand.

“She can cry for five more seconds,” I decide. “We’re trying out that self-soothing thing anyway, remember?”

Her lips quiver with humor. “I thought you were against it.” She deepens her voice and gives it a drawl to mimic me. “‘I ain’t gonna let my princess suffer, darlin’. What kind of father does that?’”

My jaw drops in outrage. “I did not sayain’t.”

“You may as well have.”

Rolling my eyes, I tug her toward me and capture her bottom lip between my teeth. Sabrina moans in response, which wakes up my cock.

“I wanted a kiss,” I grumble against her mouth. “Not sex noises.”

“Too bad. You’re getting both.” She proceeds to stick her tongue in my mouth and kiss the shit out of me until we’re both making sex noises.

When we break apart, we’re both laughing and breathing hard, and Jamie is still screaming her displeasure to anyone who’ll listen.

“C’mon, let’s go wait on the princess,” Sabrina says with a smile.

She gives my ass a playful smack, and then we walk into the nursery, hand in hand, to see our daughter.

EPILOGUE

SABRINA

One Year Later

Tucker walks ahead of me into the private box at TD Garden. He’s holding a squirming Jamie in his arms, but her efforts to wiggle out of his grip are futile, because her daddy’s strong as fuck. Ever since she started walking, she’s demanding to go everywhere on her own two little feet. And she’s frickin’ fast. I swear, I turn my head and the kid isgone. Lately I’ve been rethinking my opinion on parents who leash their children.

“Sorry we’re late,” Tucker tells the room.

Several heads turn in our direction. I don’t recognize half the people in this executive suite, but the ones I do recognize bring a happy smile to my lips.

“You’re here!” Grace jumps up from her seat and races over to us. “Logan is going to be so psyched that you made it.”

“We almost didn’t,” Tucker says ruefully. He ruffles our daughter’s reddish-brown hair. “The little princess couldn’t decide which uncle’s jersey she wanted to wear.”

“Ha,” I say with a snort. “Shecouldn’t decide?” I give Grace a warm hug and then turn to do the same to Hannah, who’s wandered over to say hi. “Tuck is the one who was moaning and griping about it.”

“And yet you chose neither,” Hannah points out, grinning at Jamie’spink hockey jersey, which has the wordsDaddy’s Girlstitched onto the back.

Custom-made, of course. Tucker likes to get things custom-made. Probably because the ridiculous shit he comes up with in his head isn’t available to normal consumers.

“She’ll start alternating,” Tucker promises. “One game she’ll wear G’s jersey, the next she’ll wear Logan’s. Hey, Jean. Good to see you.” He steps forward to hug Logan’s mother, who is beaming with pride.

I don’t blame her. Her son is about to make his debut in the pros, after spending a year playing for something Tuck calls the “farm team.” I still haven’t bothered to study up on hockey. I’m too busy working my butt off in my second year at Harvard. Somehow, I managed to make it through my first year without having a nervous breakdown. I even madeLaw Review, much to Lettuce Head’s—a.k.a. Kale’s—dismay.

Tucker’s doing well too. The bar turned a bigger profit in its first year than either of us had expected. Some of the money was set aside for a college fund for Jamie, but he’s planning on investing the rest in a second location. Downtown, this time, which will either be a huge bust or a smashing success. I have faith in my man, so I’m going with the second one.

“Sugar,” Tucker curses, his gaze shifting to the huge window that overlooks the arena. “The game’s already started?”

“Only two minutes into the first period,” Hannah assures him. “Logan hasn’t even played a shift yet.”

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