Page 67 of Huge Pucking Play

She takes a deep breath, and I see a flicker of the fight that I love in her eyes.

"I trust you," she says. "I'm just not used to having someone fight my battles."

"I'm not fighting it for you. We're fighting it together." I sit beside her again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I want to protect you and our baby. But I also respect that you can handle yourself. Consider me your extremely motivated partner in this particular showdown."

That earns me a real smile, small but genuine. I press my lips to the soft skin at her temple.

"Marjorie picked the wrong person to mess with," I murmur. "She just doesn't know it yet."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, her body warm against mine. I can almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind. When she finally speaks, her voice is steadier, but the words cut through me.

“I’m trying but I just can’t shake this fear.”

"Tell me what’s going through your mind," I say softly.

She looks down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. "I watched my mom struggle after my dad left. She worked three jobs sometimes. We lived paycheck to paycheck." Her voice thickens. "She never got to have a career. Just jobs that paid the bills."

I wait, sensing there's more.

"I promised myself I'd never be in that position. Never be dependent on anyone but myself." She looks up at me, her green eyes fierce despite the tears gathering in them. "And now—with the baby—I'm scared."

"Of depending on me," I finish for her.

She nods. "I don't want to need you financially. I don't want that to be why we're together."

"It's not." I take her hand, feeling an electric current between us, a connection that grounds me. "And it never will be."

"You say that now, but?—"

"No." I cut her off gently but firmly. "This isn't something I'm saying lightly, Cyn. I need you to hear me." I shift to face her directly. "I've been smart with my money. Fifteen years in the NHL, good investments. I'm set. Not just comfortable—secure."

She starts to speak, but I continue.

"I'm not telling you this to brag. I'm telling you because I need you to understand that if you leaned on me financially—temporarily or permanently—it wouldn't create an imbalance between us."

"It would for me," she says quietly.

I nod, respecting her feelings. "I understand that. And I'm not asking you to give up your career or your independence. I want you to keep being the kick-ass physical therapist you are. But I also need you to know that you have options. That we have options."

She's quiet for a moment, processing. "This isn't how I planned things."

"Life rarely goes according to plan." I smile slightly.

She shakes her head slightly.

"I'm not asking you to depend on me," I say, more serious now. "I'm asking you to trust that we can face this together. As equals. Your contribution to our relationship—to our family—isn't measured by your paycheck."

"That's easy for you to say," she counters.

"Maybe so." I acknowledge the truth in her words. "But consider this—what if the situation were reversed? What if I was the one who needed support? Would you think less of me?"

"Of course not."

"Then give yourself the same grace." I brush a loose strand of hair from her face. "And know that whatever happens with Marjorie and the team, we'll handle it. You won't lose everything you've worked for."

She leans against me again, some of the tension leaving her body. "I still want to fight for my job."

"And we will. Hard." I press my lips to her forehead. "But I need you to stop worrying about the worst-case scenario. It's not good for you or the baby."

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