Page 68 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

At the same time, I love my sisters. I love the idea of growing a big, nosy, stepping-over-boundaries family. Of having my own chance to do things differently than my parents did. I’ve thought about having kids with the same distant sense ofmaybe one daythat I’ve thought about having a wife and a life after hockey.

Which is to say, I haven’t thought about it much. Or often.

The very first time I considered it with any kind of concrete idea was the night I met Amelia. Before I realized who she was. Then I tried to shove all those thoughts into a storage bin in the attic of my mind.

Until yesterday, when thoughts I shouldn’t have started plaguing me again.

Until now, when I’m absolutely wondering about possibilities.

Though I certainly didn’t mean to lead our conversation here at this exact moment. I really just wanted Wave to stop messing with straps so close to my crotch.

But as Amelia’s pale blue eyes search mine, I find myself imagining me on my hands and knees as I play monster the same way my dad did with me and my sisters—on the very rare occasions he wasn’t working. Before our parents’ divorce and the carousel ride of new partners, new spouses, new exes.

I won’t do that to my kids. It won’t be rare to play with them. Not an exception. It will be thenorm. If I’m going to do the family thing someday, I’ll be home more, play with them more, have laughter and squeals of delight be my new soundtrack, replacing the slice and swish of blades on ice and the resounding thump of a puck hitting the boards.

Another sound exists in this vision too, jarring me when I realize it’s Amelia’s laugh.

I blink, and then I can see her there too.

We’re in a backyard in summer, the scent of grass and something grilling close by. Dirt pressing into my knees and palms as I chase a little blond girl with pigtails, sudden weight digging into my back as a boy tries to tackle me. Amelia’s laughter rises over soft music playing from somewhere. She’s watching me with a wide smile, sitting in an Adirondack chair, a baby curled up against her chest, a tuft of dark hair like downy duck fluff on top of her head. I don’t know how I know it’s a baby girl, but I just do.

The vision is so clear, so vivid, that for a moment I am completely frozen. It feels like I’ve been pummeled into theboards by a huge defenseman and had the wind knocked out of me.

This is … I don’t know what this is. Unfamiliar. Terrifying.

Considering our present circumstances, aterribleidea.

Yet I find myself wanting to call my sisters and ask for advice. Which would be the first time I’veeverdone that.

“Van?”

Amelia's right now voice pulls me back to the moment. Where we’re standing on a platform above a bunch of prehistoric dinosaurs who hopefully can’t jump high enough to chomp us. I suck in a breath, my heart thrashing wildly and sweat gathering at my temples and my lower back. Her face puckers in concern, and even Wave picks up on it as he stands, finally done messing with my harness. I’m sorry I ever asked.

“It’s normal to be nervous, but if you need to barf, do it over the railing. It’s not easy to clean all the way up here. And the fish will eat it.” He points to the pond below and laughs.

“Ew,” Amelia whispers.

“I’m not nervous,” I tell him with a glare, then turn back to Amelia. “I’m fine. Just … remembered something I forgot to do before I left home.”

“What?” Amelia asks.

“Uh …” I search for some logical explanation because there’s no way I’m telling her I just got the wind knocked out of me while imagining her as my actual wife and the mother of my children. “I forgot to feed my fish.”

“You have fish?” she asks.

No.

“One. It’s a beta.” I did have a beta once. Super easy to take care of. I could have one again if needed.

Like, if Amelia came to my place. It would be easy to pick one up. I think they sell them at every pet store. The harder thingwould be getting Amelia to my house to prove the existence of my currently nonexistent fish.

“Who’s watching him while you’re gone?” she asks.

“Who?”

“Your beta.”

“Oh. It’s a fish. He’s fine. We’re only gone for four days.”

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