Page 105 of Hooked On Them

Our daughter. The reality of that still hit me in waves. Sometimes it happened while watching practice, on my way to the arena, or waking up sandwiched between warm bodies in our Alaskan King Biggie bed, which was the only size that reasonably accommodated four adults.

The sound of laughter and conversation grew louder as we approached the living room. Carter had insisted on hosting a watch party for Game Six since I couldn’t fly to the away game.

The spacious living room was filled with familiar faces. Libby was curled up on the sectional sofa between her partners, Ethan and Leo, while Paige’s three partners were engaged in a heated debate with some of the training staff. Carter was emerging from the kitchen, balancing a tray of snacks.

His face lit up when he saw me, immediately diverting his path to my side. He pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “I was about to send a search party. I know how you get lost in that nursery.”

“I wasn’t lost. I was overwhelmed by tiny footwear.”

Carter’s smile could have powered all the Zambonis across the country. “The sock collection is getting a bit excessive, isn’t it? I may have ordered another twelve pairs yesterday.”

“Carter!”

“They had hockey pucks on them! How could I resist?”

I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly devoted to you and GB.” He led me toward my designated spot, a plush armchair with lumbar support that had appeared in our house one day, complete with an ergonomic footrest. “Can I get you something to drink? I made virgin margaritas.”

“You’re too good to me. Yes, please.”

As he disappeared back into the kitchen, Libby moved to the end of the couch where she was closer to me. “How’s the baby shopping going? Has Carter bought out the entire Carter’s store yet?” She grinned at her own pun.

“We’re one teddy bear away from needing a second nursery.” I lowered myself carefully into my throne of pregnancy comfort. “But at least they’ve stopped arguing about the stroller.”

The memory of Dominic, Miles, and Carter hunched over a laptop looking at stroller videos and reviews made my heart twist with affection. These ridiculous, wonderful men.

Carter returned, presenting me with a mocktail in an actual margarita glass, which was a small touch that made me inordinately happy. He’d been doing these little things since he found out I was pregnant, and I loved him for it.

“Game’s about to start,” someone called out, and the room immediately hushed as the pre-game commentary filled the enormous television screen that dominated one wall.

Carter settled on the arm of my chair, his hand automatically finding its way to my lower back, fingers working gentle circles against the perpetual ache there. I leaned into his touch, trying to focus on the screen rather than the mounting anxiety.

The Titans were up three-to-two in the series. One more win and they’d advance to the Stanley Cup Finals. One more win and Miles and Dominic would be a step closer to hoisting the Cup, and I’d be one step closer to facing off against my father’s team in his final season.

As the players took the ice for warmups, the camera panned to Dominic, his face a mask of intensity as he fired pucks at the net. Miles skated nearby, saying something that made Dominic crack a brief smile before his game face returned.

“They look ready to win this,” Carter murmured, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“They do,” I agreed, unable to suppress the surge of pride. Both men had been playing the best hockey of their careers, their chemistry on the ice reaching new heights that echoed the deepening of our relationship off the ice.

The first period was tense, neither team giving an inch. I found myself clutching Carter’s hand so tightly I was surprised he didn’t complain about circulation loss. By the second intermission, the game remained scoreless, and I was pretty sure I’d aged a decade.

“You need to relax.” Carter massaged my shoulders. “Your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure is fine.” I made a conscious effort to unclench my jaw. “This is it. If they win this...”

“I know.” His voice was soft and understanding. Carter might not have been born into the hockey world like the rest of us, but he’d embraced it fully, learning the game’s intricacies with the same enthusiasm he applied to everything that mattered to us.

The third period began with an immediate scoring chance for the opposing team that had everyone in the room holding their breath. When our goalie made a spectacular save, a collective exhale rippled through the crowd.

With each passing minute, the tension ratcheted higher. Five minutes left. Four. Three.

Then, with just under two minutes on the clock, the opposing team’s defenseman lost control of the puck near the blue line. Dominic was on him in an instant, stealing it cleanly and taking off up the ice. The room erupted in shouts as he crossed into the offensive zone on a break with Miles, pulling the defender toward him before sending a perfect pass across the ice.

Time seemed to slow as Miles received the pass and, in one fluid motion, fired it into the top corner of the net.

The arena exploded. Our living room exploded. I’m pretty sure GB did a celebratory somersault inside my uterus.

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