Page 143 of Coach's Temptation

The photo captures every detail - the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how my engagement ring caught the arena lights, the pure joy radiating from both of us.

The newspaper headline below reads "IRON RIDGE CLAIMS FIRST STANLEY CUP" but the photographer caught something more intimate than just a victory celebration.

He caught the exact second I knew, without a doubt, that Hunter Brody was my forever.

Hunter's thumb traces the edge of the photo, lingering on where our bodies meet in the frame. His other hand finds mine, squeezing gently as he takes in the memory frozen in time.

"Hell of a journey, huh?" He shakes his head, chuckling softly.

I swallow hard, my heart racing as I think about what comes next. "It's not over yet."

I step closer, reaching for the hidden slip tucked into the back cover. His brows furrow as he pulls out the small white pregnancy test… and he freezes.

The room goes silent.

I can hear the wind outside. The faint hum and crackle of the fireplace. My own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Hunter stares at the pregnancy test, like his brain can’t quite compute it.

I force myself to breathe.

“We did it, Coach.” My voice wobbles. “We’re having a baby.”

His head snaps up so fast I swear I hear a crack.

I watch as Hunter's eyes dart between the test and my face, his hands trembling slightly. The leather-bound scrapbook slides forgotten onto the kitchen counter. Even his favorite damn fridge is a long lost memory now.

"You—wait." His voice cracks, something I've never heard in five years of living together. "You're—?"

I grip the edge of the granite countertop, heart thundering against my ribs.

After months of disappointments, negative tests, and tear-stained pillowcases from both of us, I understand his disbelief.

He stares at the test again, then back at me, then returns to the two pink lines that changed everything. The same two lines I've been staring at for hours, afraid they might disappear if I looked away too long.

"Happy birthday,Daddy," I say, wiping at the tears falling down my face.

His transformation hits.

Hunter Brody—my fierce, unshakeable husband who stares down NHL legends without flinching, who commands an entire hockey franchise with a single look, who survived career death and clawed his way back to the top only to knock back Team USA to have a family of his own—crumbles before my eyes.

His shoulders drop. The carefully maintained wall of control splinters. Those deep gray eyes I fell in love with fill with tears.

"Baby," he whispers, and I've never heard such raw wonder in his voice. His hand reaches out, hovering over my still-flat stomach like he's afraid to touch it. "You're serious?"

The awe in his expression steals my breath. This is the man who once told me he didn't deserve a family of his own. The man who thought his shot at happiness ended with a knee injury twenty years ago. Now he's looking at me like I've handed him every dream he never dared to voice.

I step closer, taking his trembling hand and pressing it against my abdomen. "Eight weeks," I whisper. "Dr. Martinez confirmed it yesterday. I wanted to wait until your birthday to—"

"This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten.”

I laugh, my hands covering his. “Well, get ready, Coach.”

His brows pull together. “For what?”

I smirk. “Because this baby is going to be born right in the middle of playoffs.”

Hunter throws his head back, groaning. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

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