Page 42 of The Final Faceoff
Her breath moves against my chest. The rhythm sinks into my skin, syncs with my own heartbeat.
Her scent wraps around me, soft and familiar, something I’ve known for years. I breathe her in, lungs filling with the only thing that makes sense.
My fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt. My grip tightens, pulling her closer. For one second, I let myself fall into this.
Into her.
Her breath shakes. My hand moves, sliding up, fingers threading through the back of her hair.
Too much. Not enough.
I don’t think.
I don’t stop myself.
My lips brush against her temple.
Soft. Barely there. The kind of touch I don’t even realize I’m giving her until it’s too late.
If I could, I would kiss her.
The urge is there, burning, pressing against my ribs, sitting heavy in my chest. It would be so easy. Just a shift forward, a tilt of my head, a brush of my lips against hers.
But we have to figure out her current situation first.
Her life just changed in ways she hasn’t even processed yet. This isn’t the time for me to take what I’ve been wanting for longer than I’ll ever admit.
I need to focus. On her. On them.
But after this—after we figure this out—what am I going to do?
The thought settles into my chest like a live wire. I don’t have an answer, and that alone tells me everything.
This time, waiting doesn’t feel like an option anymore.
This isn’t warm-ups. There’s no time to track the puck, to read the play, to anticipate the next move. The shot’s already been taken, and I’m in the crease with no mask, no padding—just instinct and the overwhelming need to make the save.
I just don’t know what exactly we are saving—or who. Maybe it’s me?
ChapterFourteen
Leif
When You’re Facing the Shot Alone
Hailey’s asleep.
She crashed hard after dinner, curled up into the smallest possible version of herself on my oversized couch, like she’s trying to take up as little space as humanly possible. Which is ridiculous because Hailey doesn’t know how to be small.
She fills rooms, fills conversations, fills every second of silence with some random fact she picked up while filming in a place I have to search on the internet just to confirm it’s real. Half the time, she swears we need to go there in the off-season, and sometimes we do. Other times, we end up in a place she’s never seen but insists we should explore because it’s “for the experience, Leif.”
But tonight? She’s quiet.
The walk through Central Park left her subdued, a rarity for someone whose brain usually fires off like a never-ending game of pinball. I’d bet anything she’s still chewing on everything the doctor threw at us. The appointment was a blur of sonograms, pamphlets, questions she didn’t ask but probably wanted to, and a handful of suggested books that—let’s be honest—she’s never going to read.
She’ll watch YouTube videos and ask her friends because it’s better to learn from experience. I glance at my e-reader, where I’ve spent the past ten minutes debating betweenPregnancy for the Modern ParentandThe What-to-Expect-When-You’d-Rather-Not Manual.Not exactly thrilling material. I could go with the classic—the book that every parent, grandparent, and overly-involved mother-in-law has probably read cover to cover—but something tells me Hailey would haunt me in my sleep if she caught me taking advice from a book written before Wi-Fi existed. They don’t know what’s happening now. I could debate with her that children have been born way before . . .Stop, Crawford, why are you arguing with your imaginary Hailey? Let her sleep and focus on the task at hand.
I rub my jaw. I shouldn’t be doing this. Not technically. This isn’t my baby.
