Page 82 of My Pucking Enemy
“Come on,” I say, ruffling Sloane’s hair. She swats at me, backing up and rolling her eyes. “It’s their birthday.”
She holds up a finger, waggling it at me. “Uh-uh, today isGeorgie’sbirthday. Tomorrow is Holland’s.”
I nod, remembering her plan to make sure each of the twins would always get a special birthday celebration. “Right.”
“Wren is in the kitchen,” Sloane says, shoving my shoulder gently before turning and following her toddlers down the hall.
“That’s never good,” I mutter, my body already moving in the direction of my fiancée like I’m programmed to be near her. I do find her in the kitchen, though she’s not anywhere near the stove, just sitting at the island with Ruby and chatting.
When I walk up behind her and put my arm around her shoulders, Ruby laughs.
“You’re lucky your fiancée didn’t just hip toss you onto the ground, with an approach like that,” she says.
“Oh, little did you know, Ruby, that’s what I was hoping for.” I say, grinning.
Wren twists around and stands, pulling me into her arms. Even though we saw each other this morning, she hugs me like I’ve been at sea, and I love her for it. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much, to feel full-up and still want more.
“Won’t be your fiancée for much longer,” Wren says, before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. Next weekend, we’re getting married. Her grandmother will be there, and Wren is wearing aslightlymodified version of her Gran’s wedding dress.
My second marriage.
But the first one that will really count.
It’s been a long engagement, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. I didn’t propose to her because I needed to get married as soon as possible, I did it because I wanted her to know I was serious. And since then, we’ve picked out a place together—somewhere without furniture chosen by Mandy—and have spent our time either traveling with the team or staying in. I cook for her, and she picks the most gruesome horror movies for me to watch even though she’s always the one who ends up afraid in the end.
“Are we still good for Monday?” Sloane asks, coming back into the kitchen and reaching into the fridge to pull out a massive pink cake. Her gaze darts between me and Wren.
“Of course they are,” Astrid says, breezing in as well, looking tanned from her and Grayson’s trip to somewhere tropical. The two of them have been traveling almost nonstop anytime we’re outside of the regular season.
And we are now, having only made it through the first round of the playoffs before falling out of the competition. It’s fine—this year and last year we knew we weren’t going to make it to the Stanley Cup. Wren and I planned accordingly for Cal’s absence, which the entire league went wild about when they found out.
A player taking off not one, buttwoseasons during his prime. It’s never been done before, but I’m glad that he had the balls to do it. Setting an example for the other fathers, being there to help Sloane.
Especially considering she had twice as many babies to take care of.
“Time for cake,” Sloane announces, when she’s finished putting the candles in. To the hallway, she calls, “Ready?”
The lights flip off, causing the toddlers to squeal, and Cal calls back, laughing, “Ready!”
We’re a procession of people following after Sloane into the dining room, where a squirming Georgia sits in her chair, her face lit up with joy and the flickering light of the candles. Wren stands next to me, her arm looping around mine, and we all sing “happy birthday”together, mostly off key but somewhat okay near the end.
Sloane shows Georgia how to blow out the candles. In the mess that follows—both Georgia and Holland getting covered in pink frosting, I realize Wren has slipped away.
I find her out on the patio, sitting in one of the pool-side chairs. It’s a bit too cool now to swim, but she’s just sitting and staring at the water.
That day flashes back to me—my sister inviting Wren over here for a pool party—and I’m glad that my family was able to call me on my shit. If they hadn’t, I would have missed out on the love of my life.
“Hey,” I say, standing at the edge of the pool and watching as Wren turns to look at me. “Want some company?”
It’s when she nods that I realize there are tear tracks running down her face. I cross the patio instantly, and she stands when I get near her so I can fold her into my arms.
“The family thing again?” I whisper. This is something that happens to Wren occasionally when we’re with my family. A reminder that as much as she loves and fits in with my people, she will never really have people of her own.
It’s not sad, Wren has told me. But just bittersweet. Something she’ll always have to deal with. So when I notice it’s happening, we deal with it together.
“Kind of,” she answers, and I pull back, searching her face.
“What do you mean?”
