Page 33 of Pucking Ever After: Volume 1

“We’ll win,” Mars says again.

“Isä win?” Jamie says, tugging on my Rays hat and flipping it off my head.

Mars catches it with his quick reflexes, handing it back to me.

“Isä, want down,” Jamie whines, reaching for Mars. “Tuo, down too.” He leans over, trying to reach his little brother. “Tuo, down?”

Tuomas drops his pacifier and babbles at his brother in baby talk, reaching out a chubby hand. Ilmari leans in, saying something in quick Finnish, kissing Jamie’s cheek and tapping a finger to the tip of his nose.

Jamie whines again, slinging himself around in my arms like a thrashing shark. For only being three years old, he’s so damn strong. I blame Jake and his Minnesota mountain man genes. “Ouch,fuck—” I grunt as Jamie’s swinging foot collides with my dick.

“Fuck! Daddy fuck, fuck,” Jamie parrots.

I groan as Ilmari gives me fierce side eye. He doesn’t need to say anything. I know I’m adding a dollar to the swear jar. At this point, they should just rename the damn thing the ‘Caleb Jar.’ It’s not fair though because Mars swears in Finnish all the time and we just don’t know so it doesn’t count. Stupid double standards.

“Unintentional,” I mutter, shifting Jamie over to my other hip, taking careful hold of his swinging foot.

“Down!” he squawks louder. His little cheeks grow redder as he gets frustrated at being denied.

“Bubs, there’s only five more minutes,” I plead, trying to keep my focus on both the game and my squirrelly kid.

“Here,” says Mars. “Unbuckle me.” He turns to the side, showing me his back.

I reach up on reflex, eyes locked on the game, and unbuckle the strap securing the baby carrier.

Mars makes quick work of lifting Tuo out. “Switch.”

The crowd around us cheers while we trade kids. Mars tucks a squirming, angry Jamie into the front of the carrier, leaving me to hold a happy Tuo. Baby bubs gazes up at me, his little hands holding to my chin as I watch DeGraw make an awesome stick save.

“Yes!” Ilmari shouts, holding down Jamie’s slappy hands. “Glove! Glove!”

DeGraw scrambles after the rebound, flopping on his stomach on the ice and diving for the puck, closing his glove down around it to stop play.

“Yes!” we both shout.

My gaze shoots across the ice to the Rays bench. Rachel is working tonight. She’s standing sentry in the corner, arms crossed, watching the action. Jerry stands at her side, leaning over to say something that has her laughing.

Fuck, why did I switch shifts with him tonight? I could be right in the action too. I could be there to congratulate Jake when he steps off that ice, knowing he’s leading the Rays into their first playoffs. That’s the last time I do Jerry a favor to cover his damn dentist appointment.

Jake takes up his position at the face-off circle, waiting for the puck to drop. The large captain’s “C” is stitched proudly on his chest. My best friend, my husband, starting defenseman and captain of an NHL team. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. My wife works the bench while my husband skates…oh, and myotherhusband stands at my side soothing one of my babies.

How did I get so fucking lucky? I’m the most undeserving of assholes, blessed to have things I didn’t even know I wanted.

I glance down at Tuo’s face, soaking in those pink cheeks and dark blue eyes. Under the hat, he’s got a head of almond brown curls, the perfect mix of Rachel and Mars. My sweet boy. Feeling overwhelmed, I lean down and kiss his brow. He sucks that pacifier, fisting my Rays t-shirt with both hands.

Ilmari’s bouncing and swaying has soothed Jamie. Poor little guy is just as tired as he is excited. His bedtime was an hour ago. I watch his head sink down onto Ilmari’s chest as his eyes begin to droop. Being strapped in the carrier is calming him down. I envy my boys their ability to sleep anywhere, even front row at an NHL hockey game.

The minutes are ticking down in this final period. Only four left. DeGraw slaps the puck hard with his paddle, sending it flying up the ice. Langley all but stumbles to chase after it. The Capitals defense send it back over our line, aiming for a forward, but it lands right on the end of Jake’s stick instead. He fakes left, then he’s blasting forward, taking the puck over the line towards the Capitals goal.

“Go! Go!”

“Priiiiice!”

Everyone around us is yelling.

“Pass it,” I shout. “Karlsson’s open!”

“No, he’s not,” Mars calls at my side. And he’s right. The Capitals forward has caught up to Karlsson, cutting him off. Karlsson gets checked back.

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