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“Hey,” I say, pressing a finger in my ear to dull the noise of the arena. “What’s up?”

Her voice comes sharp. “Is there a reason Pace is ignoring my calls?”

Down on the ice, he chases the puck, smacking it down the ice to Anthony Giles, who waits in the wings.

Lex erupts this time, springing to his feet with a booming, “Thatta boy, number three!”

“Yeah, he’s in the middle of a hockey game.” I smile over at the baby, tight in his daddy’s arms. “J.J.’s first, actually. It’s a big deal.”

She doesn’t seem to take this as the monumental moment it so clearly is. “Well, I need him to call me back.” She pauses. “A-S-A-P.”

Rolling my eyes, I promise, “I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you,” she says, but before hanging up, “and give that baby a kiss for me.” Abruptly, the call ends, and I send it a glare. “It’s really weird having my mom call you guys all the time. Don’tget me wrong, it’s better than her hating you, but it’s a little much.”

“Don’t look at me.” Lex holds up both hands. “She only calls me when she wants free medical advice. And most of it isn’t even for her. I’m never recovering from that picture of Kaczinski’s athlete’s foot.”

I wince, resting my temple on Lex’s shoulder to gaze ruefully up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I don’t mind it,” Wick says, blue eyes still trained on the ice. “How else am I going to get her to talk me through her recipes?”

Like I said.

Weird.

It’s not just me who’s had to learn how to share my mother in a new way. After talking to Adeline, Pace has a better understanding of what his mother went through and why his biological father was absent. He’s been making efforts to get to know Pauly a little better, and so far, so good. We even had Mama B and Pauly over to celebrate our first Thanksgiving with J.J.

I’m pretty sure the palace shuddered, Rufus rolling over in his grave at two West Enders drinking discount beer from his exquisite crystal goblets and fine china.

Down on the ice, Pace catches the puck and drops it down on the ice, already in movement toward the goal. Watching him makes gooseflesh rise on my arms. The way his body moves is so powerful and sure that I have to admit to feeling a little high on it.

He’s mine, I think, knowing everyone in these stands is seeing the passion I feel from him every night when he’s buried inside me. He passes the puck, then zig-zags down the ice, ready and waiting when Anthony slings it back over. Pace snags thepuck and slaps it hard, zinging it to the back of the net. The buzzer rings and Wicker and I both shoot to our feet.

“Let’s go!” Wick shouts, beaming down at J.J. “That’s your dad! Suck it, Wittmore!”

The final score is three-one, and we head down to the waiting area just outside the locker room, buzzing on how we plan to celebrate.

“Burritos?” I suggest hopefully. “Pace loves burritos.”

Lex sighs, shifting Justice’s carrier to his other hand. “Fine, burritos.”

“You just want to beat him at pool again,” Wicker says, pausing to greet Anthony as he walks out of the locker room. “If we knew the key to convincing you to eat junk was billiards, we would have donated a pool table to Señor Mexicana years ago.”

Ten minutes later, the door opens and Pace struts through, dressed in a dark suit. Unable to contain myself, I spring forward to leap into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist when he lifts me. “You were amazing,” I say, capturing his smirk in a long kiss. “To the victor.”

He nibbles my lip before letting me slide to my feet. “You the spoils, Rosi?”

“Me,” grabbing his tie, I tug him toward his brothers, “andburritos.”

Pace throws Lex a wry look. “Just can’t let me have a win, can you? That pool table at Señor’s was the worst idea.”

“You killed it, bro,” Wicker says, extending a fist that Pace bumps his against.

“Thanks. That netminder was some kind of sorcerer, and offense has been dogwater without you on center.” He bumps his knuckles against Lex’s fist next. “But our defense is solid, and we’ll probably kill it in the tourney next week. You’re still coming, right?”

Wicker answers without reservations. “Fuck—” He flinches when I slap his arm. “Fudge yeah, I am.”

I watch as Pace squats, giving J.J. a breathtaking smile. “You rocking my number, little man?”