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I grip my erection and swirl it over her center, wetting it with her juices. I push the head inside her painstakingly slow; her legs tremble.

Number twenty-two is like a neon sign on her back and the thought of her being mine forever strikes. I increase my speed, unable to control all of the emotions flowing through me.

She strings a bunch of incoherent words together as she climaxes so hard it’s dripping as I look down at where we’re connected. The sight makes me detonate and my hot arousal shoots inside her, filling her insides. Not wanting to separate, I hold her close and cautiously lay us on our sides.

“I love you big guy.”

“I love you and the fact I get to make love to you forever and make babies. Becca,” I pause emotion nearly choking me. “I didn’t realize that I could ever be this happy until you.”

Basking in happiness and content with my world, I give her one long lazy kiss then slip off the couch to grab a washcloth and clean her up. When I return, her phone buzzes so she reaches to look at it. “Kinnon needs me to look at a stunt sequence for the high school coed team.”

“When do they compete? They’re coming here to Dallas, right?” I kiss her cheek then take her phone and throw it to the end of the couch. “Give me a few more minutes then I’ll heat up the pizza and you can show me. Maybe I can help. I am a great stunter, you said it yourself on the island.”

She rolls from one side to the other to face me. “You havegiven me the best gifts imaginable. You. A baby. And my own cheer gym. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“That's the thing Sunshine, you never need to. I’m happy when you’re happy.”

Overlapping kisses end the discussion and I get up and put the pizza in the oven to reheat then run upstairs and change into my lounge pants. When I return she’s struggling to put her panties back on, so I kneel beside her and place her swollen feet in the holes and she dances until they’re in the right spot.

The night ends watching cheer routines on the couch. Kinnon and Becca have done an amazing job and created a competitive, respectful atmosphere among the boys and girls. What I’m not so sure about is the competition in Dallas since it’s the same week our baby is due. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

As I’m leaving for the arena, two days later, I grab my duffel bag and head for the door, the weight of the game pressing on my shoulders, hoping to cement a victory in my first year as captain. Becca shuffles into the kitchen with one hand caressing her stomach–round and beautiful with our baby arriving in only a month. But as I lean in for a kiss goodbye, she catches my arm. “I’m not going to the game,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

My stomach churns with concern, mostly, because I hate the thought of her alone for an extended period of time, especially so close to her due date. But there’s something else nagging at me, a faint suspicion that she’s holding back. Not cheating, nothing like that, but like the secret she kept for fifteen years. I search her face, wanting to ask, but the clock’s ticking, and I need to leave. Still, that unspoken thing lingers, heavy as the bag in my hand.

“Please come. I need you there and there’s medical staff right there that can take care of you if you go into premature labor.”Taking her hands into mine, I bring them to my lips. “I’ll spend every moment worrying about you.”

Her eyes flit around the room. “Can you get me into the suite?”

“You hate going into the suite. You love being with the hometown crowd, cheering. Our fans adore you. But I’ll see what I can do. I have a car service coming to pick you up. So get ready. I’ll text you if I can get you into the suite, okay?”

“Okay.” She presses on her toes and gives me a chaste kiss. “I’ll be there.”

As soon as I leave, I text Oakley to ask if there’s anything Becca isn’t telling me. She went to the last doctor appointment alone. Is our baby okay?

Oakley: She didn’t mention anything, but said the appointment went well.

Me: Yeah. I’m sure everything is fine.

But am I?

She hearts the message and I tuck my phone into the inner pocket of my suit.

Negative thoughts nag at me through pregame warmups. I messaged Becca to tell her the suites are all overbooked and there is no way she can get in. I never even thought about the crowd being too much for her. Just two days ago she was cheering me on from her usual seat.

When the Rattlers and I take the ice, she’s not in her seat. I scan the arena looking for any of the player’s wives that she has gotten to know. I see Gail and Susanne but no Becca.

The seconds tick down and the game begins. The Glaciers gain control of the puck. And I need to get my head out of my ass.

Think about hockey. Hockey. Hockey.

Damn, how do married hockey players do this? How can Icompartmentalize my personal life from my professional responsibilities? I just need to know she’s here.

My knees are bent low on the blue line, and the stick heavy in my grip. I scan the ice as their forward charges down the wing while the puck dances on his blade, but I’m reading his hips, anticipating the move. The crowd’s a dull roar, drowned out by my focus. He fakes left. His juke doesn’t fool me, I slide to cut off his angle. My skates carve into the ice, spraying, as I cut the distance between us. He tries to dangle, but I’m there—stick sweeping clean, stealing the puck. I pivot fast, firing a crisp pass to our winger streaking up ice. The bench roars, and I reset, chest heaving, ready for the next rush.

I glance into the crowd, finding Becca in my red jersey and I can finally breathe easy.

But it doesn’t last long. Midway through the second period they change lines. Their forward glares at me as he skates around once before engaging the puck. The name on his back seems familiar, Madden. I chuckle to myself. The only Madden I know is the Madden Football video game.