Page 52 of Cold Shoulder, Hot Take (Seattle Puckaneers #2)

“ R emember the day of the custody hearing?” I ask, settling onto the edge of our bed where Dex is still reading game notes, laptop balanced on his knees.

He looks up, eyebrows raised at my seemingly random question. “Hard to forget. You nearly wore a hole in the floor.”

“Not that part.” I twist my wedding ring—still new enough that the gesture feels unfamiliar. “The conversation about kids. When you asked if I wanted more and I said I might be done with that chapter.”

Something shifts in his expression, alert now in a way that tells me he senses this isn’t just reminiscing. “I remember.”

“And you said you’d always pictured having two or three kids. That you grew up with siblings and cousins everywhere.”

“Goldie...” He closes the laptop, setting it aside. “Where is this going?”

I take a breath, my hand unconsciously moving to rest on my still-flat stomach. “I took a test this morning. After you left for practice, after the kids went to school.”

He goes completely still. “And?”

“It was positive.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The pregnancy test is still sitting in my nightstand drawer—I’d needed time to process it alone first, to figure out how I felt before bringing him into it. That’s who I am, how I handle big news. Even good news. Especially unexpected news.

The morning had started normally enough.

Dex kissing me goodbye before heading to practice, Tyson grabbing his backpack and reminding me about his science project due Friday, Blythe spinning through the kitchen in her latest “outfit coordination” while explaining why polka dots and stripes are “fashion allies, not enemies.”

Just another Tuesday in our beautifully chaotic life.

Except I’d been feeling off for a few days. Tired in a way that extra coffee couldn’t fix. Emotional in a way that didn’t match my cycle. And this morning, standing in our kitchen after the kids left, pouring coffee I suddenly didn’t want, the possibility had hit me like a slap shot to the chest.

I’d driven to the pharmacy in my pajamas and winter coat, bought the test with shaking hands, and sat on our bathroom floor for twenty minutes staring at those two pink lines while my entire worldview shifted.

Because the thing is, I’d been telling the truth that day.

I was maybe done. Tyson and Blythe had consumed every ounce of maternal energy I had to give during those dark years with Evan.

The thought of sleepless nights and tiny helpless humans depending on me had felt impossible, exhausting before it even began.

But sitting on that cold tile floor this morning, test in hand, I’d realized something had changed. Not just my circumstances—though god knows those were different. But me. I was different.

The woman who stood across from Dex in my kitchen that evening, carefully explaining why she was done having children, had been operating from a place of survival.

Protecting herself and her existing children from any additional vulnerability, any extra complication that might give Evan more ammunition.

But Evan’s not a threat anymore. And Dex... Dex isn’t Evan. Not even close.

“We weren’t trying,” I say unnecessarily.

“No,” he agrees quietly. “We definitely weren’t.”

I study his face, looking for signs of panic or regret. Instead, I see something that looks like cautious hope, quickly tempered by concern.

“How do you feel about it?” he asks carefully. “Really?”

It’s such a Dex question—putting my feelings first, giving me space to be honest even if it’s not what he wants to hear. It’s one of the thousand small ways he’s different from my ex-husband, one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.

“Terrified,” I admit. “I’m thirty-four. The kids are finally at ages where they’re independent. I just got my career back on track, we just bought this house, we just figured out how to be a family...”

“But?”

“But also... excited? Which surprises me.” I shift on the bed, turning to face him fully.

“When I was pregnant with Tyson and Blythe, Evan made me feel like my body was inconvenient. Like pregnancy was something happening to him, not me. Every symptom was either exaggerated for attention or not worth his concern.”

Dex’s jaw tightens the way it always does when Evan comes up in conversation, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“This time would be different,” I continue, working through my thoughts out loud. “This time I have a partner who actually wants to be here. Who won’t complain about midnight cravings or make me feel guilty for needing rest.”

“You know I’d take care of you,” he says softly. “Both of you. However you need.”

“I do know that. And I think... I think I want this.” The words surprise me with their certainty. “I want to experience pregnancy the way it’s supposed to be. With someone who’s excited about it instead of resentful. I want to see you as a dad from the very beginning.”

“You already see me as a dad,” he points out. “Tyson and Blythe?—”

“Are my kids who love you and who you love back. But this...” I take his hand, place it on my stomach where nothing is visible yet but everything has already changed. “This would be ours. From the very beginning. A person who’s part you, part me.”

The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise—gradual, then brilliant. “I’ve been trying not to get excited,” he admits. “In case you weren’t ready. In case this felt like too much after everything you’ve been through.”

“It does feel like too much,” I say honestly. “But also like exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “I love you. So much. And I’m going to love this baby so much.”

“Even though it’s going to completely upend our lives? Even though we’ll be back to sleepless nights and diaper bags and all the chaos we just escaped?”

“Especially because of that.” His hand spreads wider on my stomach, protective already. “I get to do this with you. I get to be there for every appointment, every milestone, every three AM feeding. I get to watch you grow our baby and then bring them into the world.”

The tears come then, sudden and overwhelming. Relief and joy and terror all mixed together in a cocktail of hormones and life-changing realization.

“How do we tell the kids?” I ask through the tears.

“Carefully,” he says, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Maybe after we’ve seen a doctor, confirmed everything’s okay. Given ourselves time to get used to the idea.”

“Blythe’s going to lose her mind with excitement. She’s been begging for a baby brother or sister since she was five.”

“Tyson will be more cautious,” Dex predicts. “He’ll want to know about logistics. How this changes his routine, his space, his relationship with us.”

“Think he’ll be okay with it?”

“I think he’ll be exactly what this baby needs—a protective big brother who takes his responsibilities seriously.” Dex’s smile turns soft. “Just like he was with Blythe when she was little.”

I lean into him, letting myself imagine it.

A baby in this house, in our life. Tyson teaching hockey basics to a toddler in the backyard.

Blythe directing elaborate theatrical productions starring her younger sibling.

Dex carrying a tiny person around the house, narrating hockey games during feeding time.

“We’ll need to convert your office into a nursery,” I realize suddenly. “And figure out childcare for when I’m working. And get a bigger car. And?—”

“Hey.” Dex captures my hands, stopping my spiral into logistics. “One thing at a time. We’ve got months to figure all that out.”

“Months,” I repeat, the timeline still surreal. “By next fall, we’ll have three kids.”

“Three kids,” he echoes, wonder in his voice. “Our family’s getting bigger.”

Our family. Not my kids that he loves, not his life that we’ve complicated, but ours. Together. The word settles around us like a promise.

“I hope this baby has your eyes,” I tell him. “And your patience. And maybe my voice, but definitely not Blythe’s volume.”

His laughter fills our bedroom, warm and real and full of possibilities. “With our genetics, this kid is either going to be the quietest, most observant child ever born?—”

“Or a human tornado of noise and energy who keeps detailed statistics on everything,” I finish, already smiling at the thought.

“Either way,” he says, his hand still protective on my stomach, “perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Later, after we’ve called the doctor’s office and made an appointment for next week, after we’ve looked at each other a dozen times with expressions of disbelief and joy, after we’ve started the mental process of reorganizing our life around this unexpected addition, I find myself in the kitchen making tea and thinking about timing.

A year ago, I was so certain I was done having children.

The idea felt impossible, overwhelming, like asking me to climb Everest when I was already exhausted from daily life.

But that woman was still healing, still protecting herself from vulnerability, still operating from a place of scarcity rather than abundance.

This woman—the one married to a man who brings her coffee every morning and listens to Blythe’s elaborate theories about fashion with genuine interest, the one whose biggest worry is whether Tyson’s hockey schedule conflicts with her recording deadlines—this woman has space in her life for something new. Someone new.

“Second thoughts?” Dex asks, appearing in the doorway with that careful expression he gets when he’s trying to read my mood.

“No second thoughts,” I assure him. “Just thinking about how much everything’s changed. How much I’ve changed.”

“Good change?”

“The best change.” I set down my mug and move into his arms, letting myself sink into the solid warmth of him. “A year ago I couldn’t imagine having room in my life for anything else. Now I can’t imagine our family without this baby.”

“Even though we didn’t plan it?”

“Especially because we didn’t plan it. The best things in our life have been surprises, haven’t they? You showing up at that first practice. The kids falling in love with you before I was ready to admit I was falling too. This house becoming available exactly when we needed it.”

“This baby.”

“This baby,” I agree, one hand coming to rest on my stomach where our future is growing, invisible but already so real. “Another beautiful surprise in a life full of them.”

He holds me closer, and I can feel his contentment in the way his breathing slows, the way his body relaxes into this moment of perfect domestic happiness.

Soon we’ll start the process of telling people, of making plans, of preparing for the beautiful chaos that’s coming. But for now, it’s just us and this secret, this perfect knowledge that our family is about to get a little bigger, a little louder, a little more wonderful.

And I can’t wait to meet the person who’s going to make it complete.

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