Page 41 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

TANNER

Coach Leo is trying to kill us.

Not literally. But definitely emotionally. And maybe spiritually.

We’re two hours into drills, and I swear I’ve skated the width of the rink more times than I blinked last night. I glance at the scoreboard. The clock doesn’t move. My thighs are burning. My lungs feel like a collapsing paper bag.

And for what?

“Didn’t we just win the Stanley Cup?” I mutter to Beau, who’s doubled over beside me on the bench.

He grunts something unintelligible. I think it’s agreement. Or a death rattle.

Coach Leo blows the whistle again. “Again!”

Asher curses softly. “I thought victory meant rest.”

“I thought it meant breathing,” I mutter.

I pull my helmet off, rake a hand through my hair, and seriously consider pretending to twist my ankle just for an excuse to stop when I hear footsteps pounding down the hallway behind the boards.

Cam bursts in. “Tanner!”

I stand instantly. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even slow down. “Ace just called. They were at the dog park with Brooke—her water broke!”

“What?!”

“She’s at the hospital now!”

I don’t even put my helmet back on. I’m flying across the rink, gear clattering, jersey sticking to my back. Coach Leo yells something, but I don’t hear it. Cam’s right beside me, both of us laughing like lunatics even though we’re barely breathing.

“She’s early,” I say as we shove our way into the locker room.

“She’s been saying she felt early for days.”

“I thought she meant bloated!”

I barely change before we’re sprinting out the side entrance and into Cam’s car. He peels off like a man possessed. I’m already texting Ace.

En route. Is she okay?

Ace’s responses right away.

Focused. In pain. Holding my hand like she’s trying to rip it off. Drive faster.

We do.

By the time we reach the hospital, Brooke’s already in delivery. Ivy meets us in the waiting area, hair thrown in a knot and hospital coffee in hand.

“She’s amazing,” she says, smiling so wide I could kiss her. “She’s swearing in four languages, but she’s doing amazing.”

We don’t sit. We pace.

We wear out the floor.

Then finally, Ace steps out of the delivery room.

He looks wrecked.

“She did it,” he says.

Cam and I rush him like we’re about to check him against the wall.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s perfect. Tired. Still cursing.”

“And the babies?”

He grins, almost like he doesn’t believe the words. “Two little girls. Screamed their way into the world just like their mom.”

Cam’s face cracks into this lopsided grin that says he’s seconds from tears. I don’t even hide mine. They fall without warning. We’re hugging like idiots in the middle of the hallway. Ivy’s crying too, saying something about how she always knew Brooke would give birth like a boss.

When we’re allowed in, she’s propped up in bed, sweaty and glowing and looking like she just ran a marathon with fire in her veins. Jackson’s asleep in a chair next to her, one tiny fist resting on her arm.

And in her arms—two pink-faced girls. Both wrapped tight. Both impossibly small and strong at the same time.

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper.

She glances up, tears in her eyes. “Me either.”

Cam leans down, kisses her forehead. “You did it, sugar.”

Ace hands me something. I look down.

It’s his Stanley Cup ring.

I frown. “What?”

“For her,” he says.

I pull mine from my pocket.

Brooke blinks as we each kneel by her side, holding out the championship rings. “You guys?—”

“Promise rings,” Cam says.

“Not proposing. Yet,” I add quickly.

“We know you want time.”

“But we wanted you to know we’re here,” Ace finishes. “That we mean it. All of it.”

Brooke laughs through her tears, shaking her head. “You three are unbelievable.”

“And you,” I say, brushing a kiss to her wrist, “completed your list.”

She looks down at the girls, then at Jackson, then at us.

“I really did.”

We fall into silence again. Ivy tiptoes in with a smoothie and her phone out for photos. The nurses coo over the babies. Jackson stirs, stretches, then sees the twins and beams.

“Hi, babies,” he whispers.

Brooke looks at me. “You still want to name one Lazer?”

“I’ll reconsider,” he whispers.

Cam wraps an arm around my shoulder. Ace leans against the window, watching over all of us.

And it hits me—this is it.

This is the life I never saw coming. The one I wouldn’t trade for anything.

She gave us love.

We gave her everything we are.

And somehow, that was enough.

Forever.

The end.