Page 78 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“That would be amazing! That would beperfect! It would help the dogs find homes in two ways.”

Jen mutters something about having just said that and the need for players to wear thicker helmets, but I let it slide over me. “How many are there?”

“Dogs? I think six.”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“Is this the new routine?” Ingrid looks at my notes on her kitchen table. “Please put dates on things. If you say ‘Next Monday,’ that’s going to end up biting you on the butt.” She waves a sticky note at me.

I open my mouth, quickly about to reply yes, but then realize I still don’t know. “The part where we’re together? Yes. The part where I get paid for sitting on my butt, injured, not playing? I don’t know. Having time to help in my community, whether it’s helping one old man walk a dog while he tells me all about his late wife, or finding a day when I don’t have practice to go read to squeaky little second graders? That stuffhasto stay.”

Ingrid’s smile is everything. It’s a million dollars and the Stanley Cup. “Good. Because I love the guy who hung the thank you card from Miss Bainbridge’s Second Graders on our fridge, and I love the guy who spends a couple of minutes each day trying to help Lester and Steve navigate the net.” She kisses me and takes out her phone, adding my world into her calendar, her notes, her reminders.

That’s my mate. My wife. The one building a life with me.

A family with me.

I clear my throat. “But I know that a husband needs to be more than a guy who does a few good deeds. I’ll... I’ll figure something out. I’ll be able to drive, even if I can’t skate. I’ll look for coaching positions. I have backup plans.” Not true. I have backup thoughts, but they’ll have to count. “And if we were together, if we were to move into my house... Well, it’s paid for. My parents still technically own it, but it’s mine to buy outright for a birthright price—a price that a father gives his son as a mark of his approval and blessing... We’d save money there.”

“And my townhouse would sell quick. We could put a fence around your yard.”

“You’d move in with me?”

Ingrid is still for a long time, hand frozen over another stack of handwritten scribbles.

“I would. I love my house—but this one is Orc-sized. And maybe even half-Orc-sized.”

She gives me a single flirtatious little smile, her hand ghosting over her middle just for a second, hinting at what might come someday.

I seize my crutches and let out a growl.

Ingrid squeals.

“I’m getting faster on these! And in a few weeks, I won’t even need them,” I cry, crutch-sprinting after her.

“What are you doing?” she giggles.

“I caught that little hint, madam. Half-Orcs? Better practice.”

Another squeal, but she lets me catch her. “We have to make dinner!”

“After.”

“You’re going to turn me into an insatiable maniac,” Ingrid warns.

Like I’d mind. I shrug and pin her against the kitchen counter. “Can’t help myself.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: Thanksgiving

“Is the aquarium open?”

“In Baltimore? Today?” I huff and drop my bag by the door, phone tucked between my puffy jacket and my hood. “I don’t think so, why?”

“No, silly, not today. This weekend.”

“Probably.”

“Well, since I’m cleared to drive and the hinged brace doesn’t suck as bad today, I thought maybe we could go there. Look at the sea turtles. Stare at the sharks. Put our hands in totally inappropriate places—on each other, not the exhibits.”