Page 33

Chapter 33

Tiny Socks

Nora

I ’d never considered myself a sock person until now. But here I was, thirty-six weeks pregnant, standing in the middle of the nursery, clutching a basket of tiny socks as if they explained how I got here. Each pair was smaller than my thumb, some with ridiculous animal faces, others with grips on the bottom that would be useless until months after she was born. Why was I emotional over anti-slip features for a human who wouldn’t even be walking until next year?

“Are you crying over baby socks?” Paige’s voice cut through my hormonal fog. “This is peak nesting behavior.”

I sniffled, hastily wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m not crying. They’re so small. Like, unreasonably small. What if I lose one? What if I lose her foot inside one?”

Paige laughed, moving around the nursery and running her fingers over the pale yellow curtains that complemented the soft gray walls. Sunshine streamed through the windows, highlighting the intricate mobile of stars and moons that Carter had made himself.

“Your child isn’t going to have detachable feet. Though with your gene pool, she’s probably going to pop out doing a triple axel.”

I carefully placed the basket of socks on the changing table that Miles had meticulously researched for two weeks before selecting, insisting that ergonomics were crucial even for diaper changes. The entire nursery was a perfect blend of all three men. Dominic had added feminine hockey touches, Miles incorporated thoughtful organization, and Carter’s artistic flair was evident in the hand-painted mural spanning one wall.

“Can you believe this is all happening? Six months ago, I was having a full-blown panic attack over telling Dominic I was pregnant, and now we’re all living together in this ridiculously perfect brownstone with a nursery that looks like it was ripped straight out of a design magazine.” I pressed my hands against my lower back, trying to alleviate the constant ache that had become my companion in the third trimester.

Paige came to stand beside me, her eyes suspiciously misty. “What I can’t believe is that you snagged not one, not two, but three incredible men who are all falling over themselves to take care of you and GB.”

“Don’t you start crying too,” I warned, feeling my own eyes welling up again. “If you cry, I’m going to ugly cry, and then my face will be all puffy for the watch party.”

“I’m really happy for you.” Paige looped her arm through mine. “You were so scared about being pregnant, and now look at you. You’re glowing.”

“I’m not glowing. I’m sweating. Constantly. Do you know how hard it is to coach from the sidelines while feeling like you’ve swallowed a basketball? A basketball that practices river dance on your bladder every twenty minutes?”

“Speaking of coaching, are you ready for the possibility of facing off against your dad in the Finals?”

The question hit me squarely in the chest. With the Pacific Storm having already clinched their spot, it was a very real possibility.

“It’s weird.” I absently rubbed my swollen belly as GB delivered an enthusiastic kick. “Dad’s hanging it up after this season, and part of me wants him to go out with a Cup. But then there’s Miles and Dom...”

“And the team you’ve helped build.”

I nodded, letting my eyes wander over the nursery again. “I’ve been trying not to think about it too much. Part of me still can’t believe we’re potentially going to the Finals. And another part of me is terrified I’m going to go into labor during Game Seven.”

“That would be quite the dramatic entrance.”

“Don’t even joke about that. Dom would probably try to deliver her himself in the middle of the penalty box rather than miss the third period.” A laugh bubbled up from my chest at the thought, easing some of the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. “We should probably join the others.”

As I waddled—because there was no other dignified way to describe my current method of locomotion—out of the nursery, I cast one last glance at the room that would soon hold our daughter.

Our daughter. The reality of that still hit me in waves. Sometimes it happened while watching practice, on my way to the arena, or waking up sandwiched between warm bodies in our Alaskan King Biggie bed, which was the only size that reasonably accommodated four adults.

The sound of laughter and conversation grew louder as we approached the living room. Carter had insisted on hosting a watch party for Game Six since I couldn’t fly to the away game.

The spacious living room was filled with familiar faces. Libby was curled up on the sectional sofa between her partners, Ethan and Leo, while Paige’s three partners were engaged in a heated debate with some of the training staff. Carter was emerging from the kitchen, balancing a tray of snacks.

His face lit up when he saw me, immediately diverting his path to my side. He pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “I was about to send a search party. I know how you get lost in that nursery.”

“I wasn’t lost. I was overwhelmed by tiny footwear.”

Carter’s smile could have powered all the Zambonis across the country. “The sock collection is getting a bit excessive, isn’t it? I may have ordered another twelve pairs yesterday.”

“Carter!”

“They had hockey pucks on them! How could I resist?”

I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly devoted to you and GB.” He led me toward my designated spot, a plush armchair with lumbar support that had appeared in our house one day, complete with an ergonomic footrest. “Can I get you something to drink? I made virgin margaritas.”

“You’re too good to me. Yes, please.”

As he disappeared back into the kitchen, Libby moved to the end of the couch where she was closer to me. “How’s the baby shopping going? Has Carter bought out the entire Carter’s store yet?” She grinned at her own pun.

“We’re one teddy bear away from needing a second nursery.” I lowered myself carefully into my throne of pregnancy comfort. “But at least they’ve stopped arguing about the stroller.”

The memory of Dominic, Miles, and Carter hunched over a laptop looking at stroller videos and reviews made my heart twist with affection. These ridiculous, wonderful men.

Carter returned, presenting me with a mocktail in an actual margarita glass, which was a small touch that made me inordinately happy. He’d been doing these little things since he found out I was pregnant, and I loved him for it.

“Game’s about to start,” someone called out, and the room immediately hushed as the pre-game commentary filled the enormous television screen that dominated one wall.

Carter settled on the arm of my chair, his hand automatically finding its way to my lower back, fingers working gentle circles against the perpetual ache there. I leaned into his touch, trying to focus on the screen rather than the mounting anxiety.

The Titans were up three-to-two in the series. One more win and they’d advance to the Stanley Cup Finals. One more win and Miles and Dominic would be a step closer to hoisting the Cup, and I’d be one step closer to facing off against my father’s team in his final season.

As the players took the ice for warmups, the camera panned to Dominic, his face a mask of intensity as he fired pucks at the net. Miles skated nearby, saying something that made Dominic crack a brief smile before his game face returned.

“They look ready to win this,” Carter murmured, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“They do,” I agreed, unable to suppress the surge of pride. Both men had been playing the best hockey of their careers, their chemistry on the ice reaching new heights that echoed the deepening of our relationship off the ice.

The first period was tense, neither team giving an inch. I found myself clutching Carter’s hand so tightly I was surprised he didn’t complain about circulation loss. By the second intermission, the game remained scoreless, and I was pretty sure I’d aged a decade.

“You need to relax.” Carter massaged my shoulders. “Your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure is fine.” I made a conscious effort to unclench my jaw. “This is it. If they win this...”

“I know.” His voice was soft and understanding. Carter might not have been born into the hockey world like the rest of us, but he’d embraced it fully, learning the game’s intricacies with the same enthusiasm he applied to everything that mattered to us.

The third period began with an immediate scoring chance for the opposing team that had everyone in the room holding their breath. When our goalie made a spectacular save, a collective exhale rippled through the crowd.

With each passing minute, the tension ratcheted higher. Five minutes left. Four. Three.

Then, with just under two minutes on the clock, the opposing team’s defenseman lost control of the puck near the blue line. Dominic was on him in an instant, stealing it cleanly and taking off up the ice. The room erupted in shouts as he crossed into the offensive zone on a break with Miles, pulling the defender toward him before sending a perfect pass across the ice.

Time seemed to slow as Miles received the pass and, in one fluid motion, fired it into the top corner of the net.

The arena exploded. Our living room exploded. I’m pretty sure GB did a celebratory somersault inside my uterus.

“SCOOOOOORE!” The announcer’s voice was nearly drowned out by the roaring crowd and the cheering in our living room.

The camera caught Dominic and Miles crashing into each other along the boards, their teammates piling on in a celebration that caused my eyes to sting with tears of joy and pride.

But the game wasn’t over yet. The opposing team pulled their goalie for a last-minute six-on-five push, scrambling for possession in our zone, but the Titans held strong. Then, the final buzzer sounded, confirming what we already knew: the Tri-State Titans were Eastern Conference Champions, heading to the Stanley Cup Finals.

Cheers erupted again in the living room. Paige jumped to her feet, Libby shouted something triumphant, and Carter was half-laughing, half-yelling as he kissed the side of my head.

I sat in the center of it all, my chest so full it almost hurt.

Elated for the team. Proud of the men I loved. Anxious for what came next.

Because this wasn’t just the end of a series. It was the beginning of something even bigger. The Titans were going to the Finals. My father’s team was already waiting. His last season.

And soon, I would become a mother.

I stared at the TV, at Miles and Dominic grinning in their gear as the team tackled each other in a pile of excitement. I wanted to freeze this moment, tuck it into my back pocket, and carry it with me.

Beside me, Carter slid his hand over my belly right as GB delivered a firm kick, like she was celebrating, too. “Someone’s ready to meet her Stanley Cup champion dads.”

I rested my hand on top of his, and I let myself believe, for this moment, that we could have it all.