Page 37

Chapter 37

Pandemonium

Nora

T here’s something surreal about watching two people you love achieve a dream. Like time slows down and speeds up simultaneously. The puck left Dominic’s stick in what felt like slow motion, yet somehow crossed the goal line before I could inhale.

Then pandemonium.

Twenty thousand people collectively lost their minds as our guys poured over the boards, helmets and gloves flying in all directions. Miles reached Dominic first, tackling him to the ice in a full-body embrace that would’ve qualified as assault in any other context.

I clutched the railing, a sharp pain radiating across my lower back as another contraction hit. Eight minutes since the last one. They were getting closer together.

“You okay?” Carter’s voice came from beside me, his hand finding the small of my back.

I nodded, exhaling slowly through pursed lips. “Just excited.” A half-truth.

Carter’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “Your excited face doesn’t usually involve white knuckles and sweat beads.”

“I’m fine.” I straightened up as the contraction passed. “You promised.”

“I promised not to tell anyone until after the game.” Carter’s hand made gentle circles on my back. “And technically, the game just ended.”

“The celebration hasn’t.” I gestured to the ice where adult men were sobbing and embracing each other like long-lost relatives. “They’ve waited their whole lives for this. I’m not stealing their moment with a ‘Surprise, my uterus is having a party.’”

Carter’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. “Let’s get down there then.” He was already guiding me toward the exit.

We made our way down the private elevator and through the bowels of the arena, Carter clearing a path through celebrating executives and media members who were rushing toward the ice.

Another contraction hit as we got to the ice, this one stopping me mid-step. A little less than seven minutes.

Carter’s eyes widened. “Nora…”

“Not a word.” I was honestly surprised he hadn’t freaked out yet. “Not one single word. They are still not even close enough to go to the hospital.”

I had it committed to memory that they should be five minutes apart, one minute in length, for an hour. Given the traffic in New York, as soon as I hit five minutes, that would be the time to go.

Right now, I was oddly calm. Like that bizarre tranquility during the eye of a hurricane where everything slows down while chaos is about to hit. My body was literally preparing to expel a human being, yet my mind had clicked into some primal, focused state where worry seemed irrelevant.

When I was thirteen, I’d asked my mom about her pregnancies. She’d described birthing me and my sister as being in a maternal trance. I’d laughed then, but I wasn’t laughing now. There was this almost serene understanding between my mind and body that my body knew exactly what to do, even if I didn’t.

“There she is!” Miles spotted me first as we stepped onto the red carpet pathways, skating over, his jersey already reeking of champagne. His smile could have powered the entire arena. “We did it!”

My eyes filled with tears as he wrapped me in a bear hug, lifting me slightly off the ground. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from yelping as another contraction started. Was this one closer? I couldn’t check my watch or run the risk of him knowing.

“You were amazing,” I managed, my voice only slightly strained.

“Wilson’s the hero tonight.” Miles released me, turning to wave Dominic over.

Dominic skated toward us, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure joy. “Did you see that? Tell me you saw that shot!”

Making the championship-winning shot during game seven in overtime was not something a hockey fan would miss.

“Like I’d miss the greatest goal in the team’s history.” I reached for him, ignoring the building pressure in my abdomen.

His arms enveloped me, his gear still wet and cold against my skin. I didn’t care. He smelled like ice and victory and home. “I thought about GB the whole game,” he whispered against my ear. “I wanted her first Finals to be special.”

I laughed, though it came out more like a sob. “Oh, it’s special, all right.”

Carter cleared his throat, tapping his watch with meaningful intensity when I caught his eye. I shook my head, not wanting to ruin this moment. It wasn’t like the baby was crowning.

The commissioner appeared on the carpet, the Stanley Cup close behind. The crowd roared again, drowning out my gasp as another contraction hit.

This time I did subtly check my watch, but only so I could time the next one.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the arena announcer’s voice boomed, “please welcome the NHL Commissioner.”

Boos rained down from the stands in the time-honored tradition of hockey fans hating the commissioner regardless of the occasion.

“Tri-State Titans’ fans,” the commissioner began, unfazed by the reception, “after an incredible season and playoff run, it’s my honor to present your team with the Stanley Cup!”

More deafening cheers. Miles skated forward to accept the trophy, and Carter’s arm tightened around my waist. I leaned into him for support as I watched Miles hoist the Cup overhead. The silver trophy gleamed under the arena lights as he skated in a small circle, his face a portrait of pure elation. Then, the commissioner stepped forward again.

“And now,” the commissioner continued, “the winner of the Conn Smythe Trophy, awarded to the most valuable player of the playoffs, Dominic Wilson!”

Tears stung my eyes before the announcer even finished his name. Dominic had spent the entire season clawing his way back through fear, through guilt, and through the wreckage his father left behind. And now, here he was, not just a champion but the MVP.

My heart swelled with pride so fierce it almost hurt because I’d watched every agonizing step of that journey. I’d seen him break, heal, and fight his way into becoming the man our daughter would one day look up to.

The crowd erupted as Dominic skated forward, a mixture of surprise and joy on his face. He took the trophy, raising it high for the fans.

He then handed it off to an official beside the rink, freeing up both hands to accept the Stanley Cup from Miles. With a primal scream that sent shivers down my spine, he raised the Cup overhead, his voice echoing in the arena.

“Do you want to go tell your dad?” Carter nodded toward the Storm’s bench.

My father stood alongside Mateo, Josie, and the Storm’s coaching staff, a look of resignation, pride, and wistfulness on his face. Tonight was his last game as a coach and would be his first night as a grandpa.

I checked my watch; almost seven minutes had passed since my last contraction. “Let’s wait another minute.”

Sure enough, the contraction hit before I reached the seven-minute mark. It wasn’t as strong, but I still dug my nails into Carter’s sleeve.

“Nora, I’m really getting worried. You’re in pain.”

“It’s like a really bad period cramp. I’m fine.” I took a tentative step, feeling like my center of gravity had shifted dramatically in the past hour and a half since they started. Although, in hindsight, I’d had several earlier in the day before they became stronger and more consistent.

Players were taking turns with the Cup as we made our way carefully across the carpet path toward where my dad was. The arena was a cacophony of cheers, music, and emotional outbursts, which was surprisingly helpful in distracting me.

“Dad!” I called as we approached.

Brett’s face lit up. “There’s my girl!” He reached over the boards to hug me, his familiar cologne a comfort. “What a game, huh?” There was disappointment in his voice. He’d had a Stanley Cup win as a coach, but going out with one would have been the icing on top.

“Yeah,” I managed, breathing through what felt like the start of another contraction. “Dom really?—”

The rest of my sentence evaporated as something shifted inside me. A strange popping sensation followed by immediate warmth rushing down my legs.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Did I just pee myself, or did my water just break?

I shifted my weight, and it happened again. It wasn’t pee. I knew that much. This was different.

Josie looked at my crotch, where my black leggings were now very obviously wet. “Holy shit!”

Alarm crossed my dad’s face. “Nora?”

I met his eyes, my mind running through a list of things I needed to do. “It’s happening,” I whispered.

Carter’s grip on my arm tightened as he looked down. “Her water broke. We need to get her to the hospital!” And cue Carter freaking out.

My dad was already climbing over the boards. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Since the third period, but my contractions weren’t close enough to go in.” They still weren’t, but my water breaking meant it was time to go.

“The third period?” Brett’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because we were down by one with twelve minutes left!” I defended. “What was I supposed to do? ‘Hey guys, pause the championship, I need to push out a human’? You men act like the baby is just going to shoot down the chute.”

“This is how some women give birth in gas station bathrooms, Nora.” Carter was looking around frantically. “Is the baby going to fall out? Right here? On the ice? Does that mean we’ll have to name her Elsa?”

My dad shot him a look, and I laughed. Carter was usually calm, but when it came to me giving birth, he’d already freaked out once two weeks ago, insisting we do a practice hospital run.

“We should head out now, though; traffic will be a nightmare.” Josie walked through the bench door and gave me a hug. “I’m so excited!”

My nerves were creeping in now. This was really happening. Not the Stanley Cup finals we’d just witnessed, not the chaos of being surrounded by thousands of screaming hockey fans, but the actual arrival of my child.

“We need to get the guys.” Carter looked toward where Miles and Dominic were taking photos with the team.

“Not yet.” I grabbed his arm. “Let them have this moment. The baby’s not coming right this second, and they need to change and do press.”

Brett shook his head. “Stubborn as ever. Some things never change.”

“Fine, but where’s the medical staff?” Carter was in full crisis mode now. “Should we carry her? Is that safe? What if she delivers on the way to the hospital?”

“Carter.” I grabbed his face between my hands. “Women have been doing this for thousands of years. I am not going to birth this baby on the ice.” At least, I hoped not.

His panicked eyes met mine. “I’m not equipped for this, Nora.”

“None of us are.” I laughed, then winced as another contraction started. “But here we are.”

My dad put an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

We’d almost gotten off the ice when I heard Miles calling my name. I turned to see him skating rapidly toward us, concern etched across his face.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes darted between me and Carter.

Before I could answer, another contraction hit, stronger than the previous ones. I doubled over slightly, gripping Carter’s arm.

Miles’s expression transformed from concern to alarm in an instant. “Is it the baby?”

I nodded, unable to form words.

“Dominic!” Miles roared, turning back toward the celebration. “Dom! Get over here now!”

So much for not causing a scene.

Dominic’s head snapped up from across the ice before skating over at top speed, nearly wiping out as he hit the carpet.

“What’s happening?” he demanded, eyes wild.

I rubbed my belly. “GB has decided to join the celebration.”

Dominic went completely still, his face draining of color. “Now?”

“Not right this minute, but it’s time to go to the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

I looked at him, his hair matted with sweat and his eyes bright with victory and fear, and a wave of emotion crashed over me. “You needed to finish what you started. Some things are worth waiting for.”

His eyes filled with tears as he took my hand. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” I whispered, then grimaced. “But I might take that back when I’m screaming obscenities at you.”

“Fair enough.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s go meet our daughter.”