Page 38

Chapter 38

Always Meant to Be

Nora

I ’d always assumed the most surreal experience of my life would be watching my team hold a Stanley Cup overhead while thousands of people screamed their lungs out. But lying in a plush hospital bed, monitors beeping softly while three grown men fussed over me like I was a delicate piece of crystal about to shatter? That took the surreal cake.

“Are you sure you don’t want the lavender essential oil diffuser?” Carter held up a sleek contraption that looked more suited for a spa than a birthing suite. “The doula forum said it promotes tranquility during transition.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The doula forum?”

“I may have joined several online birthing communities.” He plugged in the diffuser anyway. “They’ve been very educational.”

My laugh turned into a grimace as another contraction rolled through me. Thank science for epidurals. What had been knife-twisting agony thirty minutes ago was now just uncomfortable pressure, like someone sitting on my abdomen.

“Breathe through it,” Carter coached, demonstrating exaggerated breaths that made him look like a hyperventilating golden retriever. “Hee-hee-hoooo.”

“Carter, if you make that sound one more time, I will have this baby just to throw her dirty diaper at you.”

He grinned, undeterred. “The forum said you’d get irritable.” He looked way too pleased for someone I’d threatened with diaper projectiles, like he’d checked off some box on his mental “Signs of Labor” bingo card. He’d probably made an actual bingo card in one of his middle-of-the-night preparation frenzies.

A nurse bustled in to check my monitors and my cervix. “How’s Mom doing? Epidural helping?”

“Definitely.” I’d weighed the pros and cons of getting one and decided having one was what was best for me.

“You’re progressing nicely, about seven centimeters. We’ll check again soon.”

As she left, the door swung open with a dramatic flourish, and Miles appeared, struggling with an enormous duffel bag.

“What in the world? I already have my bag.” I laughed. “Did you pack for a month-long expedition?”

Miles dropped the bag and rushed to my side, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I thought you might want a few more things.”

He started unpacking: fuzzy socks in three colors, lip balm, a sleep mask, a tiny fan, multiple hair ties, a photo of all four of us from Christmas, a travel pillow, slippers, and what looked like an entire CVS pharmacy aisle.

“How are you feeling?” He came over to the bed and smoothed my hair back.

“Like I’m about to push a watermelon through a keyhole, but otherwise great.”

He laughed, taking my hand. “Your dad and Josie are in the waiting room when you’re ready to see them.”

The door burst open again, and there he was, still glowing from victory, hair damp from a hasty shower, eyes wild with a mixture of triumph and terror. Dominic.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he panted, clearly having run from wherever he’d parked. “Traffic was a mess. Did I miss anything? Are you okay? Is the baby coming yet?”

The question barrage hit me like a verbal tidal wave. “Slow down, Stanley Cup champion. We’re still in the early stages of this marathon.”

Dominic crossed the room in three strides, cradling my face in his hands like I was the most precious thing in the world. His fingers trembled slightly against my skin.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered.

I snorted. “I’m sweaty, puffy, and hooked up to more wires than NASA Mission Control.”

“Still beautiful.” His thumbs stroked my cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening today.”

Something about the wonder in his voice melted through my sarcastic defenses. My eyes pricked with tears. “Believe it. Your daughter has impeccable timing.” I didn’t want to burst his bubble and tell him it more than likely wouldn’t happen until tomorrow.

Dominic’s smile was watery as he leaned down to press his forehead against mine. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” I admitted. “But so ready to meet her.”

Carter approached with a cup of ice chips, held out like an offering to a goddess. “Sustenance for the warrior queen.”

“Thank you, loyal subject.” I accepted a spoonful of chips, letting them dissolve on my tongue.

The atmosphere in the room settled into a comfortable pocket of calm before the life-changing storm. Miles pulled up a chair and took one of my feet into his lap, massaging gently. Carter settled on my other side, and appointed himself Chief Ice Chip Provider. Dominic sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on my belly, the other brushing hair away from my face with reverence.

Hours had passed, and my dad and sister had visited and long since gone back to their hotel to get some sleep. I was getting a second wind after a brief nap.

After a gnarly contraction, Carter pulled a Bluetooth speaker from his bag. “I made a birthing playlist.”

Three groans filled the room.

“What? It’s carefully curated! I spent hours on it!”

“Does it include ‘Push It’ by Salt-N-Pepa?” Miles asked dryly.

Carter’s silence was damning.

“Absolutely not.” I relaxed back into my pillows as the contraction ebbed. “No pun-based birthing music.”

“Fine.” Carter looked wounded. “But I’m keeping ‘Ice Ice Baby’ for when we need to remember the importance of ice chips. We need to keep you hydrated.”

Another contraction built, stronger this time, and I gripped Dominic’s hand. He immediately leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re doing amazing.”

When it passed, I exhaled slowly. “Distract me.”

Carter scratched his chin. “I’ve been thinking about her first birthday party theme. I’m torn between unicorns or princesses.”

“She’s not even born yet.” Dominic looked at him with a bored expression. “And hockey is the answer, obviously.”

We fell into a comfortable rhythm. Conversation flowed easily between contractions, then quiet support during them. The men moved around me in an unconscious choreography, anticipating needs I didn’t know I had. Miles applied ChapStick to my dry lips. Carter refreshed my water. Dominic placed a steady hand on my belly, feeling our daughter move.

“Did any of you ever think we’d end up here?” I asked during a lull. “When we first met?”

Dominic laughed. “I thought you were going to be the coach who ended my career.”

“I thought you were going to be the player who made me lose my job,” I countered.

Miles smiled. “I thought you were the most impressive woman I’d ever met. Still do.”

“I knew.” Carter squeezed my foot. “The moment I saw you on that yacht, I had a vision of you, me, a baby, a future.”

“Bullshit,” Dominic coughed.

“What if I’m terrible at it?” The fear I’d been suppressing bubbled up suddenly. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

Carter grabbed me a tissue. “I have seventeen parenting books in my studio. Plus subscription access to five different child development apps.”

I couldn’t help laughing through my tears. “Of course you do.”

“And I have a lifetime supply of patience,” Miles added.

“And I have enough love for both of you to make up for any mistakes,” Dominic finished, his voice thick.

Another contraction began building, stronger than before, making me grimace.

The door opened as a nurse entered, her expression warm but professional. “Let’s check how we’re doing.” After a quick examination, she looked up with a smile. “You’re at ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing.”

The air in the room changed instantaneously, alive with nervous energy and anticipation.

“Now?” Dominic’s voice cracked.

I squeezed his hand, another eerily calm wave passing over me. This was it.

As the room suddenly filled with medical staff preparing for my daughter’s arrival, I looked at the three men who had changed my life: Miles’s steady calm, Carter’s enthusiastic support, and Dominic’s emotional wonder.

“Ready to have a baby?” the doctor asked as she entered, already gowned and gloved.

I looked into Dominic’s tear-filled eyes, and Miles and Carter each took one of my hands, and nodded.

“I’m ready.”

* * *

Sophie Josephine Wilson entered the world at 6:42 a.m., weighing seven pounds, one ounce.

And now, three hours later, I couldn’t stop staring at her perfect tiny face. Her impossibly small nose. The rosebud mouth that occasionally made little suckling movements in her sleep. The faintest wisps of dark hair on her head.

Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of the birthing suite, casting everything in a golden glow that felt almost otherworldly. Or maybe that was the post-birth hormones and sleep deprivation talking.

I shifted slightly, wincing at the tenderness that seemed to radiate from, well, everywhere. The nurses had said I’d had a textbook delivery, but my body had some colorful opinions about that.

Sophie made a tiny squeak against my chest, and I automatically brought my hand to her swaddled form, marveling at how something so small could feel so monumental.

“She’s still breathing, right?” Dominic’s voice was husky with exhaustion.

I glanced over to where he sat slumped in the visitor’s chair. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but I doubted he’d closed them for more than a minute since Sophie arrived.

“Still breathing.” I smiled at him. “Although I may have checked five times in the last ten minutes, so I can’t really judge.”

“I counted six times, actually.” Miles paced near the window, coffee cup in hand. His hair was sticking up in several directions, and he’d abandoned his suit for a T-shirt and jeans.

“You’re both amateurs.” Carter kicked his New Balance-clad feet up on the footrest of his chair. When he’d put them on, I just about killed him for making me laugh. “Professional parents check at least twelve times per hour. I read it in one of those books.”

“Since when are any of us professionals at this?” I snorted, then immediately regretted it as various body parts protested with a vengeance. Even my eyelids seemed to ache. “I think I need a nap. Dom, do you want to hold her again?”

His face lit up before immediately shifting to anxiety. “Are you sure? She looks comfortable.”

“She’s asleep. She’ll be comfortable anywhere.” I gestured him over.

That was all the invitation he needed. Dominic approached like he was walking on eggshells, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for her. For all his confidence on the ice, the man moved like a nervous teenager when it came to his daughter.

The first time he’d held her, right after birth, tears had streamed down his face as he’d whispered, “Hey there, Soph. I’m your daddy.” Now he cradled her against his broad chest with a reverence that made my heart twist. Sophie looked impossibly tiny against him, bundled in her hospital blanket.

“I still can’t believe she’s real.” His finger gently traced her cheek. “That we made her.”

A warm flush spread through me that had nothing to do with postpartum hormones. I was suddenly struck by how each of them had naturally fallen into their own roles since Sophie’s arrival. There was no chaos, no fumbling, just a flow as they gravitated to what needed doing.

As sleep began to tug at the edges of my consciousness, I watched through heavy lids as my three men bent their heads together over our daughter. Different as they were, they shared the same expression of wonder, the same protective curve of shoulders, the same gentle touch.

They had found me, or I had found them, or perhaps we had all found each other exactly when we needed to. I knew with absolute certainty that we belonged together.

They were mine, and I was theirs, and somehow, against all odds, we had become exactly what we were always meant to be.

A family.