Page 39

One Year Later

Nora

One year. Somehow, we’d survived a whole year of parenthood, which felt like an achievement that deserved, at minimum, one of those overly dramatic slow-motion sports montages with inspirational music.

“Be honest, did I go overboard?” Carter appeared at my side, eyeing the backyard, which currently resembled what would happen if a pastel rainbow had an explosive disagreement with a party supply store.

“You mean the banner that requires its own zip code, or the cake that needs its own area code?” I nodded toward the monstrosity on the dessert table that was a three-tiered showstopper with a fondant bear in a tiny hockey uniform, complete with stick and puck.

“It’s minimalist.” Carter stuck out his bottom lip with the kind of wounded dignity only he could pull off. “The pastry chef wanted to add a working fondant scoreboard and actual ice.”

“Of course she did.” I patted his arm, feeling an overwhelming rush of affection for this ridiculous man who thought minimalist meant only three tiers. “It’s perfect. Sophie will never remember it, but the therapy bills from the sugar crash she has will ensure we do.”

Carter’s smile still made my heart do embarrassing spins. “Wait until you see what I have planned for her second?—”

“I’m going to need you to stop that sentence right there.” I pointed at him with the plastic cup of punch I’d been nursing. “Let me enjoy surviving year one before you start planning extravaganzas for year two.”

“No, Jeremy, glue doesn’t go in hair.” Josie’s patient voice carried across the yard as she rescued a small boy from what would have been a very sticky situation.

Josie was supervising Laney and several of the players’ children as they created sock puppets, though from this distance they looked more like creatures from a fuzzy horror movie.

My gaze drifted across the patio to the grill, where Dominic and my dad were engaged in what appeared to be a deeply serious conversation about burger-flipping technique. My dad had one hand on the spatula, demonstrating some sort of wrist action while Dominic watched with the concentration of a man studying rocket science.

My dad’s initial skepticism about our unconventional arrangement had gradually melted into acceptance, then enthusiasm. The first time he’d called all three men “my sons-in-law,” I’d nearly choked on my coffee.

“Your dad’s mansplaining grilling again.” Miles appeared at my other side, handing me a plate of finger foods. “Dom’s face says he’s about ten seconds from a technical foul.”

“My dad misses coaching.” I leaned against Miles as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “Last week, when we were video chatting and I was doing laundry, he tried to explain to me how to properly fold Sophie’s clothes.”

Miles chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “To be fair, your folding technique is a crime against laundry.”

“Why fold when you can stuff? Babies don’t know that their clothes are wrinkled.” I wasn’t that bad most of the time, but some days a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

From across the yard, Paige caught my eye and waved, her three men clustered around her. She’d been my lifeline this past year, getting me out of the house and showing up with coffee when I most needed it.

When I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d been terrified that my career, my independence, and everything I’d worked for was over. Instead, my world had expanded in ways I never could have imagined. It hadn’t gotten smaller with Sophie’s arrival; it had grown exponentially, filled with more love, more chaos, and yes, significantly more laundry than I’d ever thought possible.

The past year had been a blur of sleepless nights and firsts, of juggling coaching duties with diaper duties. I’d reviewed game footage during naps, drafted skating drills while Sophie practiced tummy time, and when I couldn’t be at home, Carter was, his flexible schedule allowing him to be our anchor when hockey season demanded my presence.

We hadn’t won the Cup this year and had been knocked out in the second round, but watching Miles and Dominic in the locker room afterward, I’d already seen the fire rekindling in their eyes. There was always next season.

A burst of laughter drew my attention to where Libby was chatting with several of the players’ partners, gesturing animatedly as she told what was clearly an entertaining story. Another unexpected friendship that had blossomed over backyard barbecues and book club shenanigans.

“Should we wake the birthday girl?” Dominic broke away from the grill, making his way toward us with a plate of perfectly cooked hamburgers and hot dogs.

As if she heard her dad talking about her, the baby monitor on my hip crackled, and Sophie’s awake-time babbles came through clearly. All three men immediately perked up like meerkats spotting a predator.

“I’ll get her,” they said in unison, then exchanged looks that were half challenge, half amusement.

“Why don’t you all go?” I suggested with a laugh. “She’ll be thrilled to wake up to her personal fan club.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, heading toward the house with the synchronized purpose of a special ops team on a mission. I watched them go, these three completely different men who had somehow become the foundation of my world.

I took a moment alone, sipping my punch and watching the party unfold around me. A year ago, I’d been terrified of judgment, of failing as a mother, of losing myself in the process. Now I stood in a place filled with people who loved us exactly as we were.

The back door opened, and the men emerged with Sophie between them, freshly awakened and wide-eyed at the colorful scene before her. She wore the tiny purple hockey jersey we’d had custom-made, her dark curls wild from her nap. Carter was adjusting her hair bow, Miles carrying her favorite stuffed elephant, and Dominic holding her securely as she bounced eagerly in his arms.

Sophie spotted me and let out a delighted squeal, her arms reaching toward me. Dominic set her down carefully on the grass, and everyone seemed to hold their breath as she steadied herself.

With a determination that was pure Wilson, she took one wobbling step forward. Then another. And another.

“She’s walking!” someone gasped, but I barely heard them.

The world narrowed to my daughter’s concentrated face and those tiny feet pushing against the grass. I dropped to my knees, arms outstretched, but before she could reach me, she lost her balance and tipped backward.

Only to be caught by a blur of motion behind her.

Carter, Miles, and Dominic had instinctively moved in sync, forming a soft, laughing safety net around her. They caught her before she hit the ground, their bodies folding into a grinning heap as Sophie collapsed into the center of it all, shrieking with laughter.

The sound of Sophie’s giggles, Carter’s infectious chuckle, Miles’s deep rumble, and Dominic’s full-bellied laugh washed over me like a wave.

In that moment, watching the four most important people in my world tangled together on the grass, I realized we’d already won something far more valuable than any trophy. We’d built this unconventional and absolutely perfect family out of unexpected circumstances and unwavering love.

Some might say we’d done everything wrong, but standing here now, I couldn’t imagine our story unfolding any other way.

Sophie looked up from the middle of her dad pile, her eyes finding mine. She held out her little hand toward me, a clear invitation to join the chaos.

Who was I to refuse?

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