Page 23

Chapter 23

Garrett

I watch Cyn's chest rise and fall in the soft morning light. Her blonde hair fans across the pillow, one hand curled protectively over her rounded belly. My throat tightens with an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. Not long ago, my life was ordered, predictable. Now it's chaotic, terrifying, and more satisfying than I ever imagined possible.

The digital clock reads 5:47 AM. Old habits die hard. Years of pre-dawn practice sessions have permanently rewired my body clock, even though I'm behind the bench now instead of on the ice. I don't mind these quiet moments, though. They give me time to look at her, to marvel at how quickly everything changed.

I’m careful not to wake her. She needs her rest. Dr. Anderson says everything is progressing normally, but I still worry. The baby's due in about four months, and I'm counting down the days like I used to count down to playoff games. Except this is so much bigger.

"You're staring again," Cyn mumbles, her eyes still closed.

"Can't help it." My voice comes out rough with sleep and emotion.

She stretches like a cat, her tank top riding up to expose more of her growing belly. "What time is it?"

"Early. Go back to sleep."

Instead, she rolls toward me, those green eyes opening slowly.

“Sleep well?"

She nods her head. "So much better this week. Whatever magic Dr. Anderson worked with those supplement changes, it's helping."

Relief washes through me. The first trimester was rough on her. So much nausea and the ginger tea and acupuncture only helped so much. The second trimester has definitely been an improvement.

"That's so good." I place my hand gently on her stomach. "How's the little forward doing this morning?"

"Defenseman. Or woman," she corrects with a sleepy smile. It's our ongoing joke. She insists our baby will take after me.

Her hand covers mine. "The baby was kicking like crazy yesterday."

I smile broadly. "Yeah? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were in that strategy meeting with Coach Martinez. I was going to tell you at dinner, but then you were so excited about that new defensive line setup, I forgot."

Guilt pricks at me. "I'm sorry. I get caught up sometimes."

"Don't apologize." She sits up, stretching again. Her hair falls around her shoulders in messy waves. "It's one of the things I like most about you. You care. About everything."

I care about her most of all. The thought hits me with physical force. These past several months have been a blur of late-night cravings runs, crib shopping and learning more about baby proofing than I ever thought possible. And through it all, this feeling has been growing inside me.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her head tilted to the side. "You've got that look again."

"What look?"

"The one where you're planning the next twenty years in your head." Her fingers brush my jaw. "Relax, Coach. We've got time."

Do we? I almost say it out loud. Things are moving fast between us, but not fast enough for my liking. She still has her apartment downtown, though she spends most nights here. We haven't made anything official beyond the fact that we're a couple and having this baby together. But lately, I've been thinking about more. About forever.

My father once told me—before he died during my rookie year—that when you know, you know. ‘Don't waste time overthinking it, son,’ he'd said.

I kiss her forehead, her cheek, and finally her lips. "I love mornings like this," I murmur against her mouth. "When you’re here with me."

She kisses me back, and I feel that now-familiar warmth spread through my chest. I never expected this—to become a father, to feel this way about Cyn. But now I can't imagine my life any other way. I'm still scared as hell about screwing up, about not being the father this kid deserves. But when Cyn looks at me like she believes in me...there’s nothing better.

And that's enough to start with.

An hour later, it hits me during practice, between yelling defensive formations and watching Johnson bungle the same power play setup for the third time. I love her. The realization stops me mid-sentence, the whistle halfway to my lips. Three simple words that explain everything—why I wake up early just to watch her sleep, why her laugh makes my chest hurt in the best way possible, why the thought of our future together feels like coming home after a long road trip. I, Garrett Hughes, am in love with Cynthia Lockhart. And not only that. I realize I want to live with her ASAP.

"Earth to Hughes." Martinez says, waves a hand in front of my face. "You still with us, or did your brain take an early lunch?"

"Sorry." I shake my head, blowing the whistle. "Johnson! Watch your positioning. Again!"

Anthony studies me with narrowed eyes as the players reset. "What's going on with you today? You've been spacing out all morning."

"Nothing. Just thinking about the Toronto game."

"Bullshit." He grins. "I’m guessing this has something to do with a certain PT who’s pregnant with your baby."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Yeah."

"Man, you've got it bad." He claps me on the shoulder. "Never thought I'd see the day after the divorce hell you went through."

"Me neither." I watch the players execute the drill. Better this time. "I'm gonna tell her."

"That you're thinking about her instead of coaching?"

"That I love her."

Anthony's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow. Okay. That's...big."

"I know."

“So how are you going to do it?”

A plan forms in my mind as we talk, pieces falling into place.

"I'm thinking about whisking her away. Somewhere special. The Peninsula, maybe."

Anthony whistles. "Pulling out all the stops. I like it."

After practice, I make the calls. The Peninsula has a cancellation for tonight—a stroke of luck. I book their best suite and arrange for dinner on the private terrace. I talk to the chef personally about the menu. Cyn loves seafood, especially scallops and the chef happens to have some available.

My next call is to Cyn.

"Hey, you." Her voice is bright, slightly breathless. She must be having a busy day.

"Hey. How's your day going?"

"Busy. Peterson's ankle is acting up again, and Reynolds is being a baby about his PT regimen."

I laugh. "Sounds about right. Listen, can you get away tonight? I want to take you somewhere."

"Hmm. Mysterious. I like it. What time?"

"Seven? Wear something nice."

"How nice are we talking?"

"That green dress. The one that makes your eyes look like..." I trail off, imaging the way she looks in it.

"Like what?" I can hear her smile through the phone.

"Just wear it." I clear my throat. "Please."

She laughs. "Okay, Coach. Seven it is."

By 6:30, I'm a mess of nerves. I check my watch every thirty seconds as I drive to her apartment. I'm wearing a suit—no tie, open collar. The box with her gift is heavy in my jacket pocket.

When she opens the door, I forget how to speak. The green dress hugs her curves, flowing gracefully over her growing baby bump. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders.

"You clean up nice, Hughes." She grins, grabbing a small clutch from the entryway table.

I find my voice. "You look absolutely stunning."

Her cheeks flush. "Flattery will get you everywhere. So where are we going?"

"You'll see."

In the car, she’s going nuts trying to guess. "Italian? That new place on Michigan? Or is it the French bistro you mentioned last week?"

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the road. "Not telling."

When we pull up to the Peninsula, her eyes widen. "Oh my gosh, Garrett."

The valet takes my keys, and I guide her inside with a hand at the small of her back. The lobby gleams with understated luxury—all polished wood and soft lighting. The hostess greets us with a knowing smile and leads us to a private elevator.

"What's going on?" Cyn whispers as we ascend. "This is more than just dinner, isn't it?"

I squeeze her hand. "Maybe."

The elevator opens directly into the suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of the Chicago skyline, but it's the terrace that steals the show. Lit by strings of soft white lights and flickering candles, a single table awaits us. A bottle of sparkling cider chills in an ice bucket—alcohol is out for Cyn these days and, in solidarity, no booze for me either.

"Garrett." Her voice catches. "This is incredible."

The waiter appears as if summoned, seating us and explaining the custom menu. Cyn raises an eyebrow at me when he describes the scallop entree with miso glaze—her favorite.

"You arranged all this? How?"

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. "I know a guy."

"Clearly." She looks around, taking it all in. "What's the occasion?"

"Do I need an occasion to spoil you?"

Her eyes narrow playfully. "No, I guess not."

Throughout the appetizer and main course, we talk about everything and nothing—the team's chances in the upcoming games, PT progress with the players, names for the baby that we both know we'll never actually use. (She suggests "Puck." I counter with "Zamboni." And we laugh so hard she almost pees her panties.)

As dessert arrives—a chocolate soufflé that makes Cyn moan in a way that sends my thoughts in naughty directions—I know it's time.

"Cyn," I say, reaching across the table for her hand. "These past few months have been the best of my life."

She sets down her spoon, her expression softening. "Mine too."

"When we found out about the baby, I was scared. I'm still scared. But I'm also happier than I've ever been."

Her fingers tighten around mine. "Same."

"The thing is," I continue, my heart hammering, "I've realized something. Something important." I take a deep breath. "I love you, Cyn. Not because of the baby. Not because you know more about hockey than I do. I just love you. Everything about you."

Her eyes shine in the candlelight. For a moment, she's silent, and I feel a flash of panic. Then she squeezes my hand.

"I love you too, Garrett."

Four simple words that change everything. I rise from my chair, pulling her to her feet and into my arms. Our lips meet, and I feel that spark again—the one I felt the first time we kissed. Only now it's deeper, richer with meaning.

When we break apart, she's smiling. "Is that why you brought me here? To tell me you love me?"

"Partly." I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small box. Her eyes widen, and I quickly shake my head. "It's not a ring. Not yet. Although..." I trail off, not wanting to scare her.

She laughs. "Open it, then."

Inside is a key. A key to my condo, with a little hockey puck keychain.

"I know we're doing this backward," I say. "Baby first, then falling in love. But I want to do the rest right. Move in with me, Cyn. I want to fall asleep next to you every night and wake up with you every morning."

She looks at the key, then at me. "Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Her answer is another kiss, this one filled with promise. Against my lips, she whispers, "I’d love to move in with you, Garrett."

We sit back down and Cyn turns the key over in her palm, her fingers trembling slightly. Tears shine in her eyes, but she's smiling—a small, almost bewildered smile that tugs at my heart. I've seen her confident, I've seen her passionate, I've seen her professional and focused. But this—this quiet vulnerability—this is new.

“Everything is suddenly very real."

I pull my chair closer to hers, our knees touching under the table. "Too real?"

"No." She shakes her head firmly. "Not too real. Just...I didn't expect this. Any of this." Her hand drifts to her stomach. "I was super focused on establishing myself with the team, paying off my student loans, proving myself. And now..."

"Now you're still doing all of that," I remind her. "Plus growing a human. And putting up with me."

Her smile widens and she laughs.

I take her hand, the one holding the key. "I want you to know something. I'd be asking you this even if there wasn't a little person on the way. I want to be with you as much as I can, Cyn. I want to rub your feet at the end on the couch while we talk about our days. I want to take long walks with you and Oscar. I want all of it."

"I know this is fast. I know you value your independence. But I'm not asking you to give that up. We'll figure out the details—whose furniture stays, how we handle finances, all of it. I just know I want you in my life. Every day."

She's quiet for a long moment, her thumb rubbing absently over the key. "I've been so careful my whole life," she finally says. "Working three jobs to put myself through school. Never letting myself get too attached to anyone because I had goals. My mom did everything alone after my dad left, and I always promised myself I'd never depend on anyone else." She looks up at me. "But this—us—it doesn't feel like dependence. It feels like a true partnership."

Relief flows through me. "That's exactly what I want. Partnership."

"When do you want to start moving your things?" I ask, already mentally rearranging my closet to make room for her clothes.

"This weekend?" She says excitedly. "I can start with the essentials. The lease on my apartment is up in two months anyway."

"Perfect timing."

She smiles, her eyes still shining with tears. "It's like everything is falling into place, isn't it? Even though none of it was planned."

"Sometimes the best things aren't." I raise my glass of sparkling cider. "To us. To our future. To figuring it out together."

She clinks her glass against mine, her face beaming with joy. "To us."