Page 22 of Icing the Cougar (Hockey USA Collection #7)

Jasper

The rooftop of my apartment complex has string lights strung overhead, and out past the glass railing is the beautiful Chicago night skyline. There’s supposed to be a storm later, but right now the weather’s perfect. It’s warm and not too hot.

The whole Chicago Blades crew is here, plus wives, girlfriends, random friends, and a couple of the rookies who still can’t believe they made the squad.

Riley already commandeered the grill, flipping burgers like he was born for it with his girlfriend Amelia and sister Kindra, who will be getting married next season.

Zach is mixing drinks at the bar, sliding cans of Spindrift and bottles of Tito’s down the counter with a precision I wish he’d show on the ice.

Trinity is holding court on the north side of the deck, right by the outdoor kitchen.

I spot her by the shock of auburn hair, one hand wrapped around a lemonade, the other tucked under her stomach like it’s a secret.

She’s showing now, not huge but definitely past “could be a food baby” territory.

The Blades t-shirt she’s wearing is tight enough to show off the curve, and the number on the back—my number—makes my chest go hot every time I see it.

She’s not nervous. Not even a little. She’s talking with a couple of the younger guys, the ones who used to say shit about my girl’s age. Now they’re leaning in, listening as she tells some story, laughing along with her. She gestures with her free hand, animated, confident, completely at home.

Only a few short months ago, she would have been clinging to the edges of the party, sipping mineral water and pretending she wasn’t cataloging every insecurity in the room.

I still remember the first time I tried to bring her to one of these, how she ducked out after an hour, texting me from the lobby that she had a “headache” and would Uber home.

She told me later it was because she couldn’t stand the way people looked at us—like she was a babysitter, or a second-grade teacher at a student’s birthday.

Now? She looks like she owns the place.

I take a minute to watch her, to let the feeling sink in.

There’s a comfort in it I can’t explain, like slipping on a hoodie still warm from the dryer.

Every so often she glances over and catches me staring.

She raises an eyebrow, mouth curving up in a smile that dares me to come over. I do, obviously.

As I pass Riley, he calls out, “Hey, Jazz! You want cheese or you going to be a monster and eat it plain?”

“Double cheese,” I yell back.

He mock-groans. “This is why you’ll never make weight.”

“You’re grilling pineapple, so I’m guessing that’s your meal tonight, Mr. Trim ‘n Fit,” I shoot back.

He flips me off with a spatula and winks. “For your girl, Jazz.”

I grab a beer from the cooler and angle toward Trinity’s group.

I catch the tail end of her story: “—and then he tried to do a pull-up on the silk, and the entire rig came down. Right onto his head. I had to drive him to urgent care with a gash the size of a dime, and the first thing he did when they stitched it up was ask if he could fuck me before the anesthetic wore off.”

The guys howl, half in horror, half in admiration. One of them, a stick-thin rookie named Marek, actually blushes.

“Did you?” asks Marek.

Trinity grins. “He was concussed and bleeding, but sure. Commitment’s important.”

They lose it. Even I have to laugh, because it’s true, and also because I remember that day, the panic in her eyes and the way she shook when she held my face afterward. Now she tells the story like it’s a sitcom episode.

I step in, putting an arm around her shoulders, careful not to spill her lemonade. “Don’t listen to her,” I say to the rookies. “She makes up half this shit to see if you’ll buy it.”

Trinity smirks. “The other half is true, though.”

“Scary but true,” I confirm, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The guys give me the nod—the subtle, masculine approval that says, congrats, you landed the cool one. They wander off, headed for the snack table or the cornhole set up on the east deck.

Trinity leans in, voice low enough for just me. “Nobody’s made a single cradle-robbing joke.”

“Maybe they finally realized who’s in charge,” I say, squeezing her hip.

She gives me a sharp and fond look. “You think I’m in charge?”

“You let me think I am, and that’s what matters.”

She laughs and turns so her belly bumps my stomach.

She’s always been tiny—five-five on a good day—but the pregnancy is already changing her.

The curve is new, and the way she holds herself is different.

Stronger, somehow. It’s wild, knowing there’s a whole-ass person growing in there, half me, half her, and probably already plotting ways to destroy our sleep schedule.

I reach down, rest my hand over the round of her stomach. I do this a lot now, almost without thinking. She used to swat me away, joking that I was treating her like an alien incubator, but lately she just lets it happen. Sometimes she even covers my hand with hers.

“You feel anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Give it another week and you’ll be able to see the kicks through the shirt.”

“Bet I can feel it before then,” I say, competitive as always.

She tilts her head in thought. “What do I get if you lose?”

I think about it. “I’ll do the dishes for a month.”

“That’s cute,” she says. “Try lifetime.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

She smiles, and I love that I’m the one who brightened up her face.

There’s music coming from somewhere, maybe the speaker Alfie rigged up to his phone, a mix of classic rock and whatever’s trending on TikTok this week.

We drift to the edge of the deck, where the glass railing looks out over the pool three stories below.

There’s a couple making out in the hot tub—probably residents, probably not sober.

I imagine what it would be like to live here full-time, to spend every off-season floating in that pool and never having to think about travel or trades or contract years. I don’t hate it.

Trinity follows my gaze. “You know, I never pictured you as a ‘settle down’ kind of guy,” she says.

I shrug. “I didn’t, either.”

She rests her head on my shoulder.

“I’m so happy,” I admit. I’ve spent so much of my life looking for the next game, next win, next high that I never really learned how to enjoy standing still.

We stand together, looking out at the city. Behind us, the party gets louder, someone cranking the music up and people starting to dance. Trinity laughs at something I miss, then grabs my hand and pulls me back into the crowd.

The next hour is a blur of noise and movement.

We make the rounds, hugging friends and dodging questions about the baby (“Is it a boy or girl?” “Do you have names yet?” “Are you hoping it’ll skate?

”). Trinity fields most of them, but every so often she squeezes my arm like she needs a lifeline. I never let go.

At some point, Riley makes a toast. He waves a bottle of Miller High Life like a trophy. “To the end of a great season and to the new one that will be here before we know it.” The crowd cheers.

Someone hands me a shot, and I toss it back without looking.

Trinity slips away for a minute, and I take the chance to grab another beer. Zach is behind the bar, fiddling with a bottle opener.

He glances up as I approach. “You having fun?” he asks.

“Yeah, actually.”

He nods. “Good. You deserve it.”

There’s something in his voice, a gravity I haven’t heard before. I’m about to ask if he’s okay, but then he grins, all teeth, and slides a cold can across the bar. “Go take care of your girl,” he says. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I joke.

He shrugs, wiping down the counter. “Somebody’s got to keep you in line.”

I open the beer and head back into the fray. Trinity is already back, leaning against the railing, looking out at the city again. I join her, standing there, side by side, watching the lights in the distance blink on and off.

“You ever think about what’s next?” I ask.

She considers my question a beat. “All the time. However, I’m good with right now.”

She rests her hand over mine. I look at her and know I’d do anything to keep her safe, to keep her happy. Even if it means doing the dishes for the rest of my life.

I lean in and kiss her, just once, right above the edge of her smile.

She grins. “What was that for?”

“Just making sure you’re real,” I say.

She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.”

“I’m going to miss this rooftop view, but I’m excited for what’s to come,” she confesses.

“Yeah, I completely agree. Life in the suburbs will look a lot different, and I can’t wait. Plus, I’ll never have to hear Zach talking shit about my choices of houses again.” We both laugh.

We stay until the party winds down, until the music fades and people start to trickle out, saying their goodbyes and making promises to meet up before training camp.

Riley gives me a bear hug and tells me not to fuck up fatherhood.

Marek wants to know if we’ll name the baby after him.

Trinity’s friend Nova stops by, trading a quick hug with Trinity and making a joke about being the “cool aunt.”

I look at Trinity, her hair messy from the wind, eyes soft in the fading light. I think about all the things I never said, all the times I almost fucked it up, all the ways she could have left but didn’t.

“You want to stay up a while?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. I do at home. I’ll meet you in our apartment when you finish up here.”

“Sounds good.” I pull her in for a hug and kiss her temple before she leaves, and I look around at the place to make sure that it’s not too much of a mess for the apartment complexes staff to clean in the morning.

There’s always one guy left standing at the end of the night. Most times, it’s Zach, drunk and trying to outlast the world.

Tonight, it’s Alfie.

The rooftop is almost empty, just a couple stragglers huddled by the dead grill, talking about summer plans and pretending not to be wasted. The pool three floors below is empty except for the couple that never left the hot tub.

Alfie stands by the glass rail, arms folded, bottle dangling from his right hand, left hand jammed deep in his pocket. His silhouette is all hard angles, shoulders hunched, jawline clenched tight.

He doesn’t hear me come up behind him. I set my beer on the ledge and lean in, side by side, waiting for him to break the silence.

He doesn’t. Not for a long minute.

I follow his line of sight, expecting the skyline, maybe the clouds building out west, but he’s not looking at any of that. He’s locked on the pool deck below, eyes fixed, unblinking.

I clear my throat. “You trying to bore a hole in the concrete?”

Alfie doesn’t answer right away. His grip on the bottle tightens.

“Alf,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.

He blinks. “Sorry,” he says. “Just spaced for a minute.”

I grab my beer to take a swig. “You good, man?”

He shrugs, but it’s not the easy, I-don’t-give-a-shit gesture he usually pulls. This one’s stiff, almost mechanical. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

I watch him for a second, not buying it. “You don’t get air inside your own apartment?”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “It’s different up here.”

We both look down at the pool. The couple in the hot tub is closer now, faces obscured by steam and shadows, but I can see that the guy is way too handsy, pawing at his date like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go.

The girl doesn’t seem to mind, though. She’s got her arms around his neck, laughing and splashing water onto the deck.

I try to find something interesting about them, but there’s nothing. They’re just another set of strangers.

Alfie is still locked in, though. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move.

I take a sip of beer. “You know those people?”

He shakes his head. “Na.”

“Then what’s so fascinating?”

He lets out a breath, slow and tight. “Nothing. Just… I don’t know. Forget it.”

He’s lying, but I don’t push. Alfie’s always been the most chill guy on the team, but he doesn’t do feelings. He keeps everything under the surface, and if he ever cracks, he does it alone.

I wait another minute. The city breathes around us—sirens in the distance, the low thrum of traffic, wind rattling the string lights overhead. It should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t.

“Hey,” I say, “if you want to talk about something, you know you can.”

Alfie’s jaw works for a second, grinding side to side. He doesn’t look at me. “It’s nothing. Just… a long week, I guess.”

I nod, pretending to let it go.

We stand together, not saying anything as Alfie’s knuckles remain white around the bottle.

Finally, he turns to me. There’s something in his eyes I can’t place. “You did good, you know,” he says. “With Trinity.”

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks.”

He nods. “You ever mess it up, I’ll be first in line to smack you.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He grins, but it doesn’t last. He tips the bottle to his lips, drains half of what’s left, and sets it carefully on the ledge.

“I’m gonna head out,” he says. “Got workout in the morning.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I watch him start for the door, then stop. “Hey, Alf?”

He turns.

“You sure you’re okay?”

He forces a smile; the kind that’s all teeth and no heart. “I’m fine, Jazz. Go have a good time with your girl.”

He walks off, footsteps soft on the tile, leaving me alone with the city and the echo of whatever the hell just happened.

I look back down at the pool. The couple is gone. The water is still.

I stand there for a while, watching the lights flicker. I wonder what could rattle a guy like Alfie, what could make him stand three stories up and stare into nothing like he’s waiting for a sign.

I don’t know.

Eventually, I go back inside. Trinity’s waiting, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, half-asleep but pretending not to be. I slide in next to her, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and kiss the side of her head.

She leans into me, and I let the silence fill up with everything we don’t say. I close my eyes and breathe her in, loving times like these and just loving her.

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