Page 48 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)
LUKE
Two Years Later
T he pain is so intense I think I may pass out.
But I have only one choice—suck it up and be strong.
I try to wiggle my fingers, attempting to loosen Bree’s grip on my hand before she breaks bones, but it’s virtually impossible. “Can you just?—”
“Just what?” Bree snaps through fast, heavy breaths. Suddenly, her eyes pop open, and she loosens her grip. “Shit! I’m sorry, Luke. Am I squeezing too hard?”
She’s not asking to be a jerk. She’s honestly concerned about me.
Because she’s the most wonderful human on this planet.
I quickly shake my head no and use my other hand to push the sweaty hair from her forehead. “Keep doing what you need to do. I’m good. Focus on the music and your breathing.”
Calming tunes from the childbirth song list we created together play softly from the Stanley Cup-shaped speaker sitting on the table next to her bed.
I bite back the throbbing and stare at the gorgeous red-faced woman in front of me, lying in a hospital bed at Charlotte Children’s Hospital, about to give birth to our son.
There was never a doubt in my mind that I was going to marry Brianna Collins. When I planned a trip to the Whitewater Center last year, I’d thought of every detail—right down to the music.
We’d start on the rapids, slide into an evening yoga class, then finish the night enjoying craft brews under the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the rapids. A Bob Marley cover band would be the soundtrack to my proposal to Bree, the only girl I’ve ever loved.
As is the norm in my life, whenever I’ve tried to create a perfect situation, there’s always a bump in the road. This time wasn’t any different.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
When we arrived at the Whitewater Center, Bree didn’t feel like rafting. That should’ve been my clue something was up, but I brushed it off. Rafting is intense. Sometimes she wants a chill experience.
Instead, we hung out, lying together on a blanket near the water, watching the rafters rush by. Yoga was perfect—as I knew it would be since it’s one of our favorite ways to relax.
When Bree said she didn’t want to stay for music and craft beers, I got worried.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You haven’t been yourself today.”
“I, um—” Bree glanced around. It was a gorgeous sunny day, so the place was packed.
When she paused, I recognized the song, “Is This Love?” coming from the stage.
We may not have had craft beers in our hands, but I never could have planned to have the perfect song playing during my proposal. I took it as the universe’s cue for me to go for it.
As if we were drawn together by some outside force, we turned toward each other and grasped hands. Then we both spoke at the same time.
“Will you marry me?” I asked.
“I’m pregnant,” Bree said.
“Wait, what?” we said in unison.
Bree released my hands to cover her face, but I couldn’t let her hide that gorgeous smile I loved so much. I reached out and slid my palm across her cheek. She dropped one hand and placed the other over mine.
“Did you just say you’re pregnant?”
As she nodded, her lips turned up in the biggest grin.
My heart was about to burst out of my rib cage, but I couldn’t stop my smile. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Did you just ask me to marry you?”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “Will you?”
When she answered with a nod, I scooped her up into my arms and pressed my lips against hers no less than twenty times.
A baby’s cry breaks me out of the memory. The doctor holds our son, Wolf, as a nurse cuts the umbilical cord.
The song in the background slides into “Three Little Birds” as the doctor works on Bree.
Don’t worry about a thing. ‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright.
It’s Bree’s mantra. One we have posted in scrolling script over our bed.
I follow the nurses, recording a video as they set the baby on a table.
One starts cleaning him off while the other clears his throat with a huge, blue bulb-thing.
The way they expertly whip Wolf around makes my heart pound, but I know they’re pros.
They dress him in a white onesie and matching hat before swaddling him tightly.
Bree waits with outstretched arms as a nurse brings our baby boy to her and places him on her chest. I’m still recording.
As Bree cuddles Wolf, she stares at him with tired eyes. She’s never looked as beautiful as she does with sweat-drenched hair and pink cheeks holding the baby boy we made.
I’m gonna watch this video every day for the rest of my life.
When Bree hands the baby to me, I hold him in my arms, thinking about the mantra I came up with for myself.
Be the kind of person your kids will respect when they’re old enough to form a real opinion of you.
I know my mom is an addict—she has a disease. But she made choices to become what she is. Different choices make a different life. I’ll always remember that when I think of my own son.
Do better. Be better.
For the most part, I’ve lived my mantra. Like anyone, I’ve made mistakes, but nothing that could alter the essence of who I am as a person.
I hope my son sees that. I hope he knows how much his mother and I love him and want the best for him. He’s going to make mistakes, just like we did. But he’s going to be surrounded by love and support the entire way.
If you asked me before I met Bree if I wanted kids, I would have said no. I never thought I’d want a family because mine was so messed up.
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve ever learned is even though none of us has the ability to change the past, we all have the power to create our own future. And there’s no one I’d rather create a future with than Bree.
“How do new parents get anything done?” I ask, staring at the tiny man in my arms.
“Because they’re so tired?” Bree asks.
“No. I mean, how do people stop staring at their baby? I can’t take my eyes off him.”
To prove my point, I don’t even look at Bree when she laughs.
The phone buzzing in my pocket jolts me out of my “daddy daze.” I hand Wolf to my beautiful wife while I retrieve my cell from my pocket.
We’ve been waiting out here forever! When do we get to see the baby?
Though the text is from Gribsy, it sounds more like Kristen. I chuckle.
“Are you ready to see friends?” I ask Bree. “KK and Gribsy are chomping at the bit.”
She nods. “Absolutely. “As long as they agree upon the ‘no posting photos until I’m dolled up’ rule. I want the full-makeup, blown-out hair ‘natural’ look like all the other hockey wives post.”
“I would never post you in your non-made-up, non-hair-done state. Nor would I allow others to do so,” I assure her, pushing her hair back and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Even though you look the most gorgeous in your natural state.”
“The internet is forever.”
“So are we, my love.” I wink before texting Gribsy back.
Come on up. Room 247.
“KK and Gribsy are on their way up,” I warn Bree as I tuck my phone back into my pocket.
On second thought, I rip it out again and snap a few shots of my best friend and Wolf.
“I’m serious about the photos, Luke.”
Though I don’t understand why she’s so concerned, I plan to abide by her wishes.
“You know you sound like your mother harping on like that, right?”
She lifts her eyes to me for a moment, then mutters, “I’m aware.”
Since Bree’s water broke early this morning, four weeks before her due date, her parents couldn’t be here for Wolf’s birth. Instead of hopping on the first flight available, they decided to wait a week to give us time to acclimate to life with a newborn.
Bree says she’s alright with it, but part of me wonders if she wishes her mom would have dropped everything to be here.
Then again, a nanny raised Bree. Her mom might not be the biggest help with babies.
I wonder if knowing she had a grandchild would make my mom want to get clean.
“Oh, my word! You look amazing!” Kristen gushes as she rushes into the room, heading for Bree and Wolf. “You do not look like you just pushed out a human.”
“You’re sweet—and full of crap.” Bree places Wolf into Kristen’s outstretched arms. She grabs the huge Styrofoam cup on the side of her bed.
“He’s so tiny and adorable . Holy crap, Luke. He looks just like you.” She glances at me. “Congrats, by the way.”
“Congrats,” Gribsy echoes, clasping my hand and bringing me in for a bro shoulder-bump hug. “Did you hear the big team news?”
“About Cookie Commons selling the team to Kravtsov and Antonov’s dads? Yeah. Can’t wait to see how that plays out.”
“Wait,” Bree pulls the straw out of her mouth as she shakes her head, swallowing before she speaks. “The fathers of two players on the Monarchs just bought the team?”
“There goes your ice time,” I quip to Gribsy.
“No shit.” He makes a “gimme” sign with his hands. “Stop hogging this baby. Is my turn.”
“You don’t think they’ll actually favor their own kids, right?” Kristen asks as she gently transfers Wolf into Gribsy’s arms.
Dad instincts kick in during the handoff, and I lurch forward to support Wolf’s head. My friend gives me an annoyed side-eye.
“I hold many babies, Capper. I am in children’s hospital baby room every month.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Holding my hands up, I back away, then turn to Kristen. “We don’t know how much influence they’ll have on the team. The coaches and staff will have direct contact with players, but I mean…”
“Kravtsov already shits his pants around this father. Now this man have even more control,” Gribsy says while still looking down at Wolf.
“Language.” I scowl at him. “He already lost his woman and baby because of his father. What’s next?”
Bree places her cup back on the table. “Lexie left because of his dad?”
“Ivan Kravtsov never approved of her.” Kristen uses air quotes with the word ‘approved.’ “And dumb-ass Viktor never stood up to him.”
“Ugh! That’s horrible.” Bree adjusts the sheet over her chest. “Does Nick talk about his family?”
I shake my head. “He talks about holidays with family in New York City but not much more.”
It seems like only a few minutes ago I was waxing poetic about having the power to change our future.
I never said it’d be easy.
And I can’t begin to fathom how being owned by the head of North American operations in the Russian mafia will affect the Monarchs team—and all of our lives.
Thank you so much for reading LOVE ME !
I hope you fell hard for Luke and Bree’s story!