Page 154 of Moonlighter

I sit on the couch and remove the empty bottle from Rosie’s mouth, then I lift her from the sling to a chorus of coos from the women.

“I’ll burp her,” Alex says, reaching over.

“Really? In that dress?” I wave her off and face Little Miss Spit-up toward my Bruisers T-shirt. “You can have her back in a second, I swear.” I begin my patented series of rapid back pats until Rosie lets out a nice, locker-room-worthy belch.

The women are all watching with giant hearts in their eyes. And, sure enough, there’s a little blob of milky goo on my shoulder.

“Who gets to hold her first?” Becca asks.

“Me!” Nate says. “Show me how this works.”

I stand up, and Alex reaches for the baby. “Oh, you put on her sweater! I was going to put a cotton onesie on under this, though.”

“You go ahead and try.”

“That tricky, huh?” Alex asks with a big smile.

“You’ll see.”

I head for the bedroom to change my shirt, but Coach is on my heels. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course. Come on back.” I’ve made myself at home in Alex’s apartment.

After a week of my running home to shower and change, Alex invited me to store whatever I needed in her closet. “I really love having you here,” she said as we held each other after a midnight feeding. “I hope you know that.”

“I really love being here.”

That was all the discussion we’ve had about it, so far. But I know Alex is it for me, and she’s no longer fighting me on that question. We have time later to discuss it. Lots of time.

I toss my T-shirt into the hamper and grab another one out of the dresser drawer I’ve been allotted. “What’s on your mind, Coach?”

“You,” he says. “Doc says the surgery on your right knee is a certainty now. How are you not limping?”

“This is how.” I lift the leg of my jeans and show the giant brace I’ve been wearing.

“I see. Does Alex know?”

“Not really.” I shake my head. “I mean—when I tell her I need another surgery, it won’t come as a shock. But she doesn’t know how I reinjured it.”

It happened the night Rosie was born. I don’t know exactly when I got the brand-new meniscal tear. The pain began somewhere on Madison Avenue, when I was focused entirely on getting Alex to the hospital, and on bringing our baby girl into the world.

It doesn’t matter. I have no regrets at all. It would have happened at the rink if it didn’t happen in the snow.

Life happens. And much of it is beautiful.

Coach sits backward on the chair in front of Alex’s dressing table. “So, what does this mean for you?”

“Ah, so today’s the day, huh? You’re going to make me say it out loud.”

He holds both hands outstretched. “Why not today?”

Why not today?The truth has been staring me in the face for a long time. “I’m out. I’m done. Even if I had the surgery tomorrow, I can’t get back for playoffs. And even if everything goes exactly right, I probably won’t play at the same level again. Not unless I want to have knee replacements before I’m forty.”

“All right,” Coach says quietly. “I’m sure you know best.”

“Honestly I’ll never know,” I admit, sitting on the edge of the bed to button my clean shirt. “Hell, it’s not easy to give up.”

“You’re not giving up,” he assures me. “Unless we all are. I’m going to retire someday too, Eric. Do you think that’s giving up?”