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FORTY-SIX

DANIEL

I snag my shoulder on the automatic door as I rush into the lobby. Out of breath and out of my mind, I come to a sliding stop in front of a glass window. The pair of nurses who are chatting behind the desk pause and eye me. The older of the two holds up a finger and turns back to the younger nurse.

I’m sucking in a breath, preparing to launch into a tirade about how there’s no way in hell I’m going to wait while they catch up over coffee, but before I get a single word out, the other one’s mouth drops open. “Aren’t you Lake Paige’s son?”

Normally, I’d make some sort of face over this. Lake is only five years older than me. I am not her son. But if this woman wants to call me Lake Paige’s son or Baby Hall or any other thing, I’ll go with it. As long as it means it will get me back to Hannah faster. So I give her my best smile and nod. “That’d be me.”

“Oh my god,” the other one says.

“Listen, I’ll get you whatever signed memorabilia you want. Hell, I’ll even have Lake come say hi to you tomorrow, but what I need right now is Hannah Prescott’s room number.”

The woman on the left squints, suddenly suspicious. “Did you just come from a fight? Do you need to be seen by a doctor?”

Only now do I even consider what I’m wearing. During my grand exit from the game, I threw my jersey at Gavin. Then I walked straight out of the arena in my skates and pads. Thank god Sara chased me down with my wallet and my keys. She must have darted into the locker room after she filled me in on Hannah. I’m a sweaty mess, and the only reason I’m not barefoot right now is because I had an extra pair of shoes in my truck.

“Hockey game. I’m fine. The room number?” I inhale deeply, holding tight to the last thread of patience I possess.

“Are you family?” the other woman asks as she taps at her keyboard.

“Yeah, I’m her husband,” I lie. I should have done it before. I should be her husband. What the fuck was I thinking waiting for some perfect plan to come to fruition?

I was thinking a perfect proposal is what Hannah deserves, that’s what. She deserves to know that I want to marry her because I love her, not because she’s pregnant with my child.

Soon she’ll be the mother of my child. No longer pregnant. My heart rate skyrockets at the thought. Shit. I need to be with her. Now. Is she in pain? Is she giving birth already?

“I’ll walk you back,” the one who called me Lake’s son says. I’ll definitely bring her an autograph tomorrow.

She tries making small talk as we wander down the long, sterile hall, but I can’t hear anything over the buzzing in my ears. The adrenaline left over from the game has nothing on the second round that shot through me when I realized that I’m about to become a father.

As we reach the door, I wave at her, mumbling a thank-you. For a second, I press my forehead to the solid wood and focus on breathing. When my heart has slowed a fraction, I peek in.

Millie is sitting on the hospital bed, her focus on the television, but she’s alone. “Where’s Hannah?”

She hops to her feet, her face lit up. “Wow, hi to you too.” As she gets closer, her smile turns into more of a grimace. “Didn’t you stop to change?”

I shake my head. “Hannah?” I grit out.

A door near the corner swings open, and Hannah, dressed in a hospital gown and gripping her stomach, waddles out.

Don’t ever tell her that I described her that way. She’d rip my balls off.

“Fuck, Mills. Giving birth feels a lot like needing to take a shit, only nothing comes out?—”

Her words cut off sharply and her eyes go ridiculously wide when she sees me. “Oh my god.” She slaps a hand to her face. “Please tell me you didn’t just hear that.”

I stride up to her and pull her in for a hug. The movement is stopped, though, when she pushes against my chest. “What is that smell?” Cringing, she looks me up and down. “Did you come right from the ice?”

Behind me, Millie laughs. “Yeah, SportsCenter keeps playing the minute he hopped over the boards and tossed his gear.”

She points to the television screen, and sure enough, there’s footage of me tossing my jersey at Gavin.

Huffing, I look back to Hannah. “Of course I did. You were supposed to tell me when you felt anything.”

“You were a little busy,” Hannah sasses.

“There is nothing,” I say, stepping close, “ nothing more important than you.”

She pushes me back again, nose scrunching. “A shower is more important.” Face buried in the crook of her elbow, she turns away. “Seriously, go home and shower, then come back.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Oh my god,” my sister shouts. “The two of you are so annoying. Daniel, you can shower in there.” She points to the bathroom. “You can’t expect anyone to deal with your stinky ass, let alone your pregnant girlfriend who is literally about to give birth.” She eyes Hannah. “You. Your boyfriend just wants to be there for you. Stop being a bitch.”

Fucking seriously? I know she’s my twin, but if she is going to call my woman a?—

Hannah lets out a throaty laugh, the sound instantly soothing my fraying nerves. “I love you, Mills. Sorry. I’ll be better. I promise.” She turns to me, hands on her hips. “Go. Your sister’s got me until you’re clean. And since she’s your twin and you’ve got that whole ESP thing going on, it’s practically the same as if you were here yourself.” She nods once like a single word she’s just spoken makes any sense.

But because the two of them are terrifying, I take a step back and leave them in peace while I take the world’s quickest shower.

I’m just slipping into a pair of scrubs Millie tossed into the bathroom while I was rinsing off when Hannah screams.

I throw the door open and scurry to her side, heart hammering. “What can I do? Fuck.”

“Get her ice chips. She’s nauseous,” Millie says from the other side of the bed. She pats Hannah’s hand. “You’re okay. You’ve got this, mama.”

I rush into the hall, arms flung out to steady myself as I whip my head one way, then the other, searching for an ice machine. “Ice! Where’s the ice?”

A nurse peeks out from another room. “Room number?”

“Um—” Fuck. “I don’t know. I need ice. Please get me the ice.”

With a roll of her eyes, she nods. “Just go back to your room. I’ll bring it in.”

I shake my head. No way. I can’t walk back in there without ice. “Just tell me where to go. I can do this. Ice is my specialty.” It really is.

She sighs and waves me over. “Follow me.”

On wobbly legs, I step into a legit kitchen behind her. As soon as I have ice in hand, I turn and take off.

“Don’t run!” she yells.

I basically skate back to the room, and as I step inside, Hannah screams again.

From there, time creeps by while also moving far too quickly. Every time Hannah is hit with a contraction, I want to die. The way her face contorts as she tries to breathe breaks me. Every second that she’s in pain is an eternity. But the time between contractions seems to get longer, and as the hours drag on, I worry she’ll never make it through this.

“We need a doctor,” I say, pacing the room, hands on my head.

Hannah’s relaxed, focused on an episode of Love It or List It with Millie.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles around an ice chip.

“Want me to go look for one?” Millie offers, shifting off the bed.

Hannah clutches her arm. “I want the calm twin. You can go.” She barely looks in my direction as she holds my sister hostage.

Shrugging, Millie settles beside her again. While part of me wants to be the one snuggled up with Hannah, I can’t just sit here. I’m a doer. I need to do something.

Hands fisted at my sides, I stride out of the room. I have no plan in mind other than to walk the halls. To release some of this pent-up tension.

During my third lap around the floor, a familiar laugh echoes down the hall. I follow the sound until I find the waiting room. It’s crowded with hockey players. Aiden is in the center—of course—making everyone laugh, and Gavin’s sitting in the corner, chatting quietly with Noah.

War is the first to notice me. “Daddy Hall!”

The room goes silent, and every head turns my way. They’re all in their game day suits, lounging around the waiting area on the birthing center floor. To say I get choked up at the sight is an understatement. When War stands, I get a peek at the shirt under his jacket. It’s not a typical Oxford.

No, it’s a tee.

“ Best Uncle ?” I croak, my chest going painfully tight.

Breathing through the ache, I take them all in. Fuck. Every single one of them is wearing a matching shirt.

Gavin stands. “Well, is he here?”

I shake my head and throw a thumb over my shoulder. “Nah, she kicked me out.”

The low rumble of chuckles is palpable.

“Were you having sympathy pains again?” War throws his arms out and wraps me in a hug.

“No, it’s just so hard to watch her in pain. How did you do it?”

He probably didn’t even break a sweat holding Ava’s hand.

He releases me, but he keeps his head next to mine and whispers, “I cried the entire time.”

My eyes snap to his. “You did?”

He nods. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

I yank him in for another hug. “Thank you.”

He claps me on the back. “You’ve got this. Now go. Hold Hannah’s hand and soak in every second.” Head bowed, he swipes at his nose with a knuckle. “Greatest fucking moment of my life.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I can’t even say that. But it’s definitely tied with the moment Josie was officially ours. And the day I brought Scar home. When Bray called me dad for the first time. And when Ava said I do .”

“Fuck, we’re just a bunch of softies aren’t we?” I say on a laugh.

War nods. “Abso-fucking-lutely. But if there’s anyone worth being softies for, it’s our girls. Our fierce women who put us to shame. Go watch her put you to shame. It’s breathtaking.”

I turn, my determination renewed, but Noah stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s giving me shit and taking no prisoners.”

He smiles. “Awesome. Tell her we can’t wait to meet the little guy. You guys pick a name?”

Nope. We thought we had more time. But ready or not, he’s coming. And I’m not going to miss it. On my way out, Sara hugs me tight. Her shirt says Best Auntie . With a huge grin, she tells me the guys all wore the shirts during the press conference tonight.

With a final goodbye, I jog down the hall, headed back to my girl. We’re going to have a baby.

It’s another few hours before the action really starts. When a howl comes from Hannah’s mouth, Millie meets my eye, and just like Hannah suspected, our twin intuition takes over, and I’m suddenly in Mills’s spot, holding my girl’s hand as she screams through another contraction. The doctor is summoned then, and nurses rush in.

“It hurts,” she cries.

I lean my body across hers, holding her to me, wishing I could somehow take the pain away. “You’re doing so amazing, Han. Just a bit longer.”

Tears stream down her face as the on-call doctor examines her. “All right. He’s crowning,” he says. “I’m going to need you to start pushing.”

Hannah’s blue eyes widen in terror, but in that moment, all I feel is calm. It’s like in the middle of a game, when the crowd is screaming, but I hear and see nothing but the end goal. We’re almost there.

“It’s okay, baby. Squeeze my hand and push.”

She grinds her teeth, and I’m pretty sure she tries to break my hand, but she grunts through a push.

“Good job,” the doctor cajoles. “Just two more, and he’ll be out.”

“Fuck that,” Hannah mumbles. She squeezes my hand so tight it goes numb, and this time she roars through another push. And holy shit. There’s a whir of action in the room as they announce that he’s out. Because, of course, Hannah had to go and prove another man wrong.

At 2:08 a.m. on January eighth, I became a father. I have to wipe the tears from my eyes to get a good look at my son as the doctor places him on Hannah’s chest. After we’re given only seconds to meet him, the nurses whisk him away to clean him up, and Hannah squeezes my hand, her eyes tired and her cheeks streaked with tears.

“You did so good,” I murmur, brushing her hair from her face. I’ve never been more in love. More in awe. Just more. “I love you, dream girl.” I press my lips to hers. “I love you so goddamn much.”

She grips my shirt and holds me against her as we both cry, waiting for our son. The moment he’s returned to us, bundled up in a white blanket with blue and pink stripes, my heart expands. I was wrong when I said I’d never been more in love. Already, with my son in Hannah’s arms, it’s compounded. These two…they’re my entire world.

“We need a name.” Though her eyes are still filled with tears, she smiles up at me.

“I was thinking…”

Hannah kisses our sweet boy’s cheek. “Oh yeah?”

“I want to name him after you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “Your daddy has lost his ever-loving mind,” she says to the tiny bundle in her arms. “I think he needs some sleep. We can’t name our son, Hannah, baby.”

I brush my fingers against his cheek. He’s so soft. He’s got a full head of dark hair, just like Millie and me, and with any luck, his big blue eyes will remain that color, just like his mama’s. “Maverick.”

“Maverick?”

“Means independent. Unconventional. Mavericks don’t do what’s expected of them.” I meet her gaze. “And they’re maybe a little bit wild.”

She peers down at our boy again. “Maverick. What do you think, baby? You like that?”

Obviously he does absolutely nothing in response. Even so, we grin at one another like loons, and Hannah declares, “Maverick, it is.”