Page 49 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

Jessica

I haven’t laced up my skates in nearly a year. Not since my center of gravity shifted, my ankles swelled, and my sports bras started begging for mercy.

But here I am, on the bench of the Defenders’ practice rink, tying the last knot with slightly shaky fingers and trying not to overthink the part where I gave birth to twins just seven weeks ago.

They held out till thirty-seven weeks, then came barreling into the world—Aidan Wen, feet first and dramatic as hell, with Maeve Li sliding in right after, headfirst and ready to lead.

Finn watches from the edge of the ice, looking like a man seconds from sin.

“Stop staring,” I call, voice echoing off the boards.

“Not a chance,” he says, eyes hot, mouth curving. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in fleece-lined tights.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s literally a nursing bra under here.”

He steps closer, gaze dragging over me like it’s a full- body caress. “You think I don’t fantasize about that bra? Red, I’ve had dreams where that thing deserved its own jersey number.”

I laugh, standing slowly. My legs feel strong, but not quite mine yet. I place one gloved hand on the dasher and take a steadying breath.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” I ask, adjusting my balance.

He skates over, slow and easy, then holds out his hand. “Because you said you missed this. And because we finally got the grandparents to agree to two hours without texting us updates about diaper output.”

He’s not wrong.

We kissed the babies goodbye. Mom took them with military precision. My dad checked the car seat straps three times. And Wai Po shoved a tin of herbal rice balls into Finn’s hand like she thought he’d burn 3,000 calories just from thinking about sex.

“Come on, Novak,” he says, his palm warm through the glove. “Let’s go make this rink ours.”

I take his hand and step onto the ice. The first glide feels foreign.

Not bad, just…wacky. My muscles remember what to do quickly, but the rhythm is still off. My core’s still catching up to reality, and the center of gravity isn’t where I left it. But Finn’s right there, steadying me with one hand on my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just skates alongside me, keeping the pace slow, letting me find my groove.

“I feel like Bambi,” I mutter.

He grins. “You look like poetry.”

I arch a brow. “You rehearse that, Carolina? ”

“Had seven weeks of late-night bottle duty to come up with something good. Don’t ruin my moment.”

I laugh, easing into a small loop, testing my edges. They’re not sharp yet, but they’re not gone either. It’s not the same body I had before, but it’s still mine. And it still moves.

Finn trails behind me, easy and smooth for a guy whose skating style could best be described as weaponized momentum. “You sure you’re cleared for this?” he calls.

I glance over my shoulder. “Cleared? No.”

He blinks. “Wait, what?—”

“But I feel good. And I’m not doing a triple axel, just a glide and vibe. Stop panicking.”

“Wasn’t panicking,” he says, defensive.

“You flinched.”

“I did not.”

I coast backward, smirking. He skates up close, dropping his voice. “You’re gonna make me tackle you on the ice, Red. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Save it for later,” I whisper, just loud enough to make him swallow.

And there it is, that fire in his eyes. The same one that lit up the first time I ever stepped onto the ice with him. Only now, it’s deeper. Solid. Real.

We skate a few more lazy loops in silence. The rink is ours. The world is quiet. And for the first time since labor, lactation, and the chaos that is twin newborns, I feel…like me again.

Maybe a new version. But still me. Still us.

I glide to the edge of the rink and pull my phone from the bench. A few taps, and the speakers overhead hum to life with the deep, teasing bass line of “Buttons.”

Finn lifts his head at the first notes, already grinning. “ Oh hell,” he mutters, eyes tracking me. “You’re really gonna do this to me again?”

“I promised you a date, didn’t I?” I push off from the boards and let the music catch me.

It’s not the same dance as last time, not the spin-heavy, high-energy show-off from Montreal.

This is slower. Silkier. My body curves into the beat, hips swaying, arms loose and deliberate as I skate past him with a pointed arch of my brow.

He turns with me, watching like he forgot how to blink.

I glide backward, slow and smooth, letting my fingertips skim the air like I’m undressing invisible tension. Then I drop into a shallow knee bend, roll my hips, and rise again, all without breaking stride.

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Christ, Red…”

I circle him once, twice, then come in close enough that I could kiss him, but don’t. I just smirk and whisper, “Just a little something to keep your blood pressure up?”

He chokes out a laugh, breath ragged. “I think you just broke my entire cardiovascular system.”

I roll away again, one hand trailing behind me in a loose arc. The song climbs into the chorus, and I give him one last twirl, not fast, not technical. Just enough to let my hair fly, my legs flex, my body speak.

He leans forward like he’s about to drop to his knees on the ice.

“Remind me what I did to deserve this,” he says, voice gravel.

I stop right in front of him and lean in. “You showed up.”

He exhales like that knocked something loose in his chest. Then he pulls me close, both hands gripping my waist, foreheads touching.

“You gonna finish the song?” he murmurs.

I nod toward the speakers. “You gonna survive if I do? ”

“No,” he says, dead serious. “But what a way to go.”

I skate back toward the boards, chest heaving just a little, not from effort, but from adrenaline. From being back in my skin. From being seen by him like this.

Finn glides up beside me, one hand bracing the glass behind my head, the other settling low on my hip. His breath still isn’t steady, and it makes me want to do things to him that would definitely violate the terms of our childcare agreement with my parents.

“I missed this,” I murmur, tilting my head to rest against his chest.

He brushes his lips across my hair. “I missed you .”

We stand there for a moment, just breathing, the echo of our blades still humming faintly through the air.

Then I pull back, catching my breath. “You know what? Carving out that sunroom for my office was genius.”

“The NOVA wing was nonnegotiable when we house-hunted,” he says. “Now you’re running an empire from our sunroom.”

“Half the league’s begging for meetings,” I agree. “Not bad for seven weeks postpartum.”

Finn laughs, full and proud, and tugs me tighter against him. “God, I love watching you in your element.”

“What? Dominating the male sports PR market in compression leggings?”

He dips his head. “That. Exactly that.”

We stay pressed together like that for a beat—his arms strong around me, my cheek against his chest. His heart still hasn’t slowed down. Neither has mine.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod against him. “Yeah. Just…” I pull back, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel sexy again. After the mesh un derwear. The stitches. The night sweats. The six thousand pads.”

He lets out a low, affectionate groan. “Red…”

“I’m serious,” I say, forcing a smile. “I felt…gone. For a minute. Like my body belonged to everyone but me. The babies, the doctors, the schedule. I didn’t even look in the mirror for the first three weeks.”

He lifts my chin. His thumb brushes across my cheek.

“Let me be clear,” he murmurs. “I have never, not for one second, looked at you and seen anything but the sexiest, fiercest, most maddening woman I’ve ever known.”

My eyes sting. I don’t look away.

“You made our children,” he says, voice thick.

“You are the miracle. Every time I look at you, I fall harder. Not because your ass looks great in those leggings, which, by the way, it does. But because I’ve watched you carry them.

Feed them. Soothe them. Still show up for me, for your business, for yourself. That’s real. That’s sexy as hell.”

I blink fast. “Okay, now I’m the one with the cardiovascular problem.”

He grins. “Want me to check your vitals, Novak?”

I lean in. “You’re not certified.”

“Wanna test me anyway?”

We start skating again, slow and quiet, just the scrape of blades humming around us. A lazy lap. Then another.

No rush. No audience. No expectation.

Just us.

Finn shifts to my side and bumps my shoulder with his. “So,” he says, voice low, “you impressed yet?”

I glance at him, pretending to think. “You’re on thin ice, O’Reilly.”

He winks. “I am the ice. ”

I laugh, full and unfiltered. “You had me at the stupid grin and the chocolate torte. Remember?”

He spins in front of me, skating backward now, arms open. “That’s not a no.”

I coast right into him, placing my hands on his chest. “It’s a forever.”

He leans down and kisses me, slow and sure and home .

And we just…glide.

One more loop. Then another. Hand in hand.

A family waiting for us back home. A life we built from a tangle of mistakes, timing, and pure, stubborn magic. But right now, it’s just us. Back on the ice.

Back where it all began.

THE END