Page 66

Rilee

Some mornings I wake up and forget how full my life is. Not in a bad way. In the kind of way where I open my eyes and there’s a moment of stillness—right before the chaos starts—where I remember. This is mine.

Today, I don’t wake up to the alarms or someone asking where their shin guards are. I wake up to sunlight warming the comforter, the sound of distant giggles, and the faint smell of pancakes.

Caleb promised me a morning off. I wasn’t sure he meant it. But sure enough, my bedroom door is closed. The house is awake, and I’m still here in bed, alone.

I stretch slowly, savoring the quiet when the doorknob rattles.

Little fingers fumble with it. Then a whisper.

“Saylor, no. Mommy’s sleeping. Remember?”

It’s Caleb. I hear him scoop her up, her little protest giggle muffled against his shoulder.

“But I wanna show her my fishy shirt,” she says, indignant and sleepy and not quite three.

“You can show her later. Come help me flip pancakes. We’re doing banana ones today.”

Banana pancakes. My favorite.

I hear him kiss her. Then their footsteps fade down the hall.

I smile into the pillow. I’m not getting more sleep—too much noise, too much love bursting through the walls—but I stay in bed anyway, wrapped in warmth and memory.

It’s been ten years.

Five kids, two dogs, and four states.

Hunter played twelve seasons in the NHL. We lived in Colorado, Canada, New York, and now Florida. I worked in labor and delivery in hospitals across all of them.

Caleb’s a stay-at-home dad now. And he’s incredible at it.

Our home runs on snacks, playlists, and an alarming number of science experiments on the dining room table.

He wrangles, soothes, negotiates peace treaties over who gets the blue cup, and still kisses me like we’re twenty-somethings sneaking around behind closed doors.

Grayson works from home in finance. He’s the calm center in the middle of our storm. The one who shows up to school conferences in button-downs and reads The Hobbit to the twins at night. The one who can make a spreadsheet and still fix a bike chain with one hand.

And Hunter—Hunter’s home now. Retired. Figuring out what’s next. He’s floated the idea of coaching college hockey or maybe just chilling for a while, building a chicken coop in the backyard and taking the kids to practices and dance recitals.

That’s the beauty of NHL money. We’re privileged, and we know it.

But we’ve never been bougie. It’s boxed mac and cheese, scraped knees, and marker on the walls around here. No private planes, no designer everything. But trust me—we want for nothing.

We have five kids, and it’s a lot.

The twins were first—a boy and a girl, adorable, with Hunter’s dark hair. They love to read, draw, and make elaborate crafts that take over the entire kitchen. Followed by two more boys who look just like Gray.

Townes is eight. Full of facts. Can recite NHL stats from 1982 like he lived through them.

Leo’s six. Plays backyard hockey like he’s auditioning for the draft.

And then there’s Saylor.

Almost three. Chaos incarnate. The sassy boss of the house with Caleb’s wild smile and my sassiness.

We all worship her.

There’s a soft knock on the door. Then it opens just a crack. Caleb slips in, still shirtless, flour on his cheek.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, crossing to the bed. He kisses me before I can even speak. Long and slow and familiar. “Just wanted to remind you—Grayson’s birthday dinner tonight. Hunter’s going to be home any minute now from that team thing, and my parents fly in around four.”

“Already?” I yawn, stretching again.

“Time flies when you’re being spoiled,” he says, brushing my hair back.

I grin. “Did you actually let me sleep in? Like fully?”

He nods, mock serious. “It was a Herculean effort. There were negotiations. Bribes. I think Saylor now owns part of my soul.”

I laugh, and he kisses me again.

This is it. The life I never could’ve predicted, and the only one I want.

That first year was the hardest. I stayed in San Diego for work.

Caleb and Grayson stayed with me. Grayson took an accounting job he hated.

Caleb coached boys’ hockey at a private school.

Hunter played for Seattle—we saw him whenever we could.

The long-distance thing almost broke us more than once. But we made it work.

By the second year, we were in Colorado. Together. And everything started to click.

We became a team.

We learned each other’s rhythms. Caleb’s love of old-school rap and midnight baking. Grayson’s obsession with sushi and very long sci-fi movies. Hunter’s ability to make all of us laugh without even trying. Things with my brother were tough for a while, but he eventually got over it.

It took time. And patience. And a hell of a lot of communication.

But this? This is what we built.

A full, messy, beautiful life.

I sit up and pull Caleb back into bed with me.

“Five more minutes,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Five minutes and I’m setting the smoke alarm off again,” he warns, but he’s already curling around me, warm and solid.

Down the hall, someone yells. A dog barks. A crash, followed by, “It was an ACCIDENT!”

Caleb groans. “I lied. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

And we both laugh.

Because this is our chaos.

And it’s perfect.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading about Rilee, Hunter, Caleb + Gray. If you’re ready for more… I’ve got a spicy college hockey romance you’ll love titled THE EQUATION OF US . It has a cinnamon roll Dom, a little bit of kink, a smart girl plus a jock.

Chapter 1 is included below. Check it out!