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CHAPTER NINETEEN

LEDGER

M arlee has finally drifted off, her body slack against mine, her breathing slow and even. I can feel it through my t-shirt where her face is pressed against my chest. One hand rests low over her stomach, unconsciously protective, as she sleeps.

Even in her calmest state of mind, her brain knows to protect the most important part of her. If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

My phone buzzes on the couch cushion next to me and when I glance down to see who the text is from, a sincere smile slides across my face.

Mom

Hey! How’s Marlee? Is she feeling any better? Do we get to meet her soon? You’re not going to keep her from us forever, are you?

Dad

Jesus Becca, you’re going to scare him away.

Mom

I’m just saying. I want Marlee to know how much she and the baby are loved already. And okay I might want to ask her about baby showers and all things pertaining to my future grandbaby. Eeeeeeek!!

Dad

Ignore her, son. But seriously, is Marlee feeling any better? I know it’s been a rough week. Just want you guys to know we’re thinking about you.

Me

Hey guys. She’s okay but had a rough morning. Hasn’t been able to keep much down. She’s currently asleep against my chest.

Mom

Swooooon. OMG I’m so glad you’re there to take care of her.

Dad

Have you asked her about moving in with you?

Me

Not yet. I was kind of hoping I could get her to feel better first so she doesn’t puke in response to my asking.

Mom

Do you think she would say no?

Me

Not necessarily but she’s been an independent woman all her life. Asking her to stop living alone and be with me full time is…well…

Dad

Scary as fuck?

Me

That’s putting it mildly. Every time I consider asking her it feels like I’m in the third period with a tied score and only three seconds left on the clock and somehow I’ve got to get the puck to the other end of the ice and into the net before the buzzer sounds.

Dad

That’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on yourself. It’s just a living space. Larger and closer to the arena so you both would win.

Me

Farther from you though.

Dad

If you think your mother hasn’t already planned her future trips into the city for every other day just so she can see her grandbaby, you’re out of your damn mind. LOL!

Mom

I apologize for nothing.

Me

LOL. I guess I can’t blame you.

Mom

How about dinner in a few days if she’s feeling better? We’re here for you, whatever you need, you know that, right?

Me

Yeah. I know. And thank you. Dinner sounds great. I’ll touch base in a few days.

Dad

Love you, son.

Me

Love you too, Dad.

I lay my phone down beside me and stay still for several long minutes simply holding Marlee, while she sleeps. I try like crazy to make sure I don’t move her because if she moves too much she could wake up to another round of nausea and God knows I don’t wish that on her.

Inhaling a long breath, I release it slowly, appreciating the feel of her body against mine.

She’s so damn strong to be going through all this.

I wish I was half as strong as she is.

My eyes drift to her hand on her belly.

I would do anything to protect her like she’s protecting the baby inside her.

Inside her.

Our baby is in there.

Our baby .

It still doesn’t feel real. Not even after seeing that tiny flickering heartbeat on the ultrasound last month or watching her turn green at the smell of toast this morning. All these symptoms, the tiny beating heart…fuck. There’s a whole other life inside her right now. A life we created together.

A new life with a completely clean slate and that should feel like the world’s biggest joy.

Like the biggest victory.

Bigger than winning The Cup three years in a row.

Bigger than being the season’s MVP.

And while it does feel like those things, it also feels like a ticking clock. Like pressure building in my chest with every passing moment.

What if I’m not built for this?

What if this baby looks up at me one day with wide eyes and asks about monsters and bedtime stories, and all I can give my child is more fear?

What if something in me breaks like it obviously broke in my father?

I clench my jaw, keenly aware of the quiet surrounding me.

It’s fucking suffocating.

My mind flashes, uninvited, to the last time I think I saw my parents alive.

To my mother’s lipstick. To the way my parents were holding hands.

At least I think I remember it. Maybe I’m remembering a picture from a happier time.

One of the only pictures I was given of them.

The scent of coffee mixed with something I can’t recognize floats across my nose and then I remember a swarm of people around me.

I didn’t know any of them.

I had no idea what was happening but I remember not being able to see either of my parents.

And that’s the last memory I have.

Or at least a piece of a memory.

I was too young to understand what it meant to lose my parents. Too young to understand any kind of adult life as it moved around me.

I spent years hearing one story after another from people who didn’t give a shit about me, about what my father did to my mother. Of course, I believed every word because why would anyone lie to me about what happened in my past?

My dad has been in prison for more years than I can remember and I’ve never once gone to visit him.

Never once was I interested in his side of any story.

In fact, once I was old enough to do so, I wasn’t even interested in doing my own research.

I wasn’t interested in facing my father even though I would have conversations with him in my dreams. I used to dream that Dad would apologize for everything and tell me what I had been told wasn’t the truth.

I used to wake up believing Dad was just trying to keep me safe.

That he sacrificed himself for me.

Like a real goddamn hero.

But I hadn’t been safe. I was alone. For years, I was tossed between homes like a bag of gear no one wanted.

I wasn’t good enough for any family.

No one wanted to love me.

And after two or three moves through the system, I couldn’t behave long enough to even consider what it might be like to let my guard down around another family. What it might feel like to love or be loved.

I glance down at Marlee curled up against me safe and sound. She’s everything I don’t know how to be but desperately want to try for her.

For our baby.

God, this baby didn’t ask for any of my history.

Our child doesn’t deserve to inherit my fear or my guilt.

I shift slightly, brushing a soft lock of hair off Marlee’s forehead. She stirs but doesn’t wake. She’s so fucking pretty. I honestly don’t know how I got so lucky.

I don’t know what she sees in me or what I did to deserve her, but I’m here.

I’m here for her and for our baby.

“I’m not gonna disappear, Mar,” I whisper even though she’s asleep. “I’m not gonna be him. I swear to God, I won’t be him.”

I let the words hang in the air like a promise.

Not just to her. Or the baby.

But to myself.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s where it starts.

“And when you’re feeling good, I really want you to meet my real family.”

14 WEEKS

I can face down a penalty kill in overtime without blinking. I can chirp the league’s biggest trash talkers without breaking stride. But watching Marlee smooth her dress down over her growing bump standing outside my parents’ home has me sweating through my collar.

Why does this feel like the fucking playoffs?

Why am I so damn nervous?

“Hey?” Marlee squeezes my hand. “You okay? You seem…nervous.”

“Who me?” I laugh but it’s totally to mask the butterflies fluttering inside my stomach. “Not at all. I’m excited for you to meet my?—"

Mom and Dad swing the door open, beaming like they’re about to welcome royalty to their home. Marlee looks gorgeous, even in a casual sundress and flats, but her grip on my hand is suddenly vise-tight.

“ If I say something weird, just laugh and pretend it’s charming,” she whispers beside me through a smile plastered on her face.

I chuckle softly. “You are weird, Mar. I’ve just gotten used to it.”

She elbows me in the ribs as Nick pulls her into a bear hug like they’re old friends instead of first timers.

“You must be the saint who puts up with this guy,” he says, giving her a sincere smile. “God bless you.”

“And you’re even prettier than the photo Ledger texted,” Rebecca adds, also giving Marlee a sweet embrace. “Don’t let him tell you I didn’t make him send one because that would be a bold face lie.”

We all laugh and Marlee smiles up at me, her tight grip on my hand loosening ever so slightly. I’ll consider that good news.

Rebecca waves us inside so I follow my parents into the kitchen, heart thudding like the final score of the game rests on my shoulders alone.

When we get to the kitchen my eyes fall to the island countertop that is covered with just about every casserole dish Rebecca owns.

“Wow. Is this dinner or are you planning to open your own family buffet?” I ask with an appreciative smirk.

“Listen, I wanted only the best for Marlee and I know pregnancy can change your cravings and desires at a moment’s notice so…” She opens her arms wide to showcase the homemade buffet. “I wanted to make sure we had options.”

Marlee sits, laughing nervously as my mother hands her a glass of lemonade and starts asking questions, one after another, about her pregnancy, work, and I swear to God, her favorite brand of prenatal vitamins.

And me?

I just sit here like a backup goalie, watching the game unfold in front of my eyes.

Marlee takes meeting my parents in stride.

She’s so easy going, and calm, but doesn’t stop talking.

She smiles and talks with my mom like they’ve known each other for years.

Suddenly I can see Marlee and Rebecca shopping together, planning baby events together, and teasing me about all the things I don’t know about babies.

I glance at my dad just in time to see him sneak a smirk when Mom pulls out a hand-knit baby blanket “just in case.”