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CHAPTER TWENTY

MARLEE

S tanding in the middle of a cardboard hurricane, I hold a box labeled PILLOWS (DO NOT CRUSH) and wonder how many professional athletes it took to break a perfectly good lamp.

Apparently, the answer was one.

“Yo! This one’s got a unicorn mug and, uh…a glittery hairbrush?” Griffin’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“Ledger, man,” Harrison mocks. “Something you want to tell us?”

Ledger calls back from down the hall, “That’s not mine! And don’t touch her mug or I swear you’ll lose a finger.”

I grin as I pass through the living room, carefully sidestepping a trail of shoes, an open toolbox, a random hoodie that I think belongs to Bodhi, and a pink purse that I’m pretty sure is Layken’s. Honestly the place looks more like a garage sale than it does a living room.

“Okay but real talk,” August says, holding one of my favorite stained-glass desk lamps. “Where do you want this lamp?” His brows crease. “Because it looks like something a fairy sneezed on.”

Well, that’s a visual.

“Fairy sneezes are totally the vibe around here now, August.” I pass him a wink. “You can put it by the window.”

He groans but obeys, muttering something about losing his masculinity to pastels and glitter, which makes me laugh because if there’s anyone else I know who enjoys glitter as much as I do, it’s August’s wife, Ella. She doesn’t have a sparkly gold wand to match her mascot costume for nothing.

I set my box beside the couch and wince. One of the throw pillows has already been squashed under a helmet and it now looks like a crime scene.

Ledger appears at my side mildly sweaty. “Hey. Where does your witch cauldron go?”

“My what?” I huff out a laugh as I rub my hand over my growing belly. I swear to God I feel like I’m eight months pregnant and not just going on four.

Ledger holds up the item he was just asking about. “Oliver couldn’t decide if it was a planter or an ashtray.”

I scoff shaking my head. “That’s my lucky crystal pot, thank you,” I say defensively. “And it goes on the bookshelf. Carefully. It’s fragile and spiritually charged.”

Barrett passes by with a large box in his hand labeled CLOTHES. “Is that like… radioactive?”

Ledger nods. “Emotionally, yes.”

Barrett grunts and Ledger laughs until a loud crash echoes from the bathroom.

“Fuck! I’m okay!” Oliver calls from the ensuite bathroom. “I’m good. Ugh, fuck. I’m okay.”

I would’ve believed him had his shouts not been followed up by Scarlett’s shrieking laughter. “He is so not okay but it’s funny as hell!”

Oh no!

“What happened?” Ledger inquires, starting down the hall. I follow right behind.

Bent over laughing when we finally reach the bathroom, Scarlett points at her husband. “Oliver fell in the toilet!”

Okay. A grown-ass man with his legs hanging out of the toilet and his arms trying to hold his ass out of the water—albeit unsuccessfully—is funny as hell.

“How on earth did you do that?”

Scarlett continues to cackle, which makes me laugh as well.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the toilet seat being up when I went to place Marlee’s shower stuff in the shower and then I slipped and fell backwards and there was no way I was able to stop myself before I fell into this God forsaken piss water!

Who decided to take a piss and not flush? ”

“Clean up on aisle one,” Griffin shouts.

August shrugs. “Hey at least it’s not aisle two. You could be walking around looking like you literally shit your pants. Even more impressive because it would’ve been on the outside.”

“What about aisle three?” Bodhi asks, chuckling at Oliver’s predicament.

As if it’s something they talk about on a daily basis, every one of the guys within earshot of Bodhi answers back, “We don’t talk about aisle three.”

Oh, good Lord.

“Why don’t you talk about aisle three?” I ask shamelessly.

Ledger turns and covers my mouth with his hand. “Shhh! It’s one of our hockey superstitions.”

“Expwain,” I say with muffled lips.

“I’ll do it!” Ella raises her hand, finally making her way into the bathroom to see what’s going on. “So, are you familiar with Colby Nelson from the Chicago Red Tails?”

I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Well, he has this thing about eating a bowl of Lucky Charms right before every game. Kind of an homage to his brother.”

“Okay what does that have to do with hockey?”

“I guess several years ago he was in this losing slump because he was out of Lucky Charms and when he went to get more after the game that night, there was only one box left and this woman had just put it in her cart.”

“Right,” August nods. “And that woman is now his wife.”

“Wait, so you don’t talk about aisle three because some hockey player from another team eats Lucky Charms before every game? That makes absolutely no sense.”

Ella laughs. “No. The cereal aisle was aisle three. And it was an unlucky night for him. And once he told us the story of how he met Carissa because she was the woman with the last box of Lucky Charms and wouldn’t give it to him, we all decided we wouldn’t ever talk about the number three.

Or aisle three or anything like that. It just became a thing. For Colby.”

“You guys and your superstitions.” I roll my eyes.

“Are you mocking our superstitions, Remington?” Barrett asks, his eyes narrowed.

I hold up my hands in defense. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream. You all do what you’ve got to do to keep winning and I’m with you one hundred percent.”

Eventually, most of the boxes are vaguely in the right rooms thanks to the guys. The team is spread out—Bodhi on the floor playing tug-of-war with Ella and a piece of ripped cardboard, Harrison double-fisting Gatorade like it’s beer, and Ledger using a broom to fish a sock from under the couch.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I take a sip from my water bottle, watching the action unfold around me. My stuff, my chaos, my life is officially colliding with Ledger’s.

I feel him step up beside me. His warmth covers me like a soft protective blanket. I like the feeling. I like it a lot.

He bumps my hip with his and softly asks, “Still want to live with me after all this?” He gestures to everyone hanging around the living room and I can’t help but smile.

“You mean after watching your teammates weaponize glitter and disrespect my mug collection?”

He laughs and I bump him back.

Bringing a hand to my stomach I nod slowly as I watch everyone hanging around together in the living room. “ Yeah. I do. This feels…good. Like a weird, sweaty, muscley kind of home.”

“Welcome to the family,” he whispers before lowering his lips to mine for a chaste kiss.

On the other side of the breakfast bar, Griffin picks up a ruffled pillow giving it a squeeze and marveling at it like it’s the best thing he’s ever held in his hands.

“Why is this so soft? It’s like…made of angel butt.”

“Dude, if we play like crap this season, it’s because this apartment is now cursed with ruffles,” Bodhi laughs, rolling his eyes.

“But have you felt the ruffles, Roche?” Griffin asks, holding the throw pillow out for him to feel. “They’re like…fucking soft. Feel this!”

Bodhi reaches out and touches the pillow only to swiftly tug it out of Griffin’s grasp and snuggle with it on the floor. “I stand corrected. I’m in love with this pillow and I’m never giving it back. Where this pillow goes, I go.”

“That’s the pillow we used to conceive our baby,” I tell him deadpanned.

“AHHH!” Bodhi shrieks, tossing the pillow to the other side of the room much to the amusement of me and Ledger.

“Got ya, Pickle Pants,” Ledger says with a hearty laugh.

I look around at everyone here, the guys, Scarlett and Ella, chaotic and loud and exactly who Ledger has chosen as family. And my heart grows a few sizes as it makes room for the reality that now they’re a part of my family too.

Home isn’t just a place.

It’s a man who makes me laugh even when he drives me nuts, and a room full of sweaty, complaining, lovable hockey players…arguing over pillow fabric.

And I don’t think I would ever want to change a thing.

17 WEEKS

The arena rumbles with noise, the crowd on their feet as the team surges across the ice.

This game has been high energy since the very first face off.

I shift in my seat in the family section with Layken, Scarlett, and Corrigan.

Balancing a tea in one hand, I wedge a tub of popcorn strategically between my knees.

Ledger’s oversized hoodie warmly swaddling my ever-growing baby bump.

It hasn’t been the most comfortable of days, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to stay home and miss watching my man play the game he loves so much.

Layken, draped in a foam finger and team beanie, sits beside me, vibrating with game-day energy. She glances over at me in all my pregnant glory and says, “Tell me again why you're here and not wrapped in a blanket at home binge-watching Queer Eye or something?”

“Well one, it’s my job to be here,” I answer.

“Yeah, but you have the night off so Sarah can learn the ropes. Someone has to be you while you’re on maternity leave. So, let’s give a better answer than that.”

“Okay, how about because the team’s left wing is the father of my crotch goblin and it’s my job to get him used to the sounds of hockey as early as possible.”

“Hmm,” Layken says, dipping a nacho chip into a bright yellow puddle of cheese before popping it into her mouth. “Okay, that’s better.” She shrugs. “And because I guilt-tripped you with snacks.”

“Yeah. You promised me a pretzel the size of my face along with emotional support.” I shrug this time and give her the best smirk I can muster. “I guess one out of two ain’t bad.”

She hands over a warm pretzel wrapped in foil with a smug flourish. “Never doubt me.”

We both laugh and watch on as the Stars fight for possession of the puck. I lean back in my seat, rubbing slow circles on my belly as I watch Ledger do his thing on the ice below.

“How have you been feeling?” Corrigan asks me. “No problems at all?”

I shake my head. “Other than ridiculous morning sickness for a while there, I’ve been okay.

My stomach was hurting a bit this morning and this afternoon, but I get it.

Growing pains and all.” I smile but it quickly falters when a stabbing pain hits right around my belly button.

It’s fast and doesn’t last more than a second but damn. That hurt.

Is that the baby kicking me?

Is it supposed to hurt that much?

“You good?” Corrigan asks, her brows pinched.

“Yeah. That’s what I mean by stomachache. I think the baby’s just kicking me.” I laugh nervously as I rub my stomach. “Maybe he’s going to be a professional football player with the way he kicks.”

“You’re what, sixteen-ish weeks?” Scarlett wonders, listening in to our conversation.

I nod. “Seventeen weeks tomorrow.”

“The baby shouldn’t be kicking you so hard that it hurts yet,” Corrigan tells me.

The pain hits me again and I press my hand to my tummy, wincing. “Yeah. It’s just a little…tightness. Probably one of those fake contractions. Braxton Hicks or whatever. Or maybe I shouldn't have finished Layken’s chili dog.”

Concern etched on her face, Layken turns to me. “You ate my chili dog?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m pregnant, remember? I eat anything in front of me these days. And you know how I feel about chili dogs.”

The same sharp pain strikes again and I nearly jump out of my seat. “Fuck! Okay that hurts. What the hell?”

“You sure you're all right?” Layken wraps her hand gently around my forearm, concern etched across her brows.

No.

I’m not sure.

But I nod anyway because I don’t want to scare anyone. My hand lingers protectively over my stomach and I try hard to refocus on the game.

“Yep. Fine.”

Ledger flies down the ice, checks an opponent cleanly into the boards, and spins away with the puck and the crowd roars as he heads for their net.

Another stabbing pain hits—sharper this time. I gasp and straighten in my seat.

“What was that?” Layken asks, her hand gently touching my knee. I notice she shares a look with Corrigan, but I try to play it off.

“I’m fine. All good. Probably just…the baby shifting.”

Stay calm Marlee.

It’s probably nothing.

Probably just trapped gas.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

Everything is fine.

“ Respectfully, Marlee, you can drop the ‘probably’ right now,” Corrigan says to me, calling my bluff. “Your face just went full ghost mode.”

I open my mouth to reply, but the pain comes again. Stronger than the last time. Bending forward slightly, my hand braced on my belly, my other hand grips the armrest of my chair.

“Okay. Okay, it’s not…nothing,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

Layken is already waving over the nearest event staff. “Excuse me? We need medical help. Now. Right now.”

The staff member nods. “Right away, Mrs. Ollenberg.”

Corrigan steps into action feeling for my pulse and then putting the back of her hand to my forehead.

“Corri, I think something’s wrong,” I finally tell her, my chin quivering. “It hurts. It’s deep, like…pressure. It’s not a normal gassy tummy ache.

Corrigan squeezes my hand. “Okay, breathe with me, alright? Let’s stay calm so we can get you out of here and get you looked at.”

I glance out at the ice as if Ledger is going to automatically know something isn’t right and come running.

“Look at me, Mar. Not the ice,” Corrigan instructs. “Just focus on me. We’re not thinking the worst here, alright? It could be nothing. It could be a false alarm. But we’re not taking chances, okay?”

It’s not nothing.

I know it’s not nothing.

And from the look on Corrigan’s face, she knows it’s not nothing as well.

I nod weakly, my breath ragged. The sounds of the crowd blur around me, fading behind the pulse pounding in my ears. The tightening in my abdomen comes again, and this time I can’t bite back the cry that comes from my mouth.

“You guys, I’m scared. What if something’s wrong with the baby?”

Layken hasn’t left my side. She wraps an arm around me as paramedics push through the crowd to get to me.

“ Then we find out and we take care of it,” Layken assures me.

Scarlett grabs my hand. “And you are not alone, Mar. We’ve got you, okay? We’ve got both of you.”

The EMTs carefully begin assessing me, taking my vitals and asking calm, practiced questions. One of them radios ahead for ambulance clearance while Corrigan stands protectively close, hand clutching mine, refusing to let go.

Please let the baby be okay. Please…