He nods solemnly.
"But you know what helps me when I'm scared before a big game?" I ask.
"What?"
"I think about you and Reese watching me. Cheering for me." I tap the center of his chest gently. "It makes me brave."
His face lights up. "I'll cheer so loud you can hear me from the ice!"
"I know you will, T-Rex." I lean down to kiss his forehead. "Sweet dreams."
When I return to the living room, Reese has cleared the dinner dishes and is curled up on the couch. I sink down beside her and she tucks her head under my chin.
"He's wonderful," she says softly.
"Yeah." I kiss her head. "We're lucky."
"You're a good dad, Logan." Her fingers trace patterns on my forearm.
"Thanks baby. I think I'm kinda getting the hang of it," I say.
I think about the ring hidden in my locker at the arena, waiting for the perfect moment after we win the Cup. One more win, and I'm going to ask her to make this—us, our family—permanent.
The words nearly slip out right here, right now. But I hold them back.
Instead, I just pull her closer and whisper, "I love you," into her hair.
"I love you too," she murmurs back, her voice warm and sure, and for now, that's more than enough.
I wake at 4:17 AM—no alarm needed. My body's been doing this for years on game days. Beside me, Reese sleeps deeply. I slip out of bed carefully and head to the kitchen.
The apartment is quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of Chicago filtering up from below. I move through the kitchen silently and set up the coffee. While it brews, I stand at the tall windows, watching the city lights sparkle against the pre-dawn sky.
Game 5. Up 3-1 in the series. One win away from the Stanley Cup.
My sleepy reflection stares back at me in the glass. I press my palm against the cool surface.
This is my city. My team. My chance.
I carry a coffee to the couch and sink in letting the warmth of the mug radiate in my hands.
"You're up early."
Reese's voice is soft in the half-light. She grabs herself a coffee, comes to the couch, and plops herself down against my side.
We sit in silence, my arm around her, her head on my chest. She doesn't ask questions or make small talk. She understands game days, the need for quiet. Her hand rests lightly on my stomach, warm and comforting through my t-shirt.
I’ve never had a day this big in my life. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be a Stanley Cup champion and a fiancé. Wow.
"If we win tonight..." I start, then trail off.
She tilts her head to look up at me. "When you win tonight," she corrects gently.
I press a kiss to her forehead, grateful for the certainty in her voice. We stay like that until the sky begins to lighten at the edges.
The sound of Tyler’s small feet padding down the hallway breaks our quiet bubble. He appears, clutching his stuffed animal, eyes brightening when he sees us.
"Is it game day?" he asks, climbing onto the couch and wedging himself between us.
