* * *
Games three and four in Seattle were a shit show.
I’m not playing my best, but neither is anyone else. It’s like it’s our first week playing together and it makes no sense.
Coach Wylde lost his mind in the locker room after game four, which isn’t like him, and he’s putting us on a curfew when we get home to Vegas. None of it is ideal, but we’re down three games to one in the series. One more loss and we’re going home for the summer.
Part of me wants that to happen.
I feel like an ass just thinking it, but Lexi’s having a hard time, and I know she needs my full attention, no matter how much she pretends she doesn’t.
But the team needs me too.
We’re in the semi-finals, which means we could win a championship this year.
From the outside looking in, it’s not nearly as important as it was before I’d actually won one. Now that I have that accomplishment under my belt, I don’t feel a burning need to do it again. Not this year anyway. My family—my wife—comes first.
My teammates would probably kill me for saying something like that out loud, so I keep my thoughts to myself, but I’m torn between my work ethic and the woman I love. Her cancer diagnosis, though a decade ago now, is always in the back of my mind. We had a scare a few years ago when she found a lump under her arm. It was only a cyst, but she’s vigilant about checking her body and seeing her oncologist yearly.
Since we were told it would be difficult for her to get pregnant, I honestly never gave it much thought. I assumed that once we were ready, we would explore IVF, a surrogate, or adoption. Her stepsister, Mack’s daughter Amy, told her she would carry a baby for us if we needed her to, but it always seemed like a long way off.
If I’m honest, I’m in no way prepared for this. Emotionally or intellectually.
Lexi isn’t the type of woman to be coddled or in any way controlled. Not that I want to control her, but I see how she’s struggling. She’s torn between excitement for the baby and the pull of her career. Nobody’s Fool is finally on the verge of the success they deserve, and I know she doesn’t want to take a year off to have a baby.
Except she is having a baby, whether she takes time off or not.
Whether she wants to admit she’s going to have physical limitations or not.
Whether she’s happy about it or not.
And that’s the kicker.
I don’t know if she’s happy.
She says she is, but it’s always like an afterthought, like “of course, I’m happy.” And then she moves on to another topic. No matter how many times I try to have a serious conversation about what her future looks like, at least short-term, she’s finds a way to avoid it.
“You look like a man with a lot on his mind.” Anton sits beside me at the pre-game meal.
“Yeah.” I pick at the pasta in front of me.
“What’s going on?”
I shrug. “A lot. Hockey. Lexi. You know.”
“You still haven’t talked about things?”
“I’ve tried but she finds a way to deflect.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because she’s about to start a year-long headlining tour that they’ve worked really hard for. She doesn’t want to cancel. She doesn’t want to stop what she’s doing professionally to focus on a baby. And as we discussed, I can’t make a strong, independent woman do anything unless she’s the one who wants to do it.”
“You may have to let her figure this out for herself.”
I grunt.
“Great. She’ll be nine months pregnant, and her water will break on stage in Belgium or some shit, and I’ll be in Alaska or as far away as humanly possible.”
