And it got worse.
One woman cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled so shrilly Tate swore the rafters trembled. Another pair unleashed cans of Silly String in glittering arcs that caught the arena lights like neon confetti. The coach’s wife—God bless her enthusiasm—fired an air horn that jolted Tate clean out of his thoughts, his shoulders hunching against the blaring sound.
But it wasn’t random.
The moment that horn blasted, the entire section of families stirred, voices rising in a rough chorus. Some were singing—off-key, boisterous, heartfelt. Tate’s eyes flicked over the sea of familiar faces and landed on one in particular. His sister.
Right beside her, Nettie.
Nettie… cheeks flushed with excitement.
And beautiful.
Nettie was so…beautiful.
Before he could get stuck staring, another whistle rang out, sharp and commanding, and four of the wives stepped forward, tugging up their jerseys like they were about to flash the wholearena in a mimicry of Bourbon Street – except they showed tummies, not breasts. No beads tossed, but the effect was there, and the crowd saw it – and gasped before erupting in a roar that was deafening.
Tate’s eyes widened.
Painted across their stomachs were numbers. Bright, bold, impossible to miss – and the meaning exceedingly clear to anyone with a brain.
The first woman revealed a pink five, grinning ear to ear on a swollen stomach.
The second showed a blue four, pumping her fist triumphantly – also with a distended belly.
The third—her chin trembling, tears threatening to spill—displayed a yellow three, and touched her belly.
Then Coach Côte’s wife jostled the infant in her arms, belly proudly painted with a green two and beaming. The coach’s wife was pregnant again?Didn’t she give birth a few months ago?
Tate blinked, trying to catch up. Pregnancies. Each of those women was pregnant. Each number counting the months. Each announcement is a bigger gut-punch than the last. Was it something in the water – sheesh? Even Molly, Thierry’s wife, and the Coyotes’ physical therapist was there, holding a pregnancy test and looking emotional as the arena erupted.
Thierry, their captain, the fearless leader and buddy that everyone looked up to, melted. His helmet was barely off before he was staggering toward her, his face raw with emotion. He cradled her like she was made of glass, laughter and tears tangled together as he touched her stomach with reverence. The players clapped sticks against the boards, whooping and hollering.
Families screamed.
Strangers cheered.
And Tate— he couldn’t even be mad. The guy was having a moment, hearing that he was going to be a father for the first time. Tate’s gaze slid away from the captain… and landed squarely on Nettie.
She wasn’t laughing like before. Her eyes shimmered, wide and wet, her smile radiant in a way that nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. She lookedmoved and completely swept up in the emotion of it all.
And Tate—stone-cold, keep-to-himself Tate—felt it.
Why? Why was she reacting to a bunch of guys turning into emotional puddles over pregnancy announcements? Was it because she wanted that? A baby? A family?
The thought hit him so hard it almost bent him in half.
Nettie.
With a baby.
Not just a baby—hisbaby. Her belly rounding with his child. The idea came out of nowhere, violent and terrifying in its clarity.
His.
The word thrummed through him like the bass of a drumbeat. His chest tightened, his gut flipped, and for one horrifying, exhilarating second, Tate wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick right there on the bench or if he’d just stumbled headfirst into the purest truth of his life.
He wanted it. Wanted her. Not in some vague, casual way. He wanted dates. Kisses. A hand to hold. A future. He wanted more in his life and was never able to clearly define it. But in that moment, he saw what ‘more’ was. It was her in the stands, wearing his jersey, cheering for him. She was waiting after the game, smiling at him the way she was smiling now.
