And for a split second, she saw the two of them making a baby.
Not that motherhood was something she wanted right away. She was only twenty-four, after all. But there was something very exciting about the idea of having a baby with Tank, so she let that dream play out behind her closed eyes.
When her eyelids fluttered open, she realized Tank was watching her.
“You see it too,” he said, his voice gruff. “Our future.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“So we move in together in August,” he said. “And I’m thinking a Christmas wedding. My mother would have loved that. And then?—”
“Next Christmas?” she asked, trying not to laugh at his childlike enthusiasm. Clearly, she was going to have to be the adult about this relationship.
“Of course. And then…” This time he paused, making it obvious he wanted her to fill in the next blank.
She knew she shouldn’t encourage this, but damn if she wasn’t just as impatient. She didn’t have a clue why she was so certain this thing with Tank would last. Of all her past boyfriends, he should feel like the riskiest one to plan a future with. And yet, she didn’t have a single doubt about him or them.
“And then,” she said softly, “we make a family.”
Tank smiled a lot, and McKenna seriously thought she’d seen all his smiles—the cocky ones, the smirks, the silly ones, and the softer kind he offered her after sex.
But the one he flashed at her when she mentioned their family was by far the brightest and best of all.
Epilogue
Victor leaned back in the booth at Pat’s Pub and watched the celebration unwind around him. The atmosphere in the pub was chaotic and loud and downright joyous, as his teammates, their significant others, and a shit ton of fans partied their asses off.
The Stingrays had made it through the first round of playoffs—by the skin of their teeth, beating Washington tonight in game seven. So, their season was going into overtime.
He stroked his chin, growling to himself. He sported a beard year-round, but he typically kept it well-groomed. Thanks to that no-shaving superstition, the goddamn thing was growing wildly out of control right now, and he looked like a fucking caveman.
“You suck at celebrating,” his sister, Vivian, said, as she claimed the other side of the booth.
“I’m celebrating,” he said, lifting his Guinness.
She tilted her head toward the crowd. “The party’s over there.”
Victor shrugged. “It’s too fucking loud over there. I prefer to watch it unfold from the comfort of my own booth. Which was blissfully quiet until twenty seconds ago.”
“Last of the original party guys,” she teased.
He and his sister were polar opposites, so different it was hard for Victor to believe they were even related. Despite that, she was his best friend in the whole world.
The two of them had been through some shit in their lives, but they’d both come out on the other end, stronger. Because they were survivors.
“Listen, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something, but I didn’t want to bring it up until this round against Washington was over.”
Victor frowned because his sister, who was usually smiling and easygoing, suddenly looked…nervous.
Vivian was never nervous.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gruff with concern.
“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, something’s right. At least for me. Maybe. If, um…”
“What the hell is going on with you?” Vivian was the most straightforward, forthright person he knew, and she never minced words. “Stop hedging and spit it out.”
“I need a favor.”
