I look back at her again.
“Legit questions,” she says with a grin.
I jerk a thumb toward Nick. “You’ve been with this guy too long.”
She laughs while he plays with her hair, smiling that completely smitten smile that’s always on his face when they’re together.
“Not nearly long enough,” she says. “I’m still having too much fun.”
You know that feeling when you’re happy for someone but you also want what they have so hard that your entire body aches with it?
That’s me in this moment.
If you’d told me ten years ago that Nick Murphy would retire in his prime because he wanted to spend more time with his wife and kids, I would’ve laughed until I threw up.
And I’ve never laughed that hard in my life.
Nick was the epitome offree-living hockey bachelor.
Liked killing it on the ice, aiming for a shutout every single night. Hitting the bars afterwards. Having fun with the women.
But he hung up his pads and skates a year and a half after he married Kami because he hated road trips away from her and their baby.
They have three kids now, and I’ve never seen him happier.
Ares hung up his skates this year too to be home more with Felicity and their two kids. That’s massive for a guy who led people to believe he intended to play until he was fifty. Told me once it’s the only thing he’s ever been or will ever be good at.
But now he’s spending his days with his own little family, and frequently with Zeus, his identical twin, and Joey and their quadruplets.
Being even better at being a dad and a father than he is—was—at playing hockey.
And he looks pretty content as he’s sitting there with an arm draped around the back of Felicity’s seat.
They have something bigger to live for.
Something I always assumed I would’ve had by now too.
“Hey, Uncle Dunc,” Paisley says as she steps into the row. She’s decked out in Fireballs gear and carrying a bag of popcorn. “Little early, aren’t we?”
It’s easy to shift a smile to my niece. “More time to enjoy the weather.”
And it’s gorgeous today.
Lots of sunshine. Puffy white clouds hanging around merely for decoration. Cool breeze.
Perfect day for baseball.
Paisley takes the seat next to me, and when she leans forward, I can’t stop the noise that comes out of my mouth at the sight of the name on the back of her jersey. “McBride?Are you fucking kidding? He’s a disaster.”
She grins at me. “I like ’em that way. More fun to watch.”
Rory McBride was brought in as a rookie to take Cooper Rock’s place at second base this year, but he’s spent half his time being sent back to the minors.
“Just to watch,” I say.
The kid’s only a couple years older than she is.
I know this story.
