He wedges between the bedrail and my belly, facing me. "This okay?"
I laugh and shake my head. “You are ridiculous. And massive.”
He grins and wraps his arms around me, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, under my ear.
"We're going to figure this out," he murmurs into my hair. "You're going to finish your degree. You're going to have your own career, your own life. Maybe get ourselves some therapy.”
I put my hand on my belly, feeling the twins move. "They're really okay?"
“We will make sure of it.” His hand covers mine on my stomach. "They're fighters. Like their mom."
We lie there in silence, just breathing together. The monitors beep steadily. Hospital sounds filter through the door—nurses talking, other monitors, the occasional announcement over the PA system.
"I left the game," Tucker says after a while. "Coach said there would be consequences. I told him I didn't care."
"Tucker—"
"I meant it. I don't care if they fire me. I don't care if this ruins my career. You and these babies matter more than hockey."
"Hockey is your life."
"You're my life." He says it simply, certainly. "Hockey is just what I do. You're who I am now."
I tilt my head to look up at him. "That's too much pressure. I can't be your whole life."
"You're not my whole life. My family is my whole life. And you're part of that family now." He kisses my forehead. "You, these babies, my parents and brothers, my ridiculous extended family—that's what matters. Hockey is just... hockey."
"You love hockey."
"I love you more." He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable. "And honestly? If loving you means I have to find a different career? I'm okay with that."
"You shouldn't have to choose."
"I'm not choosing. I'm prioritizing. There's a difference." His hand strokes my arm, soothing. "Besides, apparently your buddy Mel has cracked the code and convinced the bigwigs that hockey players are human beings.”
“She did what?” I draw my head back, not sure what he’s talking about.
He emits a rumbling sound deep from his chest. “Uncle Tim said I can take emergency leave and not lose my job.” He pauses. "But that's later. Right now, I'm just focused on you."
I close my eyes, letting myself relax against him. Finally, mercifully, the anxiety loosens its grip. The fear is still there—I'm still terrified of losing myself, still worried about dependence, still scared of becoming someone I'm not.
But Tucker's arms are around me. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. "Tucker?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for coming."
"Always." He kisses the top of my head. "I'll always come when you need me. Even when you don't know you need me yet."
I smile against his chest. "That's what scares me."
"I know. But we'll work on it." His voice is getting drowsy. "We'll figure out boundaries. Figure out what works. We'll probably screw it up a bunch of times."
"Probably."
"But we'll fix it. Together."
"Together," I repeat.
