"You're very bossy when you're changing professional sports culture.”
"Get used to it. I plan to be very present and very bossy for the foreseeable future."
She laughs. "I think I can handle that."
I stretch out beside her, pulling her carefully against me. My hand finds her belly, feeling the twins move.
"Hey, babies,” I say quietly. "Your mom and I are figuring this out. You just keep growing, okay? We'll handle the rest."
Sloane's hand covers mine. "We should probably give them actual names at some point."
"Probably." I grin. "But for now, we can call them nuggets and beans.”
"You're ridiculous."
"You love me anyway."
"I really do."
The reality of that, of Sloane safe in my arms, our babies growing strong, our future stretching out ahead of us—it feels so right. I never thought anything would top the experience of winning a championship. Of standing with my brothers andhoisting a trophy over my head. Now that seems irrelevant when all I want to do is cuddle my family.
I’ve always had a huge family, but this little circle of people, right here in this bed with silk and curls and fierce determination … this lights my fire. And I don’t ever want to look away.
CHAPTER 35
SLOANE
I feel like a beached whale,no matter how many times Tucker tells me I’m more like Noah’s Ark. But the babies are healthy and almost grown enough to safely exit the womb.
It took some patience getting used to Tucker’s family underfoot. Virtual therapy has helped a lot–Tucker’s cousin Odin hooked us up with a couples counselor who seems like an oracle. I’ve learned that when Mr. Stag showers me with gifts or Aunt Alice brings an entire restaurant for us to taste, that this is them expressing their love for Tucker and for anyone Tucker loves.
This family just really is that tight.
I hear the elevator doors open, and Judge’s voice calls out, "Sloane? It's me!"
"Hey!" I call back, adjusting the pillows behind me for the thousandth time today. There's no comfortable position when your body is full of active watermelons.
Tucker’s mom appears in the doorway, smiling brightly and emanating a delightful aroma. “Chicken pho coming up! With lime and basil.”
My eyes actually water. "You're a saint."
"I'm a judge who knows how to delegate takeout to my staff."She sets up the food on the overbed table. "How are you feeling today?"
"Huge. Uncomfortable. Grateful." I accept the container of soup, breathing in the steam. "Your son has been... he's been amazing."
"He's happy." She settles into the chair Tucker usually occupies, the one with the permanent imprint of his body. "He’s really coming into himself."
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, slurping our soup. Judge has this way of being present without being overwhelming—something I'm learning runs in the family, once you get past the initial tsunami of Stag-thusiasm.
“I think about your work a lot,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “Family court … kids removed from their parents.”
She nods. “Nearly thirty years on the bench now. It was once me on the other side, and I bring that experience with me to every case.”
"Do you..." I pause, finding the words. "Do you ever feel like you're making a difference? Like the system actually works?"
Her expression grows serious. "The system is broken in a thousand ways. But yes, I think I make a difference. Not by fixing the system—that's beyond any one person—but by building support structures into my rulings. Making sure kids have what they need. Holding parents accountable while also giving them resources."
"That's what I want to do." The admission comes easily. "Not the legal side, but the policy side. Building those support structures so families don't fall through the cracks."
