"Tucker." Sloane grabs my hand, and she's smiling through the fear. "We're having our babies."
"We're having our babies," I repeat, and suddenly I'm grinning like an idiot. "Holy shit, Sloane. We're having our babies today."
"Best graduation present ever," she manages before the first contraction hits.
I help her out of the gown—carefully, because she insists she wants it for photos later. After all, Sloane Campbell doesn't do anything halfway. Then I'm easing her into the elevator, grabbing the hospital bag, giving rapid-fire instructions to Mel about locking up.
"We'll meet you there," Mel says, shooing people toward the door.
I grab her shoulder. “You hear from Pete?”
She shakes her head. “Not today. Your uncle said they’re working on his legal paperwork.”
I grunt. My oldest cousin came through for me big time when I was drowning in my own family crisis. Now Pete needs us, too, and I’m still facing my own responsibilities.
Mel pats my arm. “Go get your girls.”
My phone is still on FaceTime, and the last thing I see before ending the call is my entire family cheering.
"Go get 'em, Tucky!" Alder yells.
"You've got this!" Mom calls.
Dad's voice cuts through the noise. "Be the father those girls deserve, son."
"I will," I promise, and I mean it with everything I am.
Then I'm driving Sloane toward the hospital, her hand gripping mine so tightly I'm losing circulation, and I've never been more terrified or more certain of anything in my life.
"I love you," I say as we wait for the gate to open to leave the building. "I need you to know that. I love you and Shula and Aurora more than anything."
Sloane looks up at me, her green eyes bright with tears andjoy and fear and hope. "I love you too. Even when you hire brass quartets and orchestrate elaborate bedroom ceremonies."
"Especially then," I correct.
The light turns green, and I drive Wyatt’s SUV slowly and carefully with precious cargo on board. Just the two of us for these last few moments before we become four.
"Ready?" I ask.
She interlaces her fingers with mine and nods. "Let's go meet our daughters."
EPILOGUE
TUCKER
The locker roomechoes with silence.
I lean back against the tile wall after my shower, soaking it all up. I’m the last one here after endless media interviews as the new face of family-focused professional athletes.
The playoff win tonight was brutal—overtime, three fights, and Grentley got absolutely lit up in the third period. I had to step in when one of their forwards went after him, which meant five minutes in the box and a hell of a lot of pent-up aggression that I couldn't fully release on the ice.
My knuckles are bruised. My shoulder aches where I took a hit into the boards. And I've never felt more alive.
Last season, I would've gone out with the guys after a game like this. Hit a bar, let some puck bunny buy me drinks, stumbled home at 3 a.m. smelling like regret and cheap perfume.
Now? I'm standing in an empty locker room at ten-thirty on a Saturday night, waiting.
Because Sloane texted something cryptic during the second intermission about our two-month-old babies going to an after-party with the Stag Family Daycare and Sloane bringing me something special.
