"I can go again. With you. We can take everything back if you want."
She laughs, the sound sleepy and warm. "That's excessive even for you."
"Nothing's excessive for our babies."
The words hang between us. Our babies. Not my babies or her babies. Ours.
Sloane doesn't correct me. She just settles back into the cushions, her feet still in my lap, and closes her eyes again.
"This is nice," she murmurs.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Don't get used to it, though. Still just roommates."
"Right. Roommates who co-parent."
"Exactly."
She falls back asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out. I sit there, one hand resting on her ankle, watching her.
I should probably get up. Start putting the baby things away, make dinner, and do something productive. But I don't want to move. Don't want to disturb this moment.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on the wall—me, Alder, and Gunnar in our Fury gear after our first pro game. We're all grinning, arms around each other, on top of the world.
Hockey has been my life since before I was conceived. The ice, the team, the game—it's shaped everything I am.
But sitting here with Sloane, her feet in my lap, thinking about the twins growing inside her—this feels important in a different way. Essential in a way hockey never quite has been.
I think about my dad leaving the pros when Mom had Odin. I never really understood it before. How do you walk away from something you love? Something you've worked your whole life for?
But now, looking at Sloane, I'm starting to get it.
My family isn't just hockey. My family is here, asleep on this couch, trusting me enough to let her guard down.
My family is two tiny heartbeats I can't stop thinking about.
My family is this life I'm trying to build, this future I'm trying to be worthy of.
Except... hockey is family too. Alder, Gunnar, Odin. The team. The ice that's thick in my veins.
How do I choose between those things? How do I balance them when they both matter so much?
The thin ice I'm skating on right now feels weaker by the day. One wrong move and everything will crack, sending me plunging into water I'm not sure I can swim out of.
Coach's words echo in my head:Your family name means something in this organization. Live up to it.
But which family? The one I was born into or the one I'm trying to create?
CHAPTER 23
SLOANE
I wakeup feeling well-rested for once, until I realize Tucker must have carried me to bed last night. I check the time on my phone and see that it’s nearly eight. Tucker Stag really does have magic fingers if he can massage me into deep slumber and transfer me without waking me.
I bite my lip and listen to see if he’s up or moving around, but all I hear is silence.
He must have already gone to hockey practice.
