Alpha had instructed me to be present Sunday nights for the pack dinner, and I promised I’d be here when I wasn’t away with the team. The dinners were what kept the pack connected, but unlike my mate, most people didn’t work for the pack. I hadn’t been to one for months, and even before the accident, my attendance was sporadic.
Tonight was our first night in our new home, and we cooked pasta with a rich tomato sauce and I made a salad. Tomorrow would be my first test: getting up early enough to eat, make Stan breakfast, and do the commute to the city.
I set three alarms, not wanting to mess up, and I made it to the team’s facility with five minutes to spare. If traffic was backed up, I’d have been late, so I decided to leave fifteen minutes earlier tomorrow.
I hit the ice with my teammates, and I pushed through practice without favoring my wrist. My strength was returning along with my expectation that the injury and associated trauma was in the past. Coach ran us hard, but I kept pace and even earned a nod of approval after a particularly clean defensive play.
Afterward in the locker room, Angelo asked if I wanted to join the guys for dinner.
“Can’t. Got to get home an hour from here.”
“Being married suits you.”
“I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
It was after eight when I made it to pack land. The house was lit up and warm when I walked in. Stan had dinner in the oven, and my mouth watered as the delicious aroma teased my taste buds.
My mate was stirring something on the stove. He was wearing sweat pants and one of my old T-shirts that stretched over his belly.
“You have perfect timing both on the ice and turning up just as dinner is ready.”
We ate at the table and shared news of our day. My mate had called Clarissa and checked on the ingredients for a salve for joint pain, while I told him my wrist was feeling normal.
“You think you’ll be ready for the playoffs?”
“I do.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Good, because I plan to attend as many games as I can.”
That would involve a lot of travel, so it didn’t seem practical, especially with him being heavily pregnant, but I wasn’t going to argue. I’d let his body dictate how often he’d watch me play.
“Ready to tackle the nursery?”
Despite my excellent shifter hearing, I assumed I’d misheard. It was nine and we both had to be up early in the morning. Stan stifled a yawn but strode toward the unfurnished bedroom. I raced behind him and steered him to our room.
“We both need sleep, not hefting furniture around and building a crib.”
“But I want it ready in plenty of time. Most families have finished the nursery long before now.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true, but staying up into the wee small hours wasn’t helping our baby. The nursery could wait until Sunday.
“We need to choose a paint color. I was thinking of a light gray for one wall.”
I couldn’t imagine a gray nursery, but Stan said he didn’t want the baby to be overstimulated with a bright color.”
We showered and climbed into bed and spooned.
“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night and wonder who the strange man in my bed is.”
“I’m definitely strange, but it is nice to be together rather than the occasional weekend.”
We giggled and his deep breathing told me he’d fallen asleep. I stayed awake longer, listening to the woodland sounds outside and the occasional voice or car. My mate and baby were safe, and we were surrounded by the pack.
Tomorrow I'd get up early again, make the commute, spend hours on the ice pushing myself to be ready for the playoffs, and then I’d come home to my pregnant mate.
This was what I’d been working toward. It wasn’t just hockey, though that was important. Building a life with Stan and preparing for the birth of our child was what made me happy, and everything else was just details.
16
