“Yes!” April jumps up out of her seat. “Did you see that save, Mom?”
“I saw it. He’s doing great out there.” My heart is racing, and I’m gripping the armrest so hard my knuckles are white.
The first period is brutal. Both teams fight for every inch of ice, and the hits are hard and loud. Grant faces shot after shot, and each time he makes a save, the crowd explodes.
I wish Margo was here to see this. She’s been on maternity leave for the past month after having her baby, and I miss seeing her running around frantically at these games. But we’ve been texting constantly, sending each other photos and updates. She’s already planning playdates for our kids once the baby is born, and I can’t wait. The idea of raising our children together, of them growing up as friends and cousins, fills me with so much joy I can barely stand it.
The Aces score midway through the second period, and the arena goes wild. April and I are on our feet, screaming and hugging each other. Grant doesn’t celebrate visibly, but I can see the slight shift in his posture. The silent confidence I love so much.
“We’re winning!” April shouts over the noise. “Mom, we’re winning!”
“I know!” I’m laughing and nearly crying at the same time—thanks, pregnancy hormones. But it’s not the game that’s overwhelming me. It’s how much this all means. The fact that we can build this life together without giving anything up.
We all have each other. April has her friends and is becoming more and more independent, with her own thoughts and ideas. I still have my job helping other women who are getting out ofshitty situations, and Grant still has his first love, hockey. This is exactly what our family dynamic is supposed to look like.
The third period is even more intense. The other team is desperate to tie it up with two minutes left, and the pressure on our guys is relentless.
Grant faces three rapid-fire shots in the final minute. He stops the first with his glove. The second with his pad. The third bounces off his chest, and Theo clears it down the ice just as the buzzer sounds.
The Aces win.
The crowd goes absolutely crazy. April is jumping up and down, screaming so loud I can barely hear myself think. I’m cheering with my hand pressed to my bump as the baby kicks against my palm like they’re celebrating too.
On the ice, Grant’s teammates swarm him, pounding on his helmet and hugging him. But through all the chaos, his eyes find mine in the stands.
He points his stick at me. At us.
And I know exactly what he’s saying.
This is for you. For all of you.
I press my hand to my heart and mouth the words, “I love you.”
He nods, just once, before his teammates pull him back into the celebration.
“Mom, can we go down to the lounge and wait for him?” April tugs on my jersey. “Please?”
“Let’s wait until the crowds clear a bit, okay? Then we’ll go.”
She nods, then joins back in with the rest of the crowd to cheer for Grant and the rest of the team.
Twenty minutes later, we make our way down to the family and friends lounge. It’s packed with players’ partners, kids, and parents, and everyone is still ecstatic from the win.
The door swings open, and Grant walks in. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s changed into his usual post-game suit. His eyes scan the room until they land on us, and his entire face lights up.
He makes a beeline straight for me, weaving through the crowd without stopping to talk to anyone. The second he reaches us, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me hard.
“You were so good out there,” I murmur against his lips.
“I had good motivation.” He pulls back just enough to look down at my bump, then reaches down to rest his hand there. “How’s our little bean?”
“Active. I think they liked the game.”
He grins, then turns to April and scoops her up, swinging her around until she squeals with laughter.
“Did you see me out there?”
“You were the best!” April throws her arms around his neck. “You stopped everything! Every single shot!”
