“Right, and this isn’t the same situation as last time,” Ella reminds me. “You’re not a scared college girl anymore. You and Harrison are together now.”
“I know, but—” My voice catches. “We haven’t even talked about having more kids. What if he’s not ready for this? What if it’s too much too fast?”
Marlee gives me a knowing look. “The man is literally considering retiring from professional hockey to be more present for his son. Does that sound like someone who wouldn’t want another child?”
“And if he’s already thinking about retirement,” Layken adds, “maybe this baby isn’t a complication. Maybe it’s confirmation he’s making the right choice.”
“Another baby that he gets to be there for from the very beginning,” Scarlett points out. “Don’t you think that might be healing for him in a way?”
I hadn’t thought about it like that. The possibility that this pregnancy could be restorative rather than overwhelming hasn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve been so wrapped up in my fear—fear of his reaction, fear of disrupting our fragile new family balance—that I haven’t considered how this might be a gift for both of us. A chance to experience parenthood together from the very beginning. A chance for Connor to have a sibling…to be a big brother.
“I hadn’t considered that,” I admit, wiping at a tear that’s escaped despite my best efforts. “I’ve been so focused on not repeating my mistakes that I didn’t even think about what this could mean for us.”
“So, when are you going to tell him?” Marlee asks.
I take a deep breath. “Soon. I have to. I just need to find the right moment.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Scarlett warns with a wink. “These things have a way of becoming obvious.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HARRISON
My phone buzzes in my hand while I’m standing in the locker room, helmet tucked under my arm, the familiar hum of the arena vibrating through the concrete beneath my unlaced skates.
It’s Phil Rossie, my agent.
He should know better than to call this close to game time, but I suppose he thinks he’s doing me a favor so I swipe to answer, lowering my voice as the guys file past me toward the door.
“Talk fast,” I murmur. “Puck drops in fifteen.”
“Then I’ll be quick,” my agent says. “You’re serious?”
I glance around the locker room, my friends, my brothers hyping themselves up for our last home game of the regular season. Playoffs will take us on the road starting next week. Harper and Connor are in the audience tonight. Visions of Connor pressed against the glass like it’s the most important job in the world hits like a slapshot in my mind. I know he’ll be wearing my jersey—withmyname stretched across his shoulders—and I feel it hit my chest like a punch.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m serious.”
There’s a pause on Phil’s end. The kind that either means his jaw is on the floor and he’s pissed at me but doesn’t want to tear me down right before a big game, or the kind that means he’s recalculating everything he’s ever planned for me.
“You’re still skating at a high level, Meers. Top four defenseman numbers. The Stars would extend you. Other teams would too.”
“I know.”
“So why now? You in trouble? Because I can make it go away. Just say the word. You’re worth too damn much to?—”
“No. Not in trouble,” I answer.
It’s because I missed ten years.
Because my kid looks at me like I know how to hang the fucking moon every time I lace up my skates.
Because I don’t want to be a ghost who flies in and out of his life between road trips and rehabs.
“I’m not saying now-now,” I say. “But soon. End of this season, maybe. I just want to know what my options are.”
He exhales slowly. “You realize once this gets out?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “I’m just asking you to look at the numbers. Quietly.”
