I believed him. My nipples were leaking. My vagina felt like a bomb had exploded. No doubt I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Yet this man was gazing at me with so much love that none of it mattered. I could make a mental spreadsheet and outline all the evidence, but for this, I think I needed to take a leap of faith.
Despite all my weirdness, or maybe because of it, this man loved me.
“If it’s better with two, it might be even better with three.” I cast a glance to our sleeping daughter.
“Love that combo.” He applied a soft kiss to my damp forehead. “Love you.”
“And I love you,” I whispered. “Truly, I do.”
“Sure that’s not the endorphins talking?” His voice held a note of doubt, like he was suddenly the one who couldn’t believe.
“If it is, they’ve been chatting away for months. Since I spied that EpiPen in your pocket. Since I turned over that cat cushion and saw a cat skull. Since you brought me home the night of Theo’s party and loved my hurt away. Those endorphins might even have been whispering in my ear when I saw you give a little girl a handmade bracelet for her birthday and wore the one you made for yourself.” So, making a list of reasons didn’t hurt. “The real question is: how could I not love you, Jason? You’re cocky and hotheaded and arrogant and bossy. But you’re also kind and generous and funny and I’m happy to be darted by you any day of the week.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Darted?”
“It’s a snail thing.”
“Of course it is.” He lifted my hand and softly kissed my thundering pulse. “Those Boston fuckers have no idea what’s coming their way in Game 7.”
“What’s that then?”
“Utter annihilation. I’m a new dad, a man in love, and a player who’s hungry for that Cup. Besides, we need it to baptize Cammi.”
I blinked. “Cammi?”
“After Cammi Granato, the first woman player in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Just an idea. We can wait, see if it suits her. We just need to decide before my day with the hardware.”
Which he hadn’t won yet. That, and the fact that neither of us was religious didn’t seem to matter. If Jason Isner wanted his daughter baptized in a silver-and-nickel alloy bowl while the Cup made its victory tour this summer, I had no doubt he would find a way—and a priest—to make that happen.
Gloriously in sync, we turned to our daughter and gazed at her with naked adoration. Cammi did have a nice ring to it.
“Will you stay?” I asked, feeling worn out, both mentally and physically. Birthing a baby and finally giving into the love you deserved took a lot out of a woman.
“I’m going nowhere, Doc.”
Epilogue
One month later …
* * *
Jason
* * *
“Mommy, I want to go on the swing.”
“Just a second, sweetie.” My sister-in-law Elle nudged me as her very strong almost-six-year-old pulled hard on her hand. “You sure that thing’s safe?”
“I had a guy come in to ensure it was anchored properly and add that shock-absorbing rubber surface beneath. Just make sure she’s supervised.”
She looked amused. “You’re giving me parental advice now?”
“Like it’s hard?” I waggled my eyebrows. “Ask me anything.”
“Just like Theo. A month in, and he knew everything, too.”
What could I say? The men in this family were a very confident bunch.
