Allow me to interpret. Dean Costello owns the Bears. He and Cody Warren, a pro football player, are in a relationship with Drew Daniels, Coach D’s twin sister. They all went to collegetogether at Lincoln University and have triplets, now also known as three twins.
I say, “Nope, I don’t think so.” As Lenzin simply says, “No.”
She looks back at me, “‘Cause you only love Lenzin Faulker, number nine, right defense for the Brooklyn Bears, my Daddy?”
“That sounds about right.” I try not to laugh as I answer.
“Are you married?” she asks.
I freeze, Lenzin chuckles and tells her, “We aren’t yet. We’ve been too busy, but one day life will slow down and God willing, your mommy will say yes.”
“Cool.” She climbs onto the stool, and he helps her onto her seat. “Mila’s dad plays defense, and Carter’s mom brings the best snacks. Can we bring a snack one day too?”
“Of course,” I say, already devising a plan to wow a bunch of three to five-year-olds, and beat Carter’s mom out of top spot.
“We learned the letter B, but I already knew B because Bears and because Daddy plays for the Bears and?—”
She yawns mid-sentence. Not just any yawn, a full-body, dramatic yawn that nearly knocks her sideways.
“You’re tired,” I say, smiling.
“I am not,” she insists, blinking hard like she can physically fight sleep.
But she is. Her cheeks are flushed, her movements are slower, and she’s got a case of the sillies.
At dinner she tells Lenzin all about her “new team.” That’s what she calls her class.
“There are lots of hockey kids,” she says proudly. “But I’m the only one with red hair like this.”
She flips it over her shoulder, and he bites back a grin.
“She’s making friends fast.” I tell him.
“Did we ever doubt she would,” he chuckles, watching her the way he does, with awe. Like he can’t quite believe she’s real. He’s not alone, I feel the same.
After dinner, she heads down to brush her teeth, and he pulls me gently against the counter.
“You’re going to be in my bed,” he says quietly.
I lift a brow. “Am I?”
“And Lucy’s room needs to be upstairs too.”
“She loves her room,” I remind him.
“She’ll love it upstairs better, there’s a walk-in closet, the rooms bigger, and the bathtub has jets.”
“More space. Closer to the other bedrooms. A better layout. How can I argue that?”
“You can’t.” He smiles, kissing my forehead. “Doesn’t have to be right now. Just promise me soon.”
Soon.
A week later, the house is full, but not with hockey players, with women in soft sweats and oversized team hoodies. Women who, like Lenzin, were brought to me by fate.
It’s the first of three away games, keeping the Bears on the road for six days. Winnipeg, Chicago, and Minnesota.
Nalani arrives with sparkling water and a container of cut fruit, as if she’s hosting a prenatal wellness retreat. I very much appreciate that. She’s glowing in that unfair way pregnant women sometimes do. The way I feel like I do, but only on the weekends when life slows down. Claudia is balancing her diaper bag and Savannah nursing in motion. No wine. Just hydration and exhaustion, and that calm strength that comes from keeping a tiny human alive with your body and balancing a career she worked hard to obtain, and loves. Sofie brings a perfect charcuterie because of course she does, and Noelle has takeout because “no one is cooking during a six-day stretch.”
