“You’re fucking dying to have a kid,” Nolan says, shaking his head, as we start walking back to the locker rooms to get ready for the game. “Why don’t you have a serious conversation with Lyla about it and stop skirting around the subject?”
I scowl. “I don’t skirt around the subject.”
“Please, dude.” He shoots me a look. “At Thanksgiving, when my mom asked you about wanting kids in front of Lyla, you got all flustered.”
“I never get flustered.” I feel my brows pull.
He laughs. “Every time that topic comes up, you get flustered.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Okay.” He shrugs.
“I think Lyla wants to wait,” I say when we walk into the room and start grabbing the rest of our gear.
“She’s been talking about retiring since last season,” he says. “Maybe that’s part of the reason.”
“I doubt it.” I reach for my bag and look for my phone. “If I have that conversation with her, she’ll think I want her to retire.”
Lyla talks about retiring all the time, but she usually brings up going back to medicine. I usually try to listen and not give her my input. Of course, the selfish asshole in me wants her to retire, especially now that I’ll be home, but I love her too much to hint at it. The look in her eyes when she’s on the pitch is worth waiting a million years to start a family. I just really hope I don’t have to. I look at my phone and see a text from her.
Lyla: YOU BETTER KICK ASS OUT THERE TONIGHT! I love you
I smile, shaking my head as I type.
Me: have a great game, baby. Wish i was there. I love you more
I wait a few seconds, and when she doesn’t respond, I put the phone away and keep getting ready.
As we skate off the ice during the first intermission, we read the signs the fans are holding up. I never pay attention to them during the game, but I try to read them when I get a breather. I swear they get more ridiculous every week. In the best way. One readsLEAVE YOUR WIFE FOR ME B4 I THROW A FITZ. We laugh and check for Mae to see if she caught it. Our wives think most of the signs are hysterical. The baby ones, not so much, but they have a laugh at the rest. Another readsDUKE-I’LL BE YOUR DUCHESS. PUT A BABY IN ME.I’ve been seeing a variation of that one for years, and I’ve never thought twice about it.
Lyla hates it, which I used to get a kick out of, but now that babies are on my mind, I wish I could rip it from their hands and throw the damn thing away. A couple of similar ones about marriage and babies are directed at Nolan and some other guys. I don’t know how they do it, but they never seem to run out of creative shit to write. As we skate by, my eyes fall on Lyla’s empty seat. I hate not seeing her in it. I wonder if she feels the same when she sees my usual seat empty at her home stadium.
The night goes on. We’re up four to two, but I narrowly score a fifth goal with ten seconds left and the crowd goes wild, as if we’d been losing all along. This energy is what I’ll miss when I retire. I throw up my arms in celebration, as my teammates all skate over and squeeze the shit out of me. When the game officially ends, I make my way around the ice, putting my hand on the plexiglass as I go to celebrate with the fans.
When I reach the section our wives sit in, I wave at Mae and Nolan’s wife, who’s standing behind her cheering. I’m about to turn around when I see a ridiculous sign. When I read this one, my heart drops. I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things, but the words remain the same.
GET READY “DADDY” DUKE! WE’RE HAVING A BABY!
My heart is pounding hard as I skate over. The person holding the sign is in Lyla’s seat, but it can’t be her. There’s no way. It has to be a prank. A fucking horrible, twisted prank, if it is one. As I get closer, the sign covering my wife’s beautiful face lowers, and she smiles wide — my smile. She’s holding ultrasound pictures in one hand and the sign in the other. I’m still in shock, my brain struggling to process all of this information — Lyla’s here, not at her game. Lyla’s pregnant? We’re having a baby? Fuck. A knot forms in my throat as I reach the plexiglass and stand in front of her. I set a hand on it and look at her face, the ultrasound pictures, the sign, and her face again.
I swallow hard. “You’re serious?”
I’m sure she can’t hear me over the noise, and I can barely see her with my eyes blurring, but I catch her nod. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, as I drop my helmet and skate to the nearest door where she meets me. When I open it, she tosses the sign behind her and launches at me, wrapping her arms and legs around me. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling that gardenia scent that always comforts me.
“You’re serious?” I ask, voice hoarse.
She nods against me, and I pull away to look at her face. She wipes the tears from it and smiles, brushing some off my face for me. I hold her tight and skate us to the other side of the rink, setting her down on the ground. I step off the ice and grab her hand to pull her to the hall that leads to the locker rooms. I’m still in shock when I stop walking and lean against the brick wall.
“I... what are you doing here? Was your game canceled?” I ask, as my eyes take her in from head to toe and back.
“I know you hate it when I make decisions without you, but I’ve been talking about retiring for a while now, so I did it.”
“When?”
“A little over a week ago. I was supposed to sign my contract again and told Lang I wanted to retire.”
“Lang knew?!” My eyes go wide. He’s been my agent longer than he’s known her — that traitor.
