Page 122 of Put a Rink on It

“That’s how we do it,” Ryker Beasley shouts, skating a lap around the edge of the rink, hooting and hollering. It’s his first game at the professional level, having been called up from the minors only last week. He saw little playing time today, but his attitude never wavered.

Ah, memories of being in his position. As much as I miss those days, there’s a luxury in being where I am, in settling into a routine, in having a wife.

I glimpse Marina in the second row behind the glass holding a sign, one she didn’t have the last time I looked over at her. Her smile’s wide, and despite the exhaustion in her features from being sick, she’s never looked more beautiful or glowing. My eyes trip over the words she’s holding.

I skate over to her and bang on the glass, indicating her to come lower to an empty seat in the front row. She fights her way down and perches on the seat, her hands against the glass, her Nautilus jersey on full display. Pointing to her sign, I yell, “I didn’t score.” Too busy defending, I didn’t even take a shot on goal today.

“Ah, but you did,” she returns with a wink, her lips parting in a bigger smile, one I won’t ever tire of.

I scan the words again:

Way to put the puck in the net, Champ!

I scratch my head, needing clarification, until with the slightest move, her hand splays her abdomen, a secret clue I would have missed had I looked away for a split second.

My gaze soars toward hers, and Marina nods. A wave of emotions assails me, and I drop to my knees, kissing the ice, thanking all the lucky stars at her announcement.

We’re pregnant.

She’s pregnant, she’s likely to point out.

But fuck. We’re having a baby!

“Get down here, wife!” I yell out, holding back from announcing to the entire arena Marina’s having my baby. I won’t let my mouth get me in trouble for giving up the news way too soon. Who knows how far along she is. I can’t go blabbing it to everyone still left, especially the fans. Lord knows what they’d do with that information.

On cloud nine, I skate around the ice. Let everyone assume I’m pumped from the win and not because I knocked up my wife.

My eyes dart around, seeking where she is, finding her at the door. I push off, not getting to her fast enough, and even then, I have to stop short so I don’t run her over. Ice sprays off my edges, off to the side of where she stands. “Ships,” I cheer, throwing my arms in the air.

“Champ,” she responds. “Way to go.”

I gather her in my arms, lifting her, careful not to drop the precious cargo.

It’s been a long time coming, not for lack of trying. Since the time she thought she might be pregnant before our wedding, we’ve been actively trying, hopeful each month it would work, until disappointment set in when her period showed up.

After a year, we both got checked to make sure nothing was wrong, which, seemingly, the doctors said nothing was, both a blessing and a curse for her. Me, too. It’s the one thing she wants most in the world, and it’s the one thing I couldn’t give her. No matter how much money I had, I couldn’t make it happen for her.

For us. Because as much as she wants to be a mom, I’m right there with her wanting to be a dad. Having nieces and nephews isn’t the same and not enough for us. We’ve talked about other routes, but thankfully now we don’t have to explore other options.

“Champion, locker room.” The coach’s words hit my ears, and I squeeze Marina and lower her to the ground.

“How are we celebrating?”

“Olive cookies, duh.” Her icy orbs roll. They’ve become a staple at every celebration and holiday, yet she’s the only one who eats them, which is why there’s usually some in our freezer. I don’t begrudge her love of them, but I can’t understand it, nor can I get on board with tasting them. I shudder every time I think about it. “The bakery had maple cookies on the menu. Aren’t you the luckiest?”

“I’d say so,” I claim, continuing with, “because of you, Marina. I’m the luckiest because I’ve got you.” My lips meet hers in a chaste kiss—I’ll make up for it later.

“Go do your thing. I’ll meet you at home.”

I lean in so no one can overhear us, even if they’re not paying us any attention. “We’ve got so much to celebrate. I love you.” Stealthily, I pat her abdomen. “You too.”

She laughs and pushes me away. I skate backward toward the other end of the rink, her eyes watching my every move.

The warmth of the fire hits when I clear the door from the garage. I don’t bother putting my stuff away—I’ve got more pressing matters at hand.

Marina’s tucked under a blanket on the couch, her AirPods in, lost in whatever she’s listening to.

“You’re gonna need a bigger jersey,” I speak into the room loud enough so she can hear me over whatever’s playing in her ears. Her gaze meets mine, and she nods, the fact lighting her up. She fiddles with her phone and removes the pods, gesturing for me to join her on the couch. I plop next to her, tucking myself under the blanket. “How’d you find out?”