Page 121 of Slapshot Bride

“Yeah,” I say.

“Come here…” He shifts carefully and stretches his arm until it’s resting on my shoulders.

I lean closer, so Emma is lying on my legs, with her legs thrown over Easton’s, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“You okay now?”

I nod. He kisses my temple, and just like that, all worries are gone, and we’re back to the movie on the screen.

Theo picks Emma up on Saturday afternoon.

She doesn't go quietly. She goes boneless in my arms the moment Theo reaches for her, becoming the deadest weight a three-year-old has ever managed, so that he has to essentially peel her off me while she stays completely limp and unhelpful about the whole process.

“Riley,” she says, very solemnly, from over Theo’s shoulder. I hear the hint of sadness in her voice, and it makes me smile.

“Your daddy misses you, Emma. We’ll see you soon, okay?”

She nods.

“Thank you so much, Riley. I appreciate it, and I owe you one.”

I smile. Easton walks them to the car.

“Bye…” Emma calls out, and I wave. She waves back, all the way to the car.

Theo straps her in, says something quietly to Easton that I don’t catch, and then they’re gone. The gate clicks shut. The driveway is empty.

We go back inside.

Easton starts picking up the throw pillows Emma had been playing with from the floor. He looks visibly tired.

The season is taking more of him. I’ve been watching it for weeks. The earlier mornings, the later returns. There’s an away game in a week. Chicago, then Detroit. Four days.

I have my own things now, which still feels strange to say.

A gig landed in my inbox three days ago, a local events company that found my arena photographs on my Instagram page, and wants me to shoot a private function. Small. Paid. Mine. I read the email four times before I believed it was real.

I’m thinking about the shot list when Easton comes back through the hallway with something in his hand.

A jersey. Black and silver, number seventeen across the back.

He holds it out.

“Away game’s in a week,” he says. “I want you to have this while I’m gone, or you can come with me, if you want. There’s a ticket on the bedside for you.”

I take it from him. I’m smiling before I even understand why.

“Am I your good luck charm now?” I tease, and he pulls me into him. The jersey is not between us.

“Maybe I got better at scoring when I looked up and saw you there, with your camera,” he winks.

The sincerity in those words hit me in the chest. I stay still, staring into his eyes wordlessly.

My brain stops working. I try to deeply process his words. He stares intently at me, not breaking eye contact.

“You don’t have to…” he breaks the silence. “I mean, you’ve got the gig to prep for, and it’s more important. Super glad you got it, baby.”

He kisses my temple, and my legs weaken.