Page 109 of Slapshot Baby

The aftershocks roll through us both in diminishing waves until the room is quiet except for two people trying to remember how air works.

He pulls me against his chest. His hand finds my stomach.

"Stay," he murmurs, sleep thick in his voice. "Not just tonight."

"I'll stay tonight."

He presses his mouth to my hair. His breathing deepens. His arm grows heavy.

I lie in the dark, my body still humming from the way this man just loved me with everything he has, his hand resting on a secret that could break us both.

Every wall I built was supposed to prevent this. They were armor designed to keep me standing at a safe distance from Kai while I figured out the mess of my life.

I'm not at a safe distance anymore.

I'm in his bed, wearing his scent, carrying his child, and so completely, irreversibly his that the thought of losing him doesn't just scare me.

If he leaves, it will destroy me.

18

KAI

Welcome Back, Captain

The crossbar rings when my shot catches its underside. For half a second, I’m in a night game on a different rink.

The crowd noise is rising behind me, the puck sailing past the goalie's glove and dinging the iron before it drops behind the line. My linemates crash the net, gloves reaching for my helmet.

I blink.

The private rink is empty except for me and four teammates.

But the memory holds. I scored that goal. I heard that crossbar sing and I remember the vibration running through the shaft of my stick, identical to the one humming in my palms right now.

I fire another shot. This one hits the mesh clean. There’s no flashback, just rubber on nylon.

Once is promising. Twice would be proof.

I've been running these private sessions for weeks. Brennan assigned his assistant coach to observe while I drill alone or with whichever teammates show up. His mandate: prove the hockey brain still works under structured pressure.

"Slot," Theo calls from the half wall.

He sends the puck tape-to-tape. I settle it, pull it around an imaginary defender, wire it far side. The water bottle on the post explodes.

"Beautiful hands, Cap. You're making me emotional over here and I haven't even had my coffee."

"Save the emotions for Emma's recital."

His lips form a grin that makes him look like a kid with a secret.

"She's doing a dance number. I already have the outfit picked out. Tutu, wings, the whole deal."

"For Emma or for you?"

Wyatt skates past, scooping the puck from the net and flipping it into the air, his hair plastered to his forehead.

"For Emma. Obviously."