48. JT

Green and gold streamers hang from the rafters of Coach’s deck. There’s a matching cake and tons of balloons.

“When a Wolf gets called up to the NHL, his pack sends him out in style,” Pete Santos punctuates his words with his signature howl, and I swear it brings a tear to my eye. Or at least to Mickey’s, because he’s blubbering beside me.

“Saying goodbye is never easy,” Pete continues, “but no wolf ever walks alone. And Will Franconetti is no exception. He’s a Bruiser now, but he’ll always be a wolf.”

The whole damn team howls in earnest and my sweet Calla doesn’t even stir. At only six weeks old, she’s used to her crazy uncles already.

Now that the toast is over, the chaos reigns. Ollie’s setting up a slip n’ slide and Deano’s setting up fireworks. Don’t worry. Calla’s got tiny little noise-canceling earmuffs with the BU Wolves logo on them, courtesy of Will’s mom.

Right now, though, Van’s manning the grill and I’m content to shoot the shit with my guys one last time before Will moves to Boston and Booker heads to Santa Fe.

I’m grateful as hell that the Sasquatch didn’t call my bluff, though Diana likes to remind me that she can trade me before I ever don a uniform.

And I like to remind her that I’m okay with that.

I’ve got next season here at Bainbridge, and who knows what will happen after that. But I’ll be close enough for all Calla’s milestones and I’ll sleep in bed next to Maggie nearly every night.

A guy can’t ask for more than that.

“You are such a baby hog.”

I look up to see a tall redhead shooting me a disapproving glare.

“I think it’s fair,” I shrug. “Considering she’s my baby. Made of my loins.”

“Ew, gross,” Birdie says, frowning. “Now you sound like my brother.”

I laugh because she’s right. Mickey and I have spent so much time together that some of his crazy phrases have snuck into my vocabulary.

I had my mouth on Maggie the other night, and as she came on my tongue, the only thought running through my head was, “Holy Fuckballs.”

“Would you like to hold my baby?” I ask Birdie, knowing she’s about two seconds from scooping Calla up.

“Yes, please,” she beams, taking a seat next to me and holding Calla close. “Is this going to be my life in a few months?” she asks. “I get to ogle half naked men on the lawn and snuggle this princess? Because that sounds like a pretty good gig.”

“You might actually have to attend some classes, too,” Pete tells her, “It’s kind of a drag, honestly. Classes ruin the whole college vibe.”

He’s joking, but Van isn’t. “Preach!” he hollers, pumping his fist in the air while still managing to flip burgers with his non-dominant hand .

“Those burgers ready yet, Van?” Ollie asks, holding his hand out. “Damn. Who’s the smokeshow?” he asks, smiling in Birdie’s direction.

“Fudge you. She’s my sister,” Mickey says, holding up matching middle fingers.

Ollie does a double take. “She’s your—seriously?”

“Yes,” Mickey grumbles. “Look. We’re twins.”

He smushes his face next to Birdie’s and I can see the similarities. They’ve both got fair skin, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles. Birdie’s hair has more red in it, but that might have something to do with the fact that she’s an actual, licensed hairdresser. She’s almost as tall as Mickey, but their personalities are total opposites.

“What’s with you and people’s sisters?” Santos asks and Ollie just shrugs.

“It’s not my fault Booker’s sister is hot as fu-fudge. And Mickey’s sister is—” My best friend is aiming death lasers at Ollie, which has to be why he starts backpedaling. “a lovely person. Who can hold a baby. Nice job, Mickey’s sister.”

Van hands me a plate and I eat while my hands are free.

He hands a plate to Mickey, but the guy doesn’t take it. He’s glued to his phone. “ Hol-y. Fuckballs . Sorry, Calla, but if you could talk, you would also say Holy Fuckballs.”

“Whatcha reading, Brannon?” Birdie asks him, using his given name instead of the bastardization of their last name that Ollie came up with.

“Did you guys see this? Holy?—”

“No,” Santos says, laughing. “You are literally the only one of us with a phone. Your sister’s holding a baby, Van’s grilling the meats, and Norris is eating hot food with undisguised pleasure.”

“It’s so freaking good,” I admit.

“What are you doing?” Birdie asks.

“Setting this up,” Santos says, holding up the little tent he got for Calla. It’ll protect her from the sun. And her Uncle Ollie’s Slip N Slide. That thing always sprays everywhere.” He sets the tent on top the blanket I laid out for her, and Birdie carefully slips her under it. She’s a pro because my baby girl doesn’t bat an eyelash.

Van hands me another burger, and I’ve got to admit, life is pretty good.

“Holy—”

“ What? ” we all ask Mickey in unison.

“The Tits have been shut down. Suspended. We’re going Titless next year.”

Van, Santos, Ollie, and I are wearing matching expressions of shock.

Birdie’s just confused. “What in the hell—a—phant are you talking about?”

“Woah. Like no Tits at all?” Ollie asks.

“There will always be Tits,” Mickey clarifies. “But none that play hockey.”

“Are you drunk?” Birdie asks her brother.

“No,” he answers. “We’re at Coach’s house. And I’m not talking about breasts. I’m talking about Tits. As in Bushtits. Specifically, the Woodcock Bushtits. Here, listen:

Coach Raymond Sellers was put on administrative leave Thursday when news of the hazing scandal began to circulate. He resigned his position as head coach of the Bushtits Hockey Program on Friday morning after video footage of training camp was leaked. Sellers is being implicated along with three senior members of the team, Corey Bradford, Josh Slagel, and Damien Ward. An investigation is ongoing, but hockey team members are being given special dispensation to apply to other schools and programs. We’ll keep you updated as this story unfolds.

“Wow,” Santos mutters, shaking his head. “That sucks. Those guys are all going to have to relocate.”

I shrug. “I bet half of them won’t. They’re loyal as hell to Sellers. But guys like Piper, Wagner, and Blue have got to be scrambling right now. ”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Wagner can fuck right off.”

Ollie plops down on the grass next to Santos. “That’s kinda the problem. He’s notoriously an asshole and I don’t know who’s gonna pick him up. Merriweather could use a guy with his speed, but they don’t get the attention Woodcock does. He’s a hell of a center, though. Maybe Mountville will pick him up?”

“No way,” Santos says. “They just picked up Jordy Devereaux. They’re stacked, which makes me wonder if Wagner’s screwed.”

“He might be,” Ollie agrees. “Now, Blue, he’s another story. That guy’s alright. I wouldn’t mind sharing a line with him.”

Mickey smacks him. “Fuck you. This is wolf territory. No Tits allowed.”

An hour later, we’ve sent Will and Mel on their way and we’re all packing up. Maggie took Calla inside to feed her and now she’s back with a milk drunk princess.

“She is the sweetest,” Josie says, making heart eyes at my little girl. “And I’ve been thinking…why don’t you two go home and rest and we’ll take her for a couple hours? I promise there will be lots of hand washing before the twins and Iris get a peek at her.”

Josie’s watched her before at our place and she has more experience with actual babies than anyone I know, so I’m not going to object. Maggie shoots me a smile just as she agrees.

“That would be amazing. Are you sure you don’t mind?

“Not one bit,” Josie beams. “We can have story time.”

“Babe,” Van says, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders, “we can’t just borrow their baby.”

Josie just waves him off. “Of course, we can. It’s only for an hour or two. And she just ate, so now is the perfect time. ”

My buddy looks skeptical. “But…if she’s just gonna sleep anyway, wouldn’t she be happier in her own crib?”

“Nope,” Josie says.

“Jos, you know I adore you,” Van says. “And I know baby fever has seriously kicked in, but she’s still really little. Too little for a playdate. Like, she’s what? Six weeks?”

I smile. “Six weeks and one day.”

Van glares at me. “Norris, do not become one of those assholes who says their baby is forty-seven months old or some shit. And back me up here. You don’t have to let us watch your baby.”

Josie leans up to whisper something in Van’s ear. His eyes go wide and a smile stretches across his face. “Six weeks is apparently the ideal age for a visit with Uncle Van and Aunt Josie. Go. Get out of here, you crazy kids.”

My buddy doesn’t have to tell me twice. Maggie hands over the diaper bag, and I toss Van my keys.

Maggie’s walking back to our place like she’s being timed. And I guess she is, in a way. Reaching for her hand, I grasp it in my own and press a tender kiss to her temple as she slows to a stop.

“You in a hurry?” I ask, even though the answer is clear. The look she gives me tells me she thinks I’m losing brain cells due to sleep deprivation.

“Are you not in a hurry? Are you in the mood for a leisurely stroll?” Maggie asks.

“I’m just saying, we can do—or not do—whatever you want.”

“Good,” she says with a smile, “because I can’t wait until you get back inside me. I want you to fill me up.”

I kiss her soundly and we hustle back to our apartment. We weren’t cleared for penetrative sex until yesterday, but I’ve taken care of Maggie with my lips and we’ve watched each other get off a few times. It’s hot as hell, but nothing comes close to the feeling of being inside her.

And no, we are not relying solely on condoms anymore. Maggie got an IUD before we left the hospital. Our little Nugget is the best gift ever, and someday, we’ll give her a sibling or two, but not in the near future.

I can’t wait to have sex again.

But I will. Of course, I will.

It doesn’t seem like Maggie shares my patience, based on the way she’s practically dragging me up the steps to our place.

Not that I mind.

It doesn’t take us long to get inside, and the moment I have her all to myself, I cup her face in my hands and press my lips to her. She opens for me, so receptive to every touch I give her. Maggie moans and my cock is so hard that it throbs.

Reluctantly, I pull back, then lean in for one more quick kiss. I undress in seconds flat and crawl into bed. Maggie’s beat me to it, but she has the covers drawn up to her chin.

“You cold, Cinderella?” I ask, pulling the sheet down enough to kiss along her collarbone.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” she says, seeking my mouth for another kiss. I’m not letting her off that easy.

“You’re not hiding this beautiful body from me, are you Cinderella?” The idea seems ludicrous. We have a baby together. In the past six weeks, I’ve seen plenty of Maggie’s body simply because she’s been nursing or because neither of us has the energy to shut the bathroom door when we manage to grab a shower.

I tug at the sheet that’s acting as Maggie’s protective shield and manage to slip underneath the covers with her. All that flexibility training comes in handy. Under the not-so-dark cover of our white sheets in the middle of the day, Maggie and I look at each other’s bodies. I feel her gaze rake over me, tracking every tick of my jaw, every hitch of my breath, and every ounce of desire as I reach down to give my cock a squeeze.

My eyes devour her soft flesh. Her full breasts, her soft belly, the perfection of every dip and curve. “I want you so damn bad, Maggie,” I say, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. My hands reach for her and I swear it’s like a jolt of electricity when my skin touches hers.

She feels the fire, too, because she can’t hold back.

“Take me, JT,” she says, her voice soft, but insistent. “I’ve missed you so much, and I want you to claim me again. I feel like myself in your arms. I feel beautiful and worthy.”

“Because that’s what you fucking are,” I rasp, dragging my fingers across her sex. Her legs open for me, inviting me inside, and I don’t waste another second. I touch and tease, my fingers hitting every spot that makes her gasp, every place that makes her whimper.

“Lie back, Cinderella, let me see every gorgeous inch of you.” She does as I ask, a smile playing at her pretty lips.

“What are you going to do to every gorgeous inch of me?” she asks. “Are you going to make me come, JT? Are you going to?—”

I cut her off with a kiss before holding onto her hips and pulling her to the edge of the bed. Fuck me, this is perfect. I can see all of her. I can watch as her body swallows my cock. I want to become her personal blanket and never leave, but that might be impractical. My hands settle at her waist as I line my cock up with her entrance.

I don’t even know who moves first, just that our bodies are melded together. I’m chasing her pleasure and I won’t stop until I get at least one. Maggie’s moving with me, equally intent on making me feel good. Doesn’t she know by now that when she’s in my arms, I feel better than I ever have ?

“ I want,” she pants. “I want to come. I want to feel you deep inside me.”

“Hell yes,” I hear myself mutter, pushing in deep. “Oh, fuck, that’s it.” Sweat gathers on my brow as I hold back. She’s got me so damn close to the edge, but I can’t go over, not until I feel her release.

She’s rocking into me now, all traces of her earlier shyness gone as I reach between us and circle her clit with my thumb.

“There,” she croons. “Right there.”

My eyes find hers and watch as her orgasm washes over her. She’s crying out and gripping my shoulders and I can’t help but spill inside her.

It’s so damn good. Everything with Maggie is. We’re a team. We make each other better, stronger. We’re each other’s soft space to land.

It’s been almost a year since Ollie dragged me to a frat party that would end up changing my life. I should thank him, but he’ll just gloat. Instead, I’ll just stay tangled up in Maggie’s arms. It’s my favorite place to be.

The End.