Epilogue

Britt

As the season finale unfolds, the rink is more than just a battlefield of ice—it's a crucible of life-changing moments for Britt, cradled between the worlds of being a new wife and imminent motherhood. Each slap of the puck and cheer from the crowd echoes her mixed feelings of anticipation and apprehension. I might be familiar with the clatter of sticks and the swish of skates, but today, the unexpected drama unfolding in the stands captivates everyone's attention. Amidst the roar of the game, a plot twist, turning the hockey arena into an amphitheater of suspense as life insists on playing out its most significant moments in the most public of settings.

Playlist: "Hold On, I'm Comin'" by Sam Dave

At the final game of the season, I sit between my parents.

"This is quite an interesting experience," Mom observes. "What is that thing on the ice supposed to be?"

From her far side, Bill pipes up. "That's Slammy. He's our mascot. He's a sledgehammer. This used to be a mining town, you know…"

Mom's getting a real education this week. She and Dad got a room at the motel in preparation for my upcoming C-section. Dad purses his lips every time the subject of the motel comes up mumbling about a black light, but Mom has expressed her excitement about an opportunity to "rough it" for a few days. She's already fallen in love with Sorrowville's quaint Main Street shops, Molly's, and Giselle over at Glamboozled who treats every client like family. I think she's starting to realize why I love it here.

But I tune out their voices—I have bigger concerns than the history of Sorrowville right now. Ever since I got up to give Holden his good-luck kiss, I've felt terrible. It'll be fine for a few minutes, and then I'll be swept up in a sudden surge of pain that leaves me dizzy and panting. After a little while, the pain will recede. Rinse, repeat. It fucking sucks.

At least the Slammers are in the lead. All signs indicate that we're about to win the last game of the season.

The next bout of pain surges through me, and I grab my father's hand.

"Britt?" He cocks his head. "Are you okay, Britt? I know it's a bit of a nail-biter, but you don't normally squeeze my hand. At all."

I pant through the pain. "I thought they were Braxton-Hicks contractions, but now, since they hurt so bad I want to break things, I'm reconsidering. Does this child not know I have a C-section planned for next week?"

Dad grimaces—he's been predictably dainty about my frank discussion of bodily functions and fluids—but Mom launches into battle mode. "How far apart?"

"And we're at five minutes apart." I check the weather app on my phone. "And according to my calculations, we're roughly forty minutes from the hospital with a potential for black ice with falling temperatures. Shit."

"Language, Britt," Mom scolds.

I lower my phone and hit her with an incredulous glare. "A tiny human is trying to claw its way into existence via my vagina, and you're worried about my language?" Oops, I may have said that louder than I meant to. A woman three rows ahead of us covers her six-year-old's ears and glares at me over her shoulder. When she sees my expression, she blanches and turns away. I must look pretty feral right now.

From Mom's far side, Bill cranes his neck to look at me. "Maybe we should go. I'll wave to Holden." He lifts his arm above his head and waves it back and forth, although since he's still sitting in his wheelchair, his hand doesn't go very high.

But even if Holden doesn't spot him right away, someone else does. "Well, would you look at that, Mic. Holden's proud father up in the stands, waving at his son. It's a good game, and to be sure, Holden's playing better than he ever has…"

The announcers go back to talking about the game just as another shockwave makes me squeeze my father's hand in a death grip. "Holden's busy, anyway. I've got it. Just… prop me up."

With both of my parents supporting me, I manage to haul myself to my feet. I feel like a Beluga: enormous, pasty, and graceless.

Mickey's laugh booms from the speakers. "And there's Mrs. Express."

Everyone does look at me. As I finally gain my feet, my water breaks. I look down in dismay.

Arnie coughs. "Did she just pee in the stands…?"

"I don't think so, Arnie." Mickey falls into his steady patter as if he was still commentating on the game, although the actual sport seems to be the last thing on their minds right now. "This is part of the miracle of life. I'm pretty sure her water just broke."

"Aaaaaand the EMTs are running over!" Arnie, too, slips into his natural cadence honed over decades. "Mrs. Express is making a break for it, but I don't think she'll get far. They're on a path to intercept her."

"I don't want EMTs!" I bellow as I struggle toward the stairs. "An EMT is Doc Lindy Lite. I want a hospital!"

"Did you hear that, Mickey? She's calling for Doc Lindy."

By now the entire arena has gone eerily quiet save for Mickey and Arnie's play-by-play of my agony.

"Well, what do you know, Arnie? Doc Lindy just stood up across the rink. He's gesturing to his nurse… they're on their way to the exit…"

"Mrs. Express is still going, but I don't think she's going to make it. Looks to me like she's stuck between those rows of seats."

"Wowie, Arnie, did you see that move? She leapt right over Bill Travers. In all my years, I've never seen a move like that! And she's on the stairs now, but the EMTs are closing in. I think they've got her."

"Have you ever seen a game like this, Mickey?"

"Not a one. Speaking of the game… Express is off the ice. I repeat, Express has left the ice."

"I think they're looking at a delay of game penalty here."

"I'm not sure he cares, Arnie, and who can blame him? This is a stunning upset that could cost the Slammers the game. Coach Duff is calling for a time-out. Aaaaaand the Bloomingdale coach is responding…!"

The EMT catches my arm. "Let me help you up the stairs. We'll get you over to the ambulance."

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," I tell her as she leads me out of the rink. "My car is here."

She stares at me for a full ten seconds before she says, "You can't drive like this."

"I can drive!" Holden comes loping up as fast as his skate-covered feet will carry him. It's a wonder he hasn't broken his neck already.

The EMT takes a deep breath and exhales through her nose. "You're in skates. You can't drive, either."

"Just listen to her, Britt." I don't realize that Mom followed me until she lays a hand on my back. "We'll get Bill. If you can take the ambulance." She turns to the EMT. "Where exactly are we headed?"

"Given the condition of the roads, we'll have to take her to Doc Lindy and hope for the best."

I start to cry. Everything hurts, I'm overwhelmed, and my perfect birth plan is falling apart. "Doc Lindy is here!" I cry.

"I am!" The doctor puffs his way down the hall to us, with Nurse Aggie trailing in his wake. "I'll ride with you. Aggie, will you bring the car, please?"

"Come on, honey." The EMT puts a hand on my elbow. She's too nice, and I'm too worn out to argue, so I go.

Once I'm safely bundled into the ambulance, Holden grips my hand. "By the way, Boone says we can reschedule his contract negotiation. Guess he thinks you might not be up to it at nine tomorrow morning."

I sniff. "We're not rescheduling. I have a plan. We were supposed to have a C-section next week."

Doc Lindy laughs. "Good luck! That baby wants out, and she's coming regardless of your plans."

I glare at him, but Holden massages my shoulder with his free hand. "We're going to have to let go of the plan, babe."

The contractions say he's right. I look down at myself and groan when I see my feet. "My ankle boots are ruined."

Holden peers at them for the first time. "Hot dog juice?"

Doc Lindy chuckles again. Seriously, Doctor, read the room. "That's amniotic fluid, son."

"It was on the jumbotron," I tell him. "How did you miss it?"

Holden snorts. "Actually, I was on the ice, playing in a hockey game…"

"Right." Another contraction makes my teeth ache with its force. "Well, I'm not sure what I'm going to wear home now."

"Frankly, I'm not sure how you fit your feet in them…"

I gasp. "Did you just call my feet fat?"

"Not a smart move," the EMT tells him. "She'll break your damn fingers if you don't watch out."

"That's not what I…" Holden stops himself short. "Sorry, I'm not thinking straight."

"You're not?" I almost bend double with the next contraction. They're coming faster now. I utter a wordless scream and clamp down on Holden's hands. At least he doesn't complain about that, I might have to take his hand all the way off.

In the midst of the chaos, my phone rings. I swear and flail around, trying to find it. Eventually, Holden is able to extract it from the pocket of my coat.

"Don't answer that!" I cry when I see the screen.

Holden pauses. "It's just Franklin."

"I know. I can't let him get the upper hand. My record is solid." I'm sweating inside my winter coat, my stupid maternity pants are sticking to my thighs because of all the damn fluids that keep coming out of me, and a tiny human is trying to escape from my body cavity. Now is not the time.

Holden sighs. "That's probably why he's calling now."

I scream again, then hold out my free hand. "Fucking fine, give it here!" I snatch the phone out of my husband's grip, take the deepest breath my struggling lungs can handle, and put on my work voice as I answer. "Franklin, how are you?"

"Britt. You… answered. Everything okay?"

"Just peachy," I grit out. "How can I help you?"

"I was calling to let you know we've already pushed the meeting back."

I bite back another scream. Childbirth sucks. I hate it. My voice is a little hoarse when I finally say, "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you sick?"

"No," Franklin says, "but you're in labor."

"I'm fine! I could negotiate that contract right now. Why don't you just hobble into your office? We'll knock this right out."

"Britt," Holden whispers. "Hang up the damn phone. You're giving birth to our baby. You can let the badass boss babe thing go just for tonight. Please?"

I lower my cell to my chest so that Franklin won't hear me whisper, "But I'm winning."

Holden reaches across me to take my phone. "Hey, Franklin. Yeah, thanks for calling. She'll get back to you after she gives birth. Yup, yup. Oh, I'm sure she will. Have a good night." He hangs up.

My jaw drops. "You never take the phone out of my hand. I thought we talked about this."

"Today's a special occasion," he informs me. I can tell that he's reached the end of his rope, which isn't fair. I'm the one who's waddled around like a human incubator for the last few months. Holden hasn't had to do jack shit by comparison.

I glare at him as a realization sinks in. "You did this to me," I hiss. Then I keep showing him my teeth long after the last sibilant breath has left my lungs.

I'd almost forgotten that Doc Lindy was in the ambulance with us until he laughs and slaps his knee. "Oh, my," he chuckles. "If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard that one, I'd be able to afford a condo in Boca."

* * *

Thank God for drugs. That's all I'll say. I don't know how people survived this process in the days before the epidural.

Doc Lindy has spirited our baby off to another room to make sure everything's copacetic. Evolutionarily speaking, I should probably be dismayed by my newborn's absence, but man, modern pharmaceuticals are a trip. I don't care about much of anything—it's just such a relief to not be in labor anymore that I'm fully occupied by lying perfectly still, sweating, and breathing.

"Are you all right, babe?" Holden strokes my forehead.

"Never again," I croak.

He rubs my shoulder. "We can talk about it later."

"The hell we will. Imagine how much better everyone's lives would be if my mom had stopped after one kid. You can tell Montgomery I said that, by the way. Actually, I should text him. If I had my fucking phone!"

Holden's grip on my shoulder tightens as I start to stir. "Maybe don't."

"You are such a killjoy." I relax back into the pillows.

The door to my room opens, and Nurse Aggie peeks her head in. "You've got a visitor," she says.

"Is it my dad?" Holden asks.

"He and Britt's parents ran back to your place for a few things, actually. They waited until they heard that the baby was born, and they'll be back any minute. In the meantime…" She shuffles aside.

Blink pops in, holding a giant box and trailing two enormous mylar balloons in his wake.

Holden just about topples out of his chair. "Seriously, Britt. How?"

"It wasn't me!" I insist.

"She's not lying." Blink sets the box down on an empty chair and pulls out a letter. "Here, there's even a note: Sorry the scheduled C-section didn't work out. Hope this helps take away the sting." He opens the box and starts pulling out objects: ice packs, scented lotions, canned wine, Cheetos, Oreos, and slipper boots. And the most amazing thing ever. An espresso machine with gourmet beans.

I immediately reach for a bag of coffee and cradle it to my chest. I kiss the label. "Oh, how I've missed you. Tierney is the best."

Aggie chuckles. "All right, all right, time for you to go, young man. These new parents have to meet their baby."

She herds Blink out of the room. Holden and I exchange a worried glance.

"Holden," I hiss, "what if I can't do this?"

"Do what?" he asks.

"Be a mom." My panic sharpens my senses. I know that it's too late to do anything about it—I'm sure as hell not putting our daughter back where she came from—but I can't quite picture how I'm supposed to be. Nurturing? Affectionate? Gentle? I don't know anyone who would describe me that way. "I like order. I like control. I like making plans and sticking to them. I like a quiet workspace. What if it turns out I like those things more than I like her? What if I'm awful?"

Holden strokes his hand up and down my arm. "Britt. You're going to be an amazing mom, I promise you."

"But how do you know?" I whine.

"Because I know you. Because you're amazing at everything."

The door opens again, and Doc Lindy returns with a swaddled bundle held close to his chest. He passes our daughter into my arms, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, fighting back tears.

When I open them, a tiny, red-faced person stares back up at me.

"Oh," I breathe. She's so small. She felt as big as Godzilla when she was making her grand entrance, but now that I can see her chubby little fingers and her softball-sized head, I realize just how tiny she is. Objectively, I don't think babies are much to look at. They're like oversized naked mole rats.

Obviously, that applies to every baby but this one, because she's perfect. I adjust my grip on her to hold her closer without squishing her, and we stare at each other. Her button nose twitches, and she flails her arms.

"We made her," I tell Holden, unable to take my eyes off of her. "Can you believe that?"

"No." He leans forward until his chin rests on my shoulder. He's as enchanted as I am. "I kind of can't."

I bounce her a little, and she squirms again. Holden and I already picked out a name, and I can already tell it's exactly right. "Hey, Saylor," I whisper. "Do you know who I am?"

Because I know. I'm her mother. That fact doesn't change all the other things I have been or will be, but it's part of me now, indelibly, forever.

"I'm your mommy," I tell her. "I already love you. I can't wait to get to know you. There's a whole world out there that you know nothing about… and oh, sweetheart, I can't wait to show it to you."