Epilogue

EPILOGUE

M ADDIE

I'm used to my body rioting every month in all sorts of ways, but this is something else.

Tonight is game seven of the playoff finals, the very last game of the season. My husband has played every single game of this round and about half of them throughout the entire playoff run. And that's after an intense season that saw us battling for the number one spot in the conference with tonight's rival. The physical exertion and the mental intensity required to get to this point have made him lose almost twenty pounds.

Meanwhile, I wonder if he just passed them along to me.

My stomach is a complete disaster zone of nerves not only because of the game but because of the big secret I'm keeping from him. I didn't think it'd be a good idea to drop a massive bomb like this on him during the playoffs, so here I am, eating our combined weight in popcorn so I have something to do.

"Easy there, sis. You're gonna choke." Meg passes over the cup of soda, and I stretch over to sip from the straw.

"It's totally fine," Luz, my husband's older sister, says from my other side. "I was also buzzing with nerves the first time Max made it to the playoffs." She offers a placid laugh as if her husband didn't win the cup on his first playoff run. Yet she also dips a hand into her own popcorn bucket and eats a massive handful. Like maybe she's also nervous for her brother.

Next to her, Aran's youngest sister is the picture of indifference. She's been texting someone nonstop since the players hit the ice for warmups, nonplussed by all the lights or cameras recording the scene. She hasn't even noticed that we've appeared on the Jumbotron a couple of times since we're sitting together in the WAGs section.

The wives and girlfriends of Aran's teammates are actually really nice, but most of them are pregaming hard in the family room, and while normally I'd join them, tonight I can't. I'd rather sit with Aran's family and mine.

"When does this start?" Mom asks behind me.

Before I can respond, Aran's mom answers. "I think in five minutes."

"Is anyone recording this?" his dad asks, his voice breathless even though he's been parked in his seat for exactly an hour.

"It's going to be available on demand, Dad," Luz shouts without turning around.

Meanwhile, my eyes have been fixed on RODRIGUEZ 31 emblazoned on the back of my husband's jersey. I forwent the WAGs jacket and donned my matching jersey over a hoodie. This turned out to be a good choice, because the nerves have drained me of any body heat.

Aran finishes stretching his legs and gets back up, turning around to grab his water bottle hanging from the back of the net. He lifts his mask, which is adorned in the team colors and multiple lightning bolts that pay homage to his college team, and sprays water on his face and hair.

"Ugh," I grunt to myself. He looks so dang hot when he does that. No wonder he's amassed a whole fan club by himself. There is nothing like a goalie with swagger.

And Aran has it in spades. He's practically guaranteed the Vezina Trophy, even if his team doesn't bag the whole show, and there are strong rumors that he may also get this season's Hart Memorial Trophy.

Yeah, his fan club isn't just women in the audience. Everyone in the league is going bananas over the guy who's been dubbed this generation's wall. Sounds a bit cooler than "the Iceberg" if you ask me.

His eyes catch mine from clear across the ice. I'm in the corner between his net and our team bench, in the front row, so it's not hard. We've been keeping tabs on each other the whole time. And every single time, my stomach jumps like it's the first time our eyes have ever met.

Yes, I'm the number one member of his fan club. Aran still makes my belly flutter just as it did when we met at the library years ago. It's kind of embarrassing, but what can I say? I'm a romance girlie to the core, and he's my TDH brought to life just for me.

My heart hammers harder as he pushes away from the net and glides over to the glass partition separating us. I toss my popcorn bucket haphazardly to my sister and jump to my feet.

"Hey, wife," he says louder than his usual grumbly tone.

"Husband." I smile at him. "Don't forget the reward I have for you tonight, no matter what happens."

The corner of his delectable lips rises. "I won't." And maybe that was all he needed, because he pivots around and heads back to his net.

"Ew." Olivia, his younger sister, elongates the word until her voice gives out.

Luz makes a grimace, complete with her tongue sticking out. "Yeah, I totally didn't have to know that."

"Know what?" I frown as I retake my seat.

Meg offers my popcorn back to me. "They think you were talking about boinking."

I jump. "What? No! I learned to make pabellón criollo for him," I explain. I completely botch the pronunciation, but it's enough for my sisters-in-law to relax.

"Oh."

"Whew."

I roll my eyes. Please, as if Luz isn't married to an objectively hot man, and as if Olivia doesn't have a boyfriend too. They know about the birds and the bees. It shouldn't be shocking if my bee-husband really loves my flower.

"What are you youth talking about?" Mom kind of yells from behind us.

It occurs to me now to be extra thankful that the place is packed full and noisy. Mom still likes to pretend that there's no such thing as bees and flowers between Aran and me, even though we've been married for a couple of years. I think it's her way of masking the disappointment that I haven't been able to give her more grandbabies to add to the collection Meg and Justin have produced.

"Nothing, Mom," Meg and I chorus.

"Please stand for the national anthem," a voice finally booms, and everyone who is able in the arena scrambles to do so.

Well, no matter what happens with the game, everything is going to change tonight.

The game starts with a bang… ish. The opponent wins the initial faceoff, one of their forwards breaking away for an aggressive slapshot, and Aran plucks it from the air as easy as popping a soap bubble. We're on home ice, and I'm not exaggerating when I say the entire place almost goes down from shock.

Not me. All I do is smirk like the villainess of my next book. It's really bold to try to frazzle the best goalie in the whole dang league like that when that gives him plenty of opportunity to demoralize the other team.

Plus, the way he drops the puck back onto the ice like this isn't a biggie is going to get him more than just food as a reward tonight.

The first period ends up scoreless. During the intermission, my whole body itches with the desire to run and find him outside the locker room, or to at least text him. But he doesn't like getting out of the zone during important games like this. He doesn't even accept intermission interviews from the team's marketing people. All I can do is wait. Wait to see how the game goes, and wait until after the game to drop the mother of all news.

But the second period ends in the same way. Both teams are exhausted after the long season, but they're battling for the puck with their reserves. They're truly a marvel of what the human body is capable of. Aran's drinking more water than he normally does. I can only imagine how heavy his pads must be with sweat.

By the time the third period's reaching its last minutes and the scoreboard is still a grand total of zero for both teams, I'm the one sweating buckets.

"Come!" Luz sucks in air. "On!"

My sister is paralyzed in her seat, eyes wide and trying to catch the action without daring to utter a word. Aran's parents grab each other in a vise grip, but their status is otherwise the same as Meg's.

Olivia and I are stuck to the glass. She bangs it with enough strength to make it rattle. "Aren't you all tired? Just finish the damn game! I wanna go home!"

I shout something very different. "You got this, Aran! Don't let them shake you!" I doubt he can even pick my voice apart from the deafening noise around the arena, but this is all I can do for him, so I keep screaming encouragements. I keep crossing my fingers that our forwards score, that our defense stays strong. That we don't have to take this to overtime, or worse, to shootouts.

My eyes keep shifting from him to the clock ticking away on the Jumbotron. The popcorn and soda in my belly war with one another over who can rise up my esophagus faster. I swallow hard and keep it all down somehow. The numbers on the screen seem to accelerate unnaturally, propelling all of us closer to zero. Closer to an overtime.

A buzzing goes off, and I jump. Did someone score? But there are no lights going off, and now the screens above announce that we're going into overtime.

"No." I melt into my seat. "I can't do this."

"You have to, Strawberry." Luz grabs my hand, using the nickname Aran gave me that has now spread to his entire family. "You got this."

"I don't got this. This is too painful." I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

"Be brave, Maddie." I feel my sister's slimmer hand hold my other one. "Take deep breaths."

There's a snort, followed by Olivia's voice. "You guys, she's not about to give birth, you know."

Aran glances our way. I straighten up and pump my fists in the air at him. He gives a minuscule nod and turns back to the front, ready for overtime to begin.

"Water," I demand. "Someone give me water or I'm going to barf all over the glass and the cameras will catch it all and I'll go viral online because of this instead of my books. Water!"

"Geez, calm down, woman." Meg twists to dig in her purse under the chair and produces a water bottle. "Here."

I uncap it and down the whole thing in one go as the game resumes. I should've taken some medication for the nerves, but I don't know how that works now.

I forget all about my stomach as the other team attacks. We all lean forward. Our defense intercepts their top forward, stealing the puck for a second, only to get it stolen right back. And through the legs too. I grip the armrests hard enough that my muscles tremble. A melee's forming right in front of Aran. Luz's voice screaming interference sounds garbled, like I'm underwater. Aran's being jostled, but he stays put. The puck moves faster than I can track it, between skates, bouncing off sticks. Suddenly people are screaming, and players in the wrong color jerseys are pumping their fists in the air.

I don't breathe.

There's no way he lost.

No way. Impossible. All his hard work doesn't end here. My heart wants to tumble out of my mouth.

And then the refs whistle and gesticulate.

The arena grows deathly quiet as one of the refs skates to center ice, fiddling with his microphone equipment at his waist, and says, "It was deemed goalie interference. No goal."

I break my personal speed record by becoming the first person in my entire section to jump to their feet, screeching. The four of us at the front row become a tangle of limbs as we hug and jump.

It's not lost! He hasn't lost!

Play resumes amid cheering and booing. We glue ourselves to the glass, watching with growing excitement how our team rallies under the power play. Aran watches just as intently from his crease as his teammates eat up the ice.

And he's the first one to celebrate when his team scores the winning goal.

I'm screaming and crying, and I literally have my hands against my mouth so I don't throw the hell up.

Now the one being jostled is me, but I can't focus on anything but Aran. He drops his stick, gloves, and mask wherever they fall, picking himself up to leave the net. His teammates intercept him, more of them pouring from the bench beside us and turning into a mass of the same colors. I lose sight of him for a solid moment while he's enveloped by bodies.

But then he pushes his way through, skating away from the main celebration. And he keeps going.

"Oh, he's coming this way." Meg shifts us around to allow me space. "Go, Maddie."

I park myself against the barrier separating us from the corridor by the team bench. Aran pushes the half door open with his knee pads, and then, without a word, we're kissing. He has to stretch to reach me, and I grab on to his sweaty face to steady us. I don't care that the fence is digging into my belly in a super uncomfortable way. I kiss him like this is our living room and we have all day, open mouthed, tongue and all, gambling that my long hair may not be hiding any of this from onlookers or cameras.

He groans, and that's when I pull away, our lips making a smacking sound. Aran wears that little smile that is only mine, the one that lights up his eyes brighter than the lights in the rafters.

And out of the million things I could say, what tumbles out is "I'm pregnant. Now go get your cup, champ."

His jaw drops.

Much later, when we watch the footage from the award ceremony, the whole family gets a kick out of how the great Aran Rodriguez openly weeps for the cameras. What fans and reporters alike don't know is that the real reason for the tears is because he's really wanted to be a dad.

ARAN

I hate the hell out of hospitals. My sole life goal after winning a Stanley Cup last year was to not step foot in one ever again. I kinda forgot that's necessary when your wife is pregnant with your child.

"Easy there, big man. It's all going to be fine," says Max Cassiano from the vantage point of having gone through this already.

Grunting is all he gets from me. He wasn't kicked out of the labor room for making both wife and staff too nervous. I'd scream that it's discrimination against big, intimidating-looking guys, but I did pass out once her contractions started.

Thankfully, no one out here knows that's what happened. They all think I was just escorted out, and that's all they'll ever know. I'll make sure of that.

First, I have to survive this horrible wait. My mom's been calling these nine months a dulce espera, and for the most part, it's been pretty damn sweet. Maddie suffered no complications other than bizarre cravings she'd wake me up in the middle of the night for—pickles and frozen strawberries with chocolate drizzle was a popular one.

It was also completely awing and humbling to watch her body grow our child more and more with every passing day. I wish I could've shared that burden somehow, but I've made sure she's been extremely pampered—bathing together in our massive tub was also a popular one.

But now? This isn't a sweet wait. This is a horrible wait. Excruciating. My mind keeps running through every damn scenario where this can go wrong, and in all of them, I can do exactly jack shit to prevent it. My clothes are soaked through in more sweat than if I was in the middle of the playoffs final. I've never been more scared in my life.

The two people I love the most in my whole life are fighting without me because all I can physically do is sit in a tiny hospital chair, doing breathing exercises like I'm the pregnant woman.

My mom rubs circles on my back, and I think Dad's retelling the story of the birth of one of my sisters, or maybe it's mine, for the millionth time. I can't focus on his words. Luz keeps flagging every staff employee who walks by to see if they can get us some news. Olivia's flying over, and Meg and her husband are taking care of their kids and the Cassiano-Rodriguez brats. I clasp my hands and pray harder than ever before.

"Mr. Rodriguez?"

Dad shuts up, and I look up. A nurse pokes her head out from the door to the room where my wife has been delivering our baby with her mother's support.

"Yes?" My voice sounds nothing like me. I don't care.

"Would you like to come in and meet your son?"

"A son?" I blink. Hard.

We kept this as a surprise. It hits me now: I have a son.

"Congratulations, big man!" Cassiano grabs me by the shoulder.

"Oh no, I'm not sure the world is ready for a second Aran." My older sister grins down at me from the hallway.

One by one, the rest pass along their congratulations. Little by little, I manage to rise from my chair. My legs shake like a newborn calf's as I follow after the nurse. I'm vaguely aware of Maddie's mom stopping me for a hug. My attention is solely trained on my wife, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her cheeks and nose redder than a ripe strawberry, and a big smile contrasting the tears trickling from her sparkling eyes.

And then there's a tiny bundle in her arms.

I rush over, braking by the bed as if I'm on skates.

She looks up. "Aran."

"My love." I wrap my arm around her carefully, bringing her against my chest and dropping a kiss on her forehead. My free hand trembles in the air, but Maddie takes it and places it against the warm bundle of our baby. The little gurgle that comes from him almost drops me to my knees. "My other love," I mumble with a shaky voice.

Slowly, I tug at the swaddling until his face is revealed, all red and pudgy and so tiny—I think all of him fits in my hand. The next thing I know, I'm weeping like I'm the baby.

My wife chuckles against my chest, convulsing with sobs. "See? Some good things come out of hospitals."

"You. This is all you," I say, sniffling, kissing her hair, her nose, her forehead. "You're my joy, and now so is he."

"And you are ours." She tries to snuggle against my chest. I don't care if they try to kick me out again. I climb my huge ass onto the tiny hospital bed so my wife and son can snooze against me.

Much, much better than winning the cup in overtime , I think and close my eyes.

THE END