Chapter Thirty-Two

Rowan

It’s been two weeks since I told Bex that I’m pregnant, and I’ve stayed every night at his penthouse since then. Each morning, when I wake up wrapped in his arms and he tells me, half-asleep, that this is the only way he ever wants to wake up. That his penthouse never felt like home until now that I’m in it. And that tells me that I’m right where I need to be.

After the first night that I stayed in his penthouse, he didn’t just clear out the spare room, he transformed it for me. The office, which used to be cluttered with playbooks and old equipment, is now filled with color and light, with art pieces chosen by Harper. She found these breathtaking abstract pieces, full of vibrant swirls and delicate brushstrokes, adding life and energy to the room. And there’s a special piece from a local artist in Liverpool that Leo sent me as a “Welcome to the team” present for my new temporary office until we make our move overseas. The painting that Bex bought me hangs in the large living room where I can admire it everyday.

There’s a brand new desk by the window, a corner chair for reading, and enough storage space to hold every document Leo could throw at me in this new role as Editor-in-Chief.

Every time I walk into that room, I feel like I’m in a dream. Not just because it’s beautiful, but because it was Bex’s idea, his way of making his home mine too. I’m starting to realize that everything about this life—Bex, the baby, the work with Leo’s magazine—it’s bigger and better than I’d ever dared to imagine for myself.

I accepted the life that was handed to me, not realizing that I’m capable of building my own dreams from scratch. Having Bex to do it with is the dream I never saw coming.

Tonight, I pull out something special from the back of the closet—one of Bex’s old jerseys, number #14 from his days playing for the Hawkeyes. I have no idea how he’ll react, but if it’s anything like the way he looked at the barely there baby bump just starting to show into my second trimester, I know it’ll be worth it.

Dressed in thermal gear from head-to-toe and a set of warm Faux fur boots that Bex bought me for the games, I make my way to the locker room, slipping through the familiar corridors that I used to travel through as a reporter, but tonight, I’m here as something entirely different—as his. I spot Bex talking with some players, his face lighting up the moment he sees me standing there in his jersey. He freezes mid-sentence, his eyes locking on me, then slowly raking over every inch of me.

“Fuck… you’re wearing my jersey,” he growls, his voice low as he steps forward, gently taking my hand and spinning me around to take in the full effect. “And for once, you don’t look like you’re freezing. You look like a proper hockey girlfriend.”

A giggle escapes my lips; I thought he might like it, but this is more than I hoped for.

He wraps an arm around my waist and leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “I’m so goddamn hard right now seeing you with my name and number on your back.”

I smirk, unable to resist a little teasing. “It does something for you, huh?”

His eyes flash, and he murmurs, “What do you say we find a broom closet and we’ll do a reenactment of how I put that baby in you?”

I laugh, wrapping my hands around his face, pulling him close. “Tonight… after you win. You can put as many babies in me as you want.”

He shakes his head, muttering curse words to himself, his eyes darken and hood with arousal. “You promise?”

“Bex?” Coach Ezra calls, poking his head in through the door. “You ready?”

Bex reluctantly lets go of me, giving me a look that promises this isn’t over, then nods at Ezra. As the door closes, he turns back to me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me right here in front of everyone. Instead, he hands me a small ticket.

I glance down at it. Row 3, Seat 7. My usual spot from back when I came to watch practices, back before I’d ever met him.

“Wasn’t this seat already booked? I couldn’t get anything online since everything was sold out. The girls said I could watch in the owner’s box with them.”

His face softens, as if he’s a bit embarrassed by the sentiment. “If you’d rather sit with the girls—”

“Bexley Townsend,” I interrupt, giving him a firm glare. “All you have to do is tell me where you want me to sit, and that’s where I’ll be.”

He nods, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “It’s where I always look for you. It feels off when you’re not there, and tonight… I’ll need you close.”

I bite my lip, feeling a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the heating in the stadium. “Where you always look for me?” I ask.

“Ever since you got that exclusive and started showing up to the stadium.” His voice is rough, like he’s admitting something he never planned to say.

My heart flutters, and I reach up, brushing my fingers over his temple and through his hair. “I’ll be right there, Bex. Every second of tonight.”

He gives me a soft smile and a nod, and I feel like he’s just said something more profound than anything I could’ve asked for.

As I settle into my seat in Row 3, Seat 7, the energy in the stadium is electric. This is it. Game four of the Stanley Cup. The crowd around me pulses with excitement, chanting and clapping, a sea of turquoise and white stretching across the stands. My hands rest on my belly, and I give a small, comforting pat, whispering, “You’re about to witness history, little one. You’re daddy is about to win his third Stanley Cup.”

The game is intense from the start, both teams moving with an urgency that has the fans on the edge of their seats. Every minute that passes feels like an hour, the tension building with each play. The Hawkeyes score the first goal, and the crowd erupts, the sound echoing in my bones. But the other team isn’t backing down. They score twice, and my heart drops, my hands clutching the thermos of apple cider Bex left me so hard that I think I might actually dent the stainless steel.

It’s tied 2-2 when we hit the third period, with only minutes left on the clock. The players look exhausted, dripping sweat from their faces, steam practically radiating off their helmets, their skates carving deep lines into the ice as they fight for control. Bex is at the bench, shouting orders, his eyes fierce and unyielding. I know how much this means to him—how much he’s poured into this team, into this game. It’s not just a Stanley Cup, it’s the culmination of years of sweat, sacrifice, and resilience.

The puck flies down the ice, Powers shoots the puck to Matthews as he charges across the ice, dodging defenders with impossible speed. My heart pounds as he takes the shot, and the whole stadium holds its breath. The puck slips just under the goalie’s glove, sliding into the net with a loud thunk that seems to echo through every single person in the arena.

The crowd goes insane. People jump out of their seats, strangers hugging strangers, a wave of excitement for the home team and crushed faces from the opposition, roll through the stands. My own scream mingles with the noise, my hands flying to my mouth, my heart racing like I’m the one who scored.

And then I see him.

Bex turns, eyes sweeping the crowd, and he finds me almost instantly. Our gazes lock, and his face splits into a smile so full of pride, so raw and vulnerable, that my breath catches. It’s a smile that says everything—every word he’s never been able to say out loud. In this moment, I know, beyond a doubt, that no one has ever looked at me like this before. No one has ever seen me the way Bex sees me.

My heart thuds hard against my ribcage, the enormity of this moment showing me what the future will hold with Bex. Every victory, every defeat, every little piece of life in between, from this day on, we get to do together.

As the final buzzer sounds, sealing the Hawkeyes’ victory, Bex jumps out onto the ice with the rest of the team. It’s a sea of Turquoise, black and white. Helmets getting tossed into the air and stuffed animal Hawkeye birds getting tossed onto the ice.

The celebration is chaotic, everyone jumping, crying, shouting. And yet, as Bex finally breaks away from the team, he makes his way straight toward me, cutting through to the players tunnel, jumping up and over the railing, pushing through the row of people between us who are all slapping his shoulder for a job well done. But he doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

I reach out for him as soon as he gets close and he pulls me in to him, slamming a kiss against my mouth. I pull him tight as if he’s not close enough.

“You did it,” I whisper, against our kiss.

He pulls back but stays close, staring down at me with those warm hazel eyes. “No,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “ We did it.”

And I know exactly what he means. Because this is more than a game, more than a championship. This is our life, our future, built one moment at a time, together.

He pulls me close, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I’ve spent so much time chasing stories, searching for meaning, but here it is, right in front of me.

As the cheers continue to roar around us, drowning out everything else, Bex and I just stand there, caught in our own world, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly, perfectly whole.