Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Zaan
The first time I laid eyes on Lexi was at a team party.
Her dad, Coach Rousseau, was still playing at the time, and I was a rookie.
I knew fooling around with a teammate’s daughter would be tricky, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
And lucky for me, not only did she feel the same, her dad was cautious but not opposed to it.
She was less than a year post-mastectomy back then, extremely self-conscious about her body, and the saddest and most beautiful girl in the world.
At least, to me. We had our ups and downs as she followed her dreams to be a singer and I was pulled away with hockey, but we found our way back to each other.
Nearly a decade later, she’s my wife and now we’re going to have a baby.
It’s wild to me how we’ve come so far, despite the challenges presented by our careers.
We both travel a lot, and her career takes her away for months at a time.
And yet, we make it work with a lot of communication, as much love as we can possibly show each other, and some random pre-emptive marriage counseling along the way.
I wouldn’t trade our life for anything.
I’m a little worried about her, though.
Her pregnancy is going to throw a wrench in her career plans, and the idea of not going on tour is weighing on her.
I don’t know how to help, either. It’s May and I’m in the playoffs.
She’s in the studio doing a duet with a new band called Crimson Edge and starting rehearsals for Nobody’s Fool’s tour.
It’s a lot even for someone who isn’t pregnant, much less someone whose pregnancy is technically high-risk.
Dr. Diaz says she’s fine for now, but we have to watch carefully because we just don’t know what kind—if any—lingering damage there is from the chemo and radiation.
We truly didn’t believe she would ever get pregnant without extreme measures.
Hell, we’ve put money aside for a surrogate.
But our miracle has happened and everything inside of me wants to protect her.
Even if it means protecting her from herself.
Except my strong, independent wife isn’t having it.
She’s still going at a hundred miles per hour, so to speak, not missing a beat personally or professionally. We’ve known for a week but the only other people who know are the band and management, her dad and stepmom, my parents, and me.
And it’s killing me not to tell people.
She wants to wait until she’s past the first trimester, but that’s still nearly three weeks away.
“Hey, man.” My buddy Anton comes over and starts putting away his things in the locker next to mine. Practice is optional this morning, but I need to get out of the house because otherwise, I just pace and worry.
“Morning.” I nod in his direction.
“How are you?” He gives me a weird look, and I realize he knows.
Of course.
His wife Sasha is Lexi’s band’s manager.
She would have told him.
Thank fuck.
“Freaking out,” I say, leaning against the wall.
“Lexi okay?” he asks quietly.
“She’s fine. I’m the one who’s a mess.”
“How come?”
“Well, you know—that whole thing how we thought we’d never get pregnant or what the cancer treatment may have done to her body.”
He nods. “Yeah, but the doc gave her the okay to keep doing what she’s doing, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you overthinking it?”
I grimace.
Why am I?
I don’t really know.
“The thought of her going on tour, where I’m too far away to be there for her, is fucking terrifying.”
“Yeah, but when you’re married to strong women like we are, you have to let go.”
I grunt. “Easier said than done.”
“For sure. But still necessary if you don’t want to wind up divorced.”
I sigh. “I know. That’s what kills me. Is it too much to ask for her to just lie around on the couch eating bonbons all day? Just for the next seven months?”
He snorts out a laugh. “Um, you’re not actually dumb enough to say that out loud, are you?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Why are we asking Lexi to eat bonbons for the next seven months?” Tore Brekken, one of our teammates, asks curiously.
Shit.
“Wait, is she pregnant?” His eyes widen.
“Shut up!” I don’t mean to snap, but we’d agreed not to tell people, and I inadvertently just did.
“Sorry.” He lowers his voice. “Everything okay? I didn’t think you guys were ready?”
“We’re not. But she is. And don’t fucking tell anyone yet.”
“Of course not. But it’s a good thing. Right?”
“Tell that to her band, who just booked a year-long headlining tour.”
He grimaces. “Oh, shit. They pissed?”
“Not at all. They’ve been great. But she’s freaking out, determined to go on tour for as long as she can. And if I know her, she’ll be on stage when her water breaks, and won’t even tell anyone until the show is over.”
“But she’ll be pregnant way longer than we’ll be in the post-season,” he reasons. “You can go with her.”
“Yeah, until September. But then what? She’s not due until Christmas, and I’ll be on the road again.”
“I really think you need to talk to her,” Anton says. “Like, have a heart-to-heart. I’m sure you two can compromise.”
“I tried, but she didn’t let me get in a word edgewise. She’s making plans B, C, and D, and then actually thinks she’ll be ready to go back on tour six weeks after she has the baby.”
“Oh. Shit.” Tore makes a face. “That’s, uh, not realistic.”
“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”
“Even with a normal birth, with no C-section or complications, she’ll need six weeks just to get over the physical trauma of birth. No way she’ll be in shape to tour.”
“And the bond she’ll have with the baby…” Anton’s voice trailed. “I mean, Sasha went right back to work after Jaxson was born, but she took him with her. Is that possible for you guys?”
“Possible? Yes. Likely? No. We both need time to bond with the baby and she can’t just take it on tour where I won’t see her for months at a time.”
“Her?” Anton asks.
“Oh.” I shrug. “I don’t know why—I think it’s a girl. I started saying her as soon as she told me.”
“Well, you need to talk to Lexi. Sooner rather than later.”
“I kind of want to wait until the playoffs are over.”
“You sure about that?” Tore asks. “If we go all the way, it could be mid-June before you have this conversation.”
“I know.” I close my locker and sink down on the bench to lace up my skates. “But I know my wife—pushing her before she’s had time to digest it all probably won’t go well.”
“Obviously, you know her better than we do, but I don’t recommend waiting too long,” Anton says.
“Ditto.” Tore nods solemnly.
Great.
My buddies both have kids—Anton has two and Tore has three—so they have insight I should probably listen to.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
I know my wife.
She needs time and space.
Just a little.
We’re in the semi-finals now.
I need to get through this series.
Then I’ll talk to her.
For sure.
Maybe?
Shit.