Epilogue #2
Martha stepped forward, eyes already shiny. “Don’t cry. If you cry, I cry, and then Kari cries, and then Myla starts ugly-sobbing, and then Brayden will pass out because none of us can be handled.”
“I will not pass out,” Brayden protested. “I will just… sit down very fast.”
Kari sniffled and fanned her face. “Too late, I’m already emotional. Look at her!” She bent down to peer through the car seat cover. “Hi, tiny human. I’m your Aunt Kari, and I fully intend to buy your love with sparkly things and age-inappropriate shoes.”
“Back of the line.” Myla elbowed her gently, cheeks pink. “I’m the aunt who’ll teach her how to swear in eight languages.”
Gavin groaned. “Absolutely not.”
Martha snorted. “Relax, Coach Junior. She’s got at least twelve years before we start with advanced profanity.”
I couldn’t stop smiling. The banter. The warmth. The ridiculousness of all of it.
I’d been in so many houses that didn’t feel like homes. This one—our little place, with its slightly crooked baseboards and hand-me-down table—felt like the center of the universe at that moment.
Home.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Who wants to hold her first?”
Three adult women and one NHL captain went dead silent.
Then all four of them raised their hands like overeager students.
Brayden cleared his throat. “Um, line forms to the left. Also, hand sanitizer is on the counter. Full pump. No cheating.”
Martha laughed. “Yes, sir.” She grabbed the bottle, squirted some into her palm, then passed it around.
We moved to the couch. Brayden gently lifted Lilly from the car seat, his big hands ridiculously careful as he cradled her head and body.
Watching him do it made my heart flip. This same man could knock a six-foot-four defenseman on his ass without blinking, but he held our daughter like she was spun from glass and starlight.
“Okay, Aunt Myla,” he said softly. “You’re up first.”
Myla’s lips trembled as she sat, hands outstretched. “I’m going to cry on her, and I apologize in advance.”
“Lilly can handle it,” I murmured. “I’ve been doing it since she first came out.”
Brayden guided the baby into her arms, positioning her head just right. Myla stared down at her niece like the world had narrowed to that tiny face.
“Hi, angel,” she whispered. “I’m your Aunt Myla. I’m the dramatic one. Your mom will explain later.”
I pressed my fist to my mouth.
Gavin rested a hand on Myla’s shoulder, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “She’s perfect,” he said quietly.
“Of course she is,” Myla sniffed. “Look at her parents.”
Kari rolled her eyes. “Excuse you. Look at her aunt squad. The genes are stacked.”
We took turns. Kari got her moment, cooing and narrating Lilly’s entire life plan like a sports announcer.
Martha held her and hummed some soft, soothing tune under her breath, as if she’d been born for moments like this.
Gavin even got a turn, cradling her with a surprisingly gentle competence that made me raise an eyebrow.
He caught my look. “What? I have young cousins on my mom’s side. I know how to hold a baby.”
“I give it six months before these two start talking about trying for one of their own,” Kari stage-whispered.
Myla nearly choked. “Nope. Not. Yet. Not even close.”
Laughter bubbled up around the room, warm and bright.
Eventually, everyone migrated toward the kitchen to unpack food and stick labeled containers in the fridge and freezer. Our refrigerator had never looked so full. Every shelf was lined with meals and snacks, juice and sparkling water, fruit already washed and sliced.
“You will not starve or DoorDash for at least ten days,” Martha said, closing the door with a satisfied nod. “Longer if Brayden learns how to use the oven correctly.”
He looked offended. “I can use the oven.”
“You preheated it to ‘melt the ice off the rink’ last time,” Kari reminded him.
“That was one time.”
I leaned against the counter, exhaustion starting to creep in, but a softer kind of tired than the hospital sleeplessness. This felt… cushioned. Held. Like I wasn’t doing any of it alone.
“Thank you,” I choked, and my voice came out hoarse. “All of you. For this. For everything.”
Kari waved a hand, blinking hard. “Shut up or I’ll start crying again.”
Martha stepped close and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “This is what people do when they love you, Karla.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Love. The word still felt new on my skin sometimes.
I looked around—at Myla sticking a “Do not touch without permission” sign on the freezer on Brayden’s behalf, at Gavin pretending not to be intrigued by the lasagna, at Kari making a playlist called “Lilly’s First Soundtrack,” at Martha rearranging my pantry like she lived here.
My chest swelled.
This was what family looked like. Not blood. Not legal paperwork. People who showed up and filled your fridge and held you when you were falling apart and celebrated when you built something new.
People who didn’t leave.
We stayed like that for a while—eating muffins Jordan had sent over, trading stories, laughing too loudly for the small house.
At some point, Lilly woke up and decided she had opinions, so I settled into the corner of the couch to feed her while everyone gave me way too many tips and Gavin pretended not to look anywhere below my collarbone.
“You can look away, Hayes,” Brayden warned, smirking. “I’ve seen you take a slapshot to the helmet. You don’t need any more trauma.”
Eventually, though, even the best welcome-home party had to end.
The day had caught up with all of us. Myla’s yawns got bigger, Kari started blinking like her contacts were staging a revolt, and Martha announced that if they didn’t leave now, she was going to fall asleep on my couch and never move again.
“Tempting,” I said.
“Soon,” she promised, kissing my forehead. “We’ll do a proper girls’ night when you’re cleared for wine.”
“One sip,” Brayden said, holding up a finger. “I’m policing it.”
“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun bullying you,” Kari told him, grinning.
Gavin hugged me gently—just a quick, careful squeeze—and clapped Brayden on the shoulder. “Call if you need anything. Seriously. Middle of the night, middle of the season, whatever.”
“I will,” Brayden relented.
Myla hugged me last, long and tight, her hair smelling like coconut and citrus. “You did it,” she whispered. “You made a family.”
I squeezed back, tears slipping free again. “We did.”
“Get some sleep,” she added, then snorted. “Sorry. Habit. You’re never sleeping again.”
“Great,” I said dryly. “Love that for us.”
They finally left in a swirl of hugs and promises and one last round of staring at Lilly like they were imprinting her on their souls.
The door clicked shut.
Silence wrapped around the house like a blanket.
Brayden and I just stood there for a long moment in the entryway, staring at each other across the car seat where Lilly snoozed, oblivious.
“Well,” he said finally. “They’re gone. We can’t give her back now.”
A laugh bubbled up, half-hysterical, half-joyful. “Guess she’s ours.”
He stepped closer and slipped an arm around my waist. “Guess so.” His voice went soft. “You okay, mama?”
Mama.
I’d heard nurses say it. My friends. The doctor. But hearing it from him did something tectonic inside my chest.
“I’m… happy,” I managed. “And terrified. And exhausted. And starving.”
“That tracks,” he chuckled, kissing my temple. “Let’s get you food and then maybe, if we’re lucky, a nap.”
We didn’t get a nap.
We got Lilly’s first at-home diaper blowout instead.
Ten minutes later, we were both in the nursery, staring in horror at the crime scene that had once been a cute onesie.
“Oh fuck,” Brayden whispered. “How did that even… travel that far?”
“I don’t know,” I stammered weakly. “She’s so small. Where was she keeping all that?”
He held the baby wipes like they were holy relics. “Okay. We can do this. You take the top, I’ll take the bottom.”
“We are not running a hockey drill on our child,” I told him.
“We are absolutely running a drill, because right now I feel like I’m on a penalty kill.”
In the end, we got through it with only minimal collateral damage—one sacrificed onesie, two parents slightly traumatized, and one baby who yawned in our faces like we were the dramatic ones.
“Welcome home, Lilly,” I murmured as I pulled a fresh sleeper over her flailing arms. “Your parents are idiots, but we’re trying.”
“Speak for yourself,” Brayden retorted, then paused as she let out a tiny newborn grunt. “Okay, fine, we’re idiots.”
By the time night fell, the house was quiet again, city lights blinking faintly through the curtains.
We’d eaten reheated lasagna at the kitchen counter, taking turns holding Lilly.
I’d showered—slowly, carefully—while Brayden stayed close with the baby, narrating her every facial expression like a sports commentator.
“And there she goes with another adorable yawn, folks. Truly elite form.”
Now, finally, it was bedtime.
Our bedroom felt different with the bassinet pulled up to my side of the bed, its soft white mesh walls gleaming in the low lamp light. Brayden had put it together himself, muttering more swear words at the instruction manual than he did at referees.
Lilly was swaddled like a tiny burrito, all pink and cozy, her little hat slightly askew. I eased down onto the mattress with a groan, my body reminding me yet again of everything it had just done.
Brayden slid in on his side, turning onto his elbow to face me. He looked tired, the kind of bone-deep tired that lived in the corners of his eyes, but there was a brightness there too. A softness.
“You good?” he asked through a yawn.
“Mostly,” I said. “My everything hurts. But also…” I trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Also?” he prompted.
I glanced at the bassinet, then back at him. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this full.”
His gaze softened. “Yeah.”
We laid there for a moment, just listening. Lilly made a tiny sound—a squeak, a sigh, a little grunt—and we both froze, eyes snapping to her.