Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two Months Later
“Holy shit,” Georgia said, eyes focused on the players as they raced across the ice at the Atlas Center. “Holy shit! Come on, Holden!” she yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth.
“Give us a handy,” Logan shouted, and I started laughing from our seats at center ice.
Logan looked at me, as if to say “what?” but Georgia bent forward, clutching her stomach as she laughed.
“Give us a handy?” I mouthed at Logan, waiting for her to replay her words. But then Holden was charging toward the opposing team’s goal, lining up to take that shot.
I held my breath along with most of the arena as the puck sailed through the air, landing squarely in the net. The buzzer went off, and the crowd went wild—the atmosphere in here was electric. I’d attended many home games over the years, but they’d never felt quite like this.
The Hawks were in the lead in the sixth game of the Stanley Cup finals. If we won today, we won. And we were now one step closer to clinching that W.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” I was bouncing up and down—well, as much as I could this late into my pregnancy. And then—oof.
“Oh god.” I gripped the back of the seat in front of me, panting as a more intense contraction hit.
“Are you okay?” Allie asked.
I’d been in early labor for the past eight hours. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d been diligent about monitoring my symptoms. Cramping. Backache. The adrenaline from the game certainly helped.
“Yeah.” I breathed through it. “Yeah.” It was the second period of the biggest game of Frasier’s life. “I’m fine.” I smiled, but she didn’t seem convinced.
It passed, and I straightened. I’ve got this.
“Your hubby is killing it out there,” Logan said after Frasier blocked another shot.
I grinned, glancing down at my rings, loving the way the two diamonds complemented each other. They were tight on my swollen fingers, but I hadn’t wanted to take them off. Now I couldn’t take them off even if I’d wanted to.
As the game paused for a commercial break, my mind flashed back to that day.
Frasier and I had gotten married about a month ago in our backyard.
Georgia had helped me find a beautiful dress that was simple, elegant, and surprisingly sexy.
And she’d done my hair and makeup, standing witness at the ceremony along with both sets of our parents, my sister and her husband, and only our closest friends.
I’d never forget Frasier’s expression as I walked down the aisle toward him—the love and tenderness and devotion that had shone from his eyes.
I’d carried a bouquet of flowers from our garden, and he’d worn a new suit that had shown off his athletic form.
The day had been absolutely perfect and exactly what we’d wanted.
Small, intimate, and meaningful. We might have another, bigger celebration later.
But I was just happy to be Frasier’s wife.
After the ceremony, we’d celebrated with dinner in a private dining room at 76, one of the Huxley Grand LA restaurants.
The night had been full of laughter and love.
Frasier had surprised me by renting one of the suites at the hotel.
And he’d proceeded to spend the evening showing me just how much he loved and cherished his wife.
Another contraction hit, knocking me out of the memory and into the present. As it gained strength, I bent forward, groaning. No. No. No. No. No!
I did not want to leave now. It was the middle of the game. Maybe if I just…stayed calm and breathed through it, baby would sit tight a little longer.
“Bryn,” Georgia said in a calm voice. “I think we should get you to the hospital.”
I waved a hand through the air, even as my teeth were gritted against the pain. “They’ll probably just turn me away since my contractions aren’t close enough yet.”
My friends and sister eyed me skeptically, but I ignored them to focus on the game.
I could feel the next contraction building, and I tried to slow my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… I ground my molars, the pain becoming more intense. I breathed through it, trying to focus on the game as the pain eventually crested and then waned once more.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Allie said in a no-nonsense tone.
I shook my head. “Who’s the medical professional here?” Though I was a little concerned with how quickly the contractions were coming. Since this was my first pregnancy, I’d thought it would take a little longer to progress.
Allie rolled her eyes. “Frasier would kill me if he knew you were in labor and I didn’t take you to the hospital.”
“I just…” Ugh! I wanted to watch this game. I wanted him to be there for the birth of our child. I looked to Logan for support. “Back me up here, Lo.”
Even Logan seemed hesitant to side with me. But ultimately, she said, “Bryn’s tough. She knows what she’s doing. Give her until the end of the period,” she said to Allie and Georgia.
Georgia frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” Allie said, but she didn’t fight me on it.
The game continued, and Kovi raced down the ice. I tried to follow the puck as I kept an eye on my watch, monitoring the contractions. They were getting more intense. Coming closer together. And then, close to the end of the second period, I felt it. Pressure. The most intense need to push.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh shit.
In that moment, I knew… “I’m not going to make it to the hospital.”
Allie looked toward the rafters and sighed, muttering something to herself. Logan looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but Georgia sprang into action. She was talking on the phone, but I wasn’t paying any attention.
“Okay,” Georgia said as the buzzer signaled the end of the second period. “We’re going down to the ice. One of the team doctors is going to meet us there and assess the situation in the medical room. There’s an ambulance waiting outside.”
“Damn,” Logan said, clearly impressed.
Allie and Logan helped me back down the stairs since we were closer to the rink than the exit at the top.
By that point, people had started to notice that something was going on.
Logan growled at anyone who dared to take a photo, and I was just trying to hold it together until we’d made it to the med bay.
Georgia smiled at security, and they waved us through. Some of the maintenance staff brought out carpets, laying them down on the ice so we could safely cross it to the medical room. Inside, a female doctor was waiting. I blinked a few times, trying to place her.
“I’m Dr. Thorne,” she said, putting on her gloves. My eyes widened. Coach’s daughter? “How close are your contractions?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the next one as Allie said, “Too close.”
Someone came into the locker room and whispered in Coach’s ear. Whatever it was made him go stock-still.
“Holmes,” he barked.
I raised my head, exhausted from two grueling periods on the ice. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I was trying to cool down so I could go back out there feeling strong when intermission ended. “Coach?”
He waved me over, and my brow furrowed. Was he about to pull me from the pipes?
That wouldn’t make any sense. It would be fucking insane to put in a cold goalie in the final period of the sixth game of the Stanley Cup finals.
Especially in a game where the score was this close. Besides, I was playing at my best.
“I hesitate to tell you this because I want your focus to be on this game.” My stomach dropped at his words. “But as a dad, I feel that you should know. Bryn’s in labor.”
“She…what?” I turned as if to leave, to grab my keys and run to the car. But then I realized I was dressed out in full pads, and it was the middle of the Stanley Cup final. Fuck! I tugged on my hair.
The locker room quieted, and some of the guys asked, “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“Bryn’s in labor,” I said to my teammates, pacing. “I have to…” I couldn’t leave, but I also couldn’t let her do this on her own. “I have to talk to her.”
“She’s in the med bay,” Coach said, shocking me. “You have fifteen minutes until intermission is over.”
“What?” I choked out.
I blinked a few times, trying to process it all. Stanley Cup finals. Bryn was in labor. Holy shit.
And then I was sprinting—as much as I could in all my gear—to the med bay. The chants of my teammates echoed behind me, spurring me on. “Fiz-zy. Fiz-zy. Fiz-zy.”
When I reached the door to the med bay, I was panting, but it was more from adrenaline than anything else. I knocked on the door, and Georgia answered.
“Oh, thank god.” She sagged and then stepped aside.
Bryn was on one of the tables with a sheet draped over her bottom half.
Allie was holding one hand and Logan the other.
Bryn’s eyes darted to mine, and I rushed over to a sink, washing my hands thoroughly before rushing to her side.
Was she okay? And why did they act as if she was having the baby here? Now?
Logan stepped aside, and I took Bryn’s hand, smoothing her hair away from her face. Her cheeks were red, sweat dotting her forehead. She looked as if she’d been working just as hard as I’d been playing on the ice.
“Angel.” I kissed the top of her head. “How are you doing?”
Before she could answer, her face contorted, skin turning even redder as she squeezed the shit out of my hand. My eyes widened, and I looked to Astrid for reassurance. But she wasn’t paying attention to me; she was already peering beneath the sheet.
“I can see the baby’s head,” Astrid said.
What? I tried not to panic. We should be at the hospital, not…the med bay of the Atlas Center during Stanley Cup finals.
I opened my mouth to ask what I could do to help, but Astrid emitted a calm, focused energy that made me realize she had this in hand.
And when I looked to Bryn, she seemed equally in the zone.
So I closed my mouth, trusting that she’d tell me if she needed anything.
And I focused on lending Bryn and Morgan all my love and support.