Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Love. Loss. Both, held close.
Reid
There’s spit-up on my chest, I only have one sock on, and I haven’t slept more than ninety minutes in a row since she arrived.
But I’ve never felt better.
Ivy’s curled against me, warm and heavy and impossibly small, her cheek pressed to my skin like she belongs there. Which—she does. Every single part of her does.
I’ve been around for less than a week of her life, and already, I’m convinced there’s no version of the universe where I don’t end up here. Holding her. Protecting her. Letting her turn me inside out with one tiny sigh.
Carina’s beside us, still half-asleep, and one arm slung across my stomach, her fingers tangled with mine.
And everything’s still. No whistles or horns, no lights, no roaring crowd.
Just my girls.
I once pulled a .972 in the playoffs. Thirty-seven saves, OT shutout.
Didn’t touch this. Couldn’t.
She stirs, lashes fluttering against her cheek, and I shift just enough to kiss the top of her head. Carina lets out a low sound beside me and stretches, blinking her eyes open.
“Hey,” I murmur. “You okay?”
“I’m sore,” she mumbles. “And leaking from places I didn’t know could leak.”
I nod solemnly. “I’ve seen things, Park. I’ll never recover.”
She shifts, groaning with exhaustion. “I’m a mess.”
“No, baby.” I shake my head. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
Lifting her head, she peers at me through a curtain of dark hair, then glances down at our daughter. The look on her face is so soft, it makes me well up.
She shifts up onto one elbow, brushing a thumb beneath my eye.
“Still crying every time you look at her?”
“No.” I huff a laugh. “I hydrate aggressively now.”
She snorts, but it turns into a sigh. “You’re obsessed.”
“With both of you.”
“She’s got your frown.”
“Poor thing.” I glance down at Ivy. “We’ll work on that.”
Carina leans in, nestling her head into the corner of my neck, her breath brushing over my skin.
“This is the good stuff,” she whispers.
“The fucking best.”
I’ve taken slap shots to the collarbone and played through concussions. Skated on torn ligaments with my jaw clenched and lungs burning.
But one hiccup from this kid, and I’m ready to set the world on fire.
***
The doorbell rings.
Gremlin growls from her perch on the windowsill, preparing to defend the house from intruders. Or just Chase.
I crack the front door and don’t even get a word out before Meadow barrels through, plastic tiara askew, clutching a glittery notebook.
“I’m the maid of honor!” she announces to no one in particular. “I already have the color scheme and a signature cocktail!”
I blink.
Jake’s behind her, holding coffees in a cardboard tray and looking only mildly apologetic. “She’s been planning this since Charlie told her you had a girl.”
“Ivy is six days old.”
“Exactly. We’re behind schedule.”
Meadow makes a beeline for the living room, announcing that Ivy will be walking down the aisle in sparkly roller skates.
Charlie shrugs. “Could be worse.”
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the soft thud of small feet on the porch. Theo toddles in a moment later, round-cheeked and determined, one fist clutching a toy car. He pauses when he sees me, then lifts both arms with total confidence.
“Hutcheeee! Up, please!”
I huff a breath, already melting. “Still as bossy as your sister, huh?”
I scoop him up, one arm tucked beneath his chubby legs. He snuggles in like he belongs there, head resting briefly on my shoulder, before peering around the room with wide eyes.
Carina’s on the couch, Ivy asleep against her chest. She catches my eye over Theo’s head and gives me that look—sharp and amused. A callback to the last conversation we had about Theo and Ivy.
I ignore her and carry Theo over slowly, crouching beside the couch.
“You wanna meet Ivy?” I murmur.
He peers over my shoulder at the bundle in Carina’s arms. His expression doesn’t change.
“Baby,” he declares.
“Correct.”
Then he wriggles. “Down.”
“You did your part,” Carina sighs, giving me a shrewd little smile as Theo promptly makes a beeline for Gremlin, who hisses and darts under the armchair.
But I’m not watching the chaos, I’m watching Jake. The way his arm slips around Charlie’s waist, and his eyes linger on Ivy. There’s something wistful in them.
“Shit, I think I want another one,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
Charlie arches a brow. “Let’s get the glitter out of our carpet first.”
Jake chuckles, but I can see it—he means it.
And yeah, I get it. Because the weight in my chest right now isn’t pressure, it’s a whole lot of love.
Logan and Lulu arrive next, framed in the doorway like total opposites—her in a flowy cardigan and pink sunglasses, him in a battered Storm hoodie and expression of mild dread.
“I come bearing aesthetics,” Lulu says, sweeping past me with a kiss to my cheek. “He comes because I made him.”
“Mm, you do make me, babe. Every time.”
Lulu and I both turn to him with horrified disgust in our eyes.
“Logan,” she chastises. “Don’t say that in front of a child!”
“And definitely not in front of her brother,” I add under my breath.
Logan shrugs, then drops a boutique bag onto the kitchen island. “Lulu chose it.”
“It’s tasteful,” she insists, removing her sunglasses and smiling at Carina. “And astrologically aligned.”
I raise a brow and open the bag. The first onesie is soft cream, patterned with delicate stars and tiny moons. Virgo Rising is stitched in gold across the chest.
Carina smiles from the couch. “Oh my god, that’s so cute.”
“I had her chart done,” Lulu says proudly. “Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Virgo rising. Fire, water, earth. She’s going to be curious, intensely loyal, and ruinously hot.”
Logan snorts. “So… Hutch.”
“I am loyal,” I say mildly.
“And ruinous,” Carina adds, lips twitching.
There’s a second onesie folded underneath. This one is navy blue, with white block text: Tiny Puck, Big Energy.
Logan shrugs. “Balance.”
“She’s six days old,” I murmur, but I’m already folding them both carefully, setting them aside like they’re made of gold.
Lulu softens, moving toward the couch. “She’s perfect, you guys.”
I glance at Carina, who’s watching her with a faint smile, and then at Ivy, still curled safe in her mother’s arms.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She is.”
The next knock comes with less warning and even less dignity.
“Do not let him in with that thing,” Zoe calls from the foyer, her voice edged in exasperation.
Chase bursts through the door anyway, beaming, arms full of… something.
“What the fuck is that,” I say flatly.
“It’s a gift,” he announces proudly, holding it aloft like a trophy. “For the baby.”
Zoe follows behind him, sunglasses on and sipping an iced coffee like she’s considering divorce, even though they’re not married. “It’s a taxidermy duck in a bonnet.”
“I added the bonnet,” Chase clarifies. “For whimsy.”
The bonnet is pale yellow and is covered in tiny turtles.
Carina is too tired to do more than blink. “Is it… wearing shoes?”
“Little booties,” Chase confirms. “Gotta protect those webbed toes.”
Zoe sighs and drops a beautifully wrapped gift bag on the island. “I also brought a sensible present. Swaddle sets. Organic cotton. No dead animals involved.”
Carina smiles, adjusting Ivy in her arms. “Thank you.”
“Anything for my newest niece.” She smiles softly at the baby, then eyes the duck in Chase’s hands. “I tried to stop him.”
“You didn’t try that hard,” Chase says, then turns to me. “Tell me you’ll display it in the nursery.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard—”
“No.”
Chase leans in toward Ivy in Carina’s arms, waving the duck as though it might pass the baby toy test. “She loves it.”
“She’s asleep.”
The front door swings open again, and this time it’s Eli and Tamara, carrying a casserole dish and a gift bag with a ribbon so elaborate it looks like Zoe might’ve tied it.
“Look at you two,” I say. “Domestic royalty.”
“Don’t be jealous just because we still cook,” Tamara replies smoothly, breezing past me to set the casserole down. “It’s gluten-free. I figured Lulu might stick around.”
“She will now,” Carina murmurs.
Eli claps me on the shoulder as he walks in, eyes going straight to the couch. He stops short, the kind of silence that says more than words. Then he exhales low. “Shit, Hutch.”
Carina smiles sleepily. “Hi, Eli.”
“You did good, Doc.”
I nod. “Damn right she did.”
Tamara moves toward her, crouching gently beside the couch. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Carina nods, but something in her face softens. “Tired, leaky. Emotionally unstable.”
Tamara just reaches out and squeezes her hand. “All part of the magic, right?”
Ivy stirs slightly with a wrinkle of her nose and a sleepy sigh. Eli steps closer, gaze locked on her. “That’s wild. She looks like a tiny Hutchy goalie baby.”
Tamara moves over to me, her eyes sharp but warm. She leans in, wrapping one arm around my waist.
“You’re doing good, Papa Hutch.”
I don’t say anything. Just nod once, because I can feel Carina’s eyes on me, and if I speak, I might fucking break.
Across the room, Eli clears his throat and turns to open the gift bag. “We didn’t know what you’d need,” he says gruffly. “So we got diapers and whiskey. You can decide who gets which.”
Carina lets out a soft laugh. “I vote I get both.”
Tamara grins. “Atta girl.”
Zoe and Chase start arguing over who gets couch space to hold the baby next, while Jake disappears into the kitchen and starts making tea for everyone. Logan’s tossing treats to Gremlin and managing Theo and Meadow with Lulu’s help.
And Carina sinks deeper into the pillows, eyes half-lidded, watching it all unfold like she’s found the best kind of chaos.
The last knock this time is polite. Two short taps, no bursting through and shouting, no one brandishing a taxidermied duck.
When I open the door, Heidi’s standing there with a tote bag slung over her shoulder, her dark hair pinned back in a low bun and a grin already stretching wide. Viktor looms behind her in his black leather jacket and jeans, carrying a ridiculously oversized stuffed sloth.
“Heidi,” I say, stepping back.
“Reid.” She hands me a paper bag. “For Carina. Raspberry oat muffins that help with lactation and some herbal stuff she probably won’t drink unless you guilt-trip her.”
“Perfect.”
Viktor nods once in greeting, then lumbers in behind her. He stops when he sees Carina, and for a second, something shifts.
Heidi’s face softens. “Hey, Park.”
Carina smiles, eyes watery. “Hey, Grant.”
Heidi scoots in next to her and leans in, her lip trembling at the sight of Ivy.
“Oh, Carina,” she breathes, and then they’re hugging.
It’s not long, but it’s the first real exhale I’ve seen from Carina all day. The kind that only comes when someone who knows every hard edge of you shows up to hold something sacred with you.
“You look wrecked,” Heidi murmurs, pulling back. “But in a good way.”
Carina hums. “I am.”
“I brought you padsicles and perineal spray.”
“I love you more than any man I’ve ever met.”
“Obviously.”
Across the room, Viktor is watching them with quiet curiosity. Then he glances at me, like he’s checking if he’s allowed to approach. I nod toward the Carina, where Ivy’s stirring in her arms.
“She looks like Carina,” he says.
“Lucky kid,” I mutter. “But no shot at anonymity.”
He huffs out what might be a laugh—it’s hard to tell with him.
Heidi turns just as Viktor sets the giant sloth on the floor beside the couch. It topples sideways, oversized head lolling against her leg.
Heidi raises a brow. “Really?”
“It has big green eyes,” Viktor says, as Heidi’s own green eyes narrow at him. “They are cute and interesting.”
“Ivy can’t even see beyond her own hands.”
“She will grow, like a mushroom.”
They lock eyes, just for a second. Heidi’s lips twitch, and Viktor looks away first. Carina’s watching all of it from the couch, faint amusement etched into the corners of her mouth.
Viktor clears his throat. “Congratulations, Hutch.”
“Thanks.”
He gestures toward the baby. “She is… very small.”
“She was bigger a few days ago,” I deadpan. “Think she’s just playing us. Getting cuter by the hour.”
That earns a snort from Heidi and a low chuckle from Viktor.
The moment stretches, warm and weighted, as if the walls of the house have shifted to accommodate the noise, the energy, the mess of people and love now filling it.
Outside, the treehouse creaks with the stomp of little feet. Meadow’s shrieking something about a royal proclamation, while Noah climbs behind her, and Theo hollers from below, demanding “Up! Up!” until Jake helps him scramble to the top.
Inside, Carina’s barely upright on the couch, hair loose and cheeks flushed, but there’s a soft circle of chaos around her—Lulu reaching for the baby again, Charlie tucking a blanket higher, Logan restocking the diaper caddy like it’s a mission.
Tamara brings another tea she won’t finish, and Zoe silently folds muslins.
Even Chase keeps glancing at Ivy like she might vanish if he looks away too long.
It shouldn’t work, this many people. This much noise. This patched-together crew of chaos.
But it does.
The weather outside has dulled to a November hush—soft light slanting through the windows, the sky holding that bruised, late-fall hue that never quite becomes light enough.
I glance at Carina, and she’s watching them all, eyes glassy with exhaustion and something deeper.
Love. Loss. Both held close.
There are names we haven’t said out loud, people who should be here and aren’t. Her dad. Harry. Adele.
People we’ve loved with our whole chests. People we’ll miss for our whole lives.
But somehow, their absence doesn’t hollow this moment. It deepens it.
Because the people who are here—laughing and fussing and loving this tiny girl like she’s always belonged—are holding the shape of those we’ve lost. Filling the space they left behind.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about the crease I haven’t touched or the net I haven’t guarded.
I’m thinking about this house, this life. My family.
And how lucky I am to be part of it.