Chapter 33
SLOANE
After Mel leaves, I’m alone with the beeps. I’m so tired, down to my bones, and someone took off my necklace. I reach for it, not finding it at my neck, and for some reason, it’s that final injustice that sends me over the edge.
Sobs pour from my body. I’m moaning and clutching my stomach and just crying for all the things I should have cried about years ago.
I weep for my grandmother, who raised and sacrificed for me. I weep for my parents, my father gone, and my mother too mired in grief to parent me. And as I feel the babies swim inside me, I weep because I’m terrified that I am robbing their father of the chance to be different.
It’s true, Tucker is hundreds of miles away. Unreachable.
But he left three dozen backup Stags to step in, and what did I do? I pushed them all away out of my own stubborn foolishness.
I can’t be on bed rest without help.
All Tucker Stag has done since July is grow, while I’ve floundered and pushed him away. No wonder he felt like protecting me from his work struggles. We need to be honest with each other, or this whole thing goes up in flames.
The babies’ heartbeats swirl and tick on the monitors, and it becomes a chorus, chanting CALL HIM. CALL HIM.
I don’t have my phone, and I don’t think anyone at this hospital will know how to reach him, but I need to do something. I need to make a change. I reach for the red button on my bed rail and press for the nurse.
I cry some more while I wait for her to arrive, which probably explains her worried face as she rushes to my bedside. “Sloane, what can I do?”
She starts checking my vitals, and I shake my head. “This is probably inappropriate for me to ask.”
The nurse, Shelby, pauses and meets my eye. “I promise you won’t be the first person to ask, whatever it is.”
I laugh, relief washing over me at this small return to levity. “I don’t think I have my phone here. And I need to reach my room— I need to call the babies’ father.”
“Ah.” Shelby smiles knowingly and pats my hand. “Actually, I think this one’s an easy win for me. Hang on.”
Two minutes later, my door opens again, and Tucker steps inside.
He looks terrified. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it. There are dark circles under his eyes.
He looks like he's been through hell.
Because of me.
"Hi," I whisper.
He closes the door behind him and just stands there, staring at me. At the monitors. At my belly under the thin hospital blanket. At the IV in my arm.
"Sloane." My name comes out broken. “Oh god, Sloane."
I want to apologize. Want to explain. Want to tell him I'm sorry for shutting him out, for not calling him, for putting him through this.
But all that comes out is: "I'm okay. The babies are okay."
He moves then, crossing the room in three long strides. Stops beside the bed, his hands hovering like he wants to touch me but doesn't know if he's allowed.
"Can I—" His voice breaks. "Can I touch you?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His hand finds mine. Large, warm, familiar. He sinks into the chair beside the bed, still holding my hand, and drops his head against our joined fingers.
"I thought I lost you," he says into my skin. "I thought—"
"I'm sorry." The words rush out. "Tucker, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—I was scared and I wasn't thinking clearly and—"
"Stop." He lifts his head, his blue eyes meeting mine. "Don't apologize for being scared."
"But I shut you out. I told them you were 'out of the picture' and I—"
"I know. Mel told me." He wipes his free hand over his face.
"I've been treating you like you're this thing that's happening to me.
Like you're pregnant with my babies and that's all that matters.
I haven't been seeing you. Sloane. The woman who's trying to start fresh, figure out her life, and maintain her independence. "
My throat tightens. "I—"
"I've been so focused on providing, on being there, on doing the right thing that I missed what you actually needed." His thumbs stroke across my knuckles. "I've been smothering you when I thought I was supporting you. Trying to solve things without you, and I know that’s a sore spot for you."
The tears come then, hot and fast. "I'm so messed up, Tucker. I don't know how to let someone take care of me without losing myself. And you—" My voice breaks. "You're so good to me, and I'm terrified that if I let myself need you, I'll wake up one day and not know who Sloane is anymore."
"Hey." He stands, carefully moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "Look at me."
I meet his eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that have been haunting me for weeks.
"We can come back from this. We can tell each other things, and be honest, and trust that we have each other’s back." His hand moves to cup my face, thumb wiping away tears. "You’re so strong, baby." He leans closer. "Fucking fierce."
I let out a wet laugh. "Fierce?"
"Yeah." He's smiling now, that crooked smile that makes my heart stutter. "You're fierce.” His expression softens. "I love that about you."
The words hang in the air between us.
"What?" I whisper.
"I love you." He says it simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world.
"I love your resilience. I love your fire.
I love how hard you work to be independent, even when accepting help would be simpler.
I love watching you fight for your degree, for your future, for yourself.
" He brushes hair back from my face. "I love you, Sloane.
Not the situation. Not the babies, though I love them too.
You. The woman who won't let anyone—including me—tell her who she should be. "
My chest feels too tight. "Tucker—"
"It doesn't scare me," he continues. "Your independence, your strength, the way you push back when I try to take over—none of it scares me. It makes me want to be better. Want to be worthy of you."
"I love you too." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
"I love how you think about what I need before I know I need it.
I love that you see me trying to be independent and you don't try to fix it, you just..
. make sandwiches and buy the right kind of prenatal vitamins and leave books around the apartment that you think I'd like.
" I'm crying again. "I love your thoughtfulness, and it scares me because I've never had someone care like this.
Care about me, not just what I can give them or who they want me to be. "
"Sloane—"
"I love you," I say again, stronger this time.
"Not your apartment or your money or your ability to provide for us.
I love you. Tucker Stag. The man who fights on the ice to protect his teammates.
The man who left a game to be here, even though I told the hospital to keep you out.
" My voice breaks. "I love you and I'm terrified of losing myself, but I'm more terrified of losing you. "
He leans in then, his forehead resting against mine. "You're not going to lose yourself. And you're not going to lose me."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're going to figure it out together." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "Not my way. Our way. You tell me what you need, and I'll support that. Really support it, not just say the words while secretly trying to make you dependent on me."
"I need to be Sloane," I whisper. "Not Tucker's girlfriend or the mother of your babies. Just... Sloane."
"I know. And I'm going to remember that this time. I promise." He kisses my forehead, gentle and sweet. "You're Sloane, who happens to be pregnant. Not pregnant, Sloane. There's a difference."
"There is."
"And Sloane, who happens to be pregnant, is fucking incredible." He grins. "Even when she puts me on a hospital restricted visitor list."
I laugh, the sound watery but real. "I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be. You were scared and trying to protect yourself." He shifts carefully, mindful of the monitors and IV. "But Sunshine? Next time you're scared? Call me anyway. Let me be scared with you."
"What if I can't?"
"Then I'll wait until you're ready." His voice is matter-of-fact. "That's what I did tonight. Sat there with Odin and my dad until you asked for me."
"You sat on the floor?"
"For hours." He shrugs. "Would have sat there all night if that's what it took."
Fresh tears spill over. "Tucker—"
"I'm all in, Sloane. Completely, terrifyingly all in. I'll wait as long as you need. I'll give you space when you ask for it. I'll be here when you're ready to let me in." He takes both my hands in his. "I'm not going anywhere. Even when you try to push me away."
"I don't want to push you away anymore."
"Good. Because I'm pretty stubborn about staying where I'm wanted."
"Even when I'm a mess?"
"Especially when you're a mess." He kisses my knuckles. "That's when you need me most. Even if you won't admit it."
I stare at him—this man who left a game, risked his career, sat on a hospital floor for two hours, all for me. For us.
"I need you," I say quietly. "I don't know how to do this without disappearing, but I need you. Is that okay?"
"It's more than okay." He stands, toeing off his sneakers. "Scoot over."
"Tucker, there's not enough room—"
"There's plenty of room." He's already moving, carefully climbing onto the narrow hospital bed beside me. The monitors protest slightly as I shift, but he's gentle, mindful of the wires and IV.
He wedges between the bedrail and my belly, facing me. "This okay?"
I laugh and shake my head. “You are ridiculous. And massive.”
He grins and wraps his arms around me, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, under my ear.
"We're going to figure this out," he murmurs into my hair. "You're going to finish your degree. You're going to have your own career, your own life. Maybe get ourselves some therapy.”
I put my hand on my belly, feeling the twins move. "They're really okay?"
“We will make sure of it.” His hand covers mine on my stomach. "They're fighters. Like their mom."
We lie there in silence, just breathing together. The monitors beep steadily. Hospital sounds filter through the door—nurses talking, other monitors, the occasional announcement over the PA system.
"I left the game," Tucker says after a while. "Coach said there would be consequences. I told him I didn't care."
"Tucker—"
"I meant it. I don't care if they fire me. I don't care if this ruins my career. You and these babies matter more than hockey."
"Hockey is your life."
"You're my life." He says it simply, certainly. "Hockey is just what I do. You're who I am now."
I tilt my head to look up at him. "That's too much pressure. I can't be your whole life."
"You're not my whole life. My family is my whole life. And you're part of that family now." He kisses my forehead. "You, these babies, my parents and brothers, my ridiculous extended family—that's what matters. Hockey is just... hockey."
"You love hockey."
"I love you more." He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable. "And honestly? If loving you means I have to find a different career? I'm okay with that."
"You shouldn't have to choose."
"I'm not choosing. I'm prioritizing. There's a difference." His hand strokes my arm, soothing. "Besides, apparently your buddy Mel has cracked the code and convinced the bigwigs that hockey players are human beings.”
“She did what?” I draw my head back, not sure what he’s talking about.
He emits a rumbling sound deep from his chest. “Uncle Tim said I can take emergency leave and not lose my job.” He pauses. "But that's later. Right now, I'm just focused on you."
I close my eyes, letting myself relax against him. Finally, mercifully, the anxiety loosens its grip. The fear is still there—I'm still terrified of losing myself, still worried about dependence, still scared of becoming someone I'm not.
But Tucker's arms are around me. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. "Tucker?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for coming."
"Always." He kisses the top of my head. "I'll always come when you need me. Even when you don't know you need me yet."
I smile against his chest. "That's what scares me."
"I know. But we'll work on it." His voice is getting drowsy. "We'll figure out boundaries. Figure out what works. We'll probably screw it up a bunch of times."
"Probably."
"But we'll fix it. Together."
"Together," I repeat.
The word settles over us like a blanket. Together. Not him taking care of me. Not me doing it alone. Together.
My eyes are getting heavy. The exhaustion of the day—the fear, the pain, the emotional rollercoaster—is catching up with me.
"Sleep," Tucker murmurs. "I've got you."
"You can't stay in this bed all night. We’ll all lose circulation in our limbs.”
“A few more minutes.”
“The nurses will kick you out.” I try to wriggle, but there is no space.
"Let them try." I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm pretty good at fighting."
I want to argue. Want to tell him to go home, get rest, take care of himself.
But instead, I let myself drift. Let myself be held. Let myself need him without losing myself.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel safe.