Chapter Thirty
All The Little Things
Carter
I’m going to be a dad.
The laces bit into my palms as I pulled them tight, the way they always did, the ritual so ingrained it should have been muscle memory by now. But tonight, like every night since Livia told me her news, nothing felt automatic.
I’m going to be a dad.
A million other things should have been on my mind: the lineup sheet, the players I’d be matched against, the fact that this was a home game against a division rival with playoff seeding on the line. This was the kind of game that could make or break a season.
But none of that could rival the six words that continued to rattle around in my head, louder than the crowd warming up outside, louder than the squeak of skates cutting across the fresh sheet of ice.
I’m going to be a dad.
It had been a month since Livia told me, and the thought hadn’t left me once. Not on the ice or at the gym or when I tried to sleep at night.
And I didn’t want it to.
I was happy to be consumed by the thought, by a fact I wasn’t sure would ever play out in my life.
That first week, I was a planet knocked out of orbit.
I’d alternated between burying Liv in mountains of kisses because she was somehow even sexier knowing our baby was growing inside her and having full-on meltdowns at how ill-prepared I was to welcome a child into the world. It was an absolute tornado.
But soon after that, a serene peace I didn’t know I could feel settled in — the calm after the storm, as they say.
It started when we told my parents. Their faces were smushed together on a video call, both of them grinning and talking over one another in their rush and excitement to get to know Livia. I’d never introduced them to a woman, and clearly, they had no idea how to act when I did.
And when we told them we were expecting, I’d braced for the worst, for them to instantly sour and lecture me about responsibility.
Instead, my father had burst into tears like the big softy he was, and my mother had gushed, both of them unable to contain their delight.
We’d ended the call with them making us promise to send them date options for when they could come visit, and no sooner had we hung up than my mom was asking me for Livia’s number. She instantly asked how Livia was feeling and if she had any questions about pregnancy or birth.
My mom didn’t even know about Livia’s mom, but it was like she could tell, like she saw it in her eyes or something.
And it meant more to Livia than she could ever tell me. I knew it every time I saw her smiling when she and my mom were on another phone call talking about breastfeeding or wake windows.
I’m going to be a dad.
After that, Livia and I had slid into this new routine without ever saying we were doing it.
She still lived at her condo, I still lived at my little house on the water, but most nights we ended up together.
Sometimes I’d wake up tangled in her sheets, sunlight spilling through her skyscraper windows while she muttered about missing coffee as she buttoned up her white coat.
Other mornings, it was her half-asleep groan when my alarm went off before practice, followed by her burrowing into my pillow the second I left for the rink.
The worst days were when I was on the road for the team.
It wasn’t because of the grind of travel, but because of the empty stretch of bed, the absence of her.
I caught myself scrolling through my camera roll in hotel rooms more than I’d like to admit — replaying videos I’d taken of her sketching new jewelry designs, or smiling when I found the photo of her curled up in my hoodie, feet in my lap, chewing absentmindedly on a pencil as she listened to one of those new-parent podcasts she’d gotten us hooked on.
And for the first time in our relationship, sex wasn’t the focus like it had been. She was tired, nauseous, sometimes just not in the mood — and I didn’t give a damn. Because it turned out what I craved even more were all the little things we’d built in between.
It was the way she’d let me take care of her after she worked a long day when our schedules matched up, allowing me the privilege of undressing her and running her a bath before I’d cook whatever she felt like she could stomach.
It was how she’d hum while she worked on a set of earrings and then look up with a sleepy grin that made my heart stop.
It was the way she looked in the setting sun when we’d take the boards out on the water, how she thought I didn’t notice when her hand would hover over her still-flat stomach.
It was the moments like when she’d rest her hand absently on my thigh while we rotted on the couch, both of us trying not to get emotional any time there was a commercial with babies and parents.
I never won that battle, by the way.
Even chores that should have felt overwhelming, like figuring out what crib or stroller or car seat to buy, filled me with an inexplicable joy.
I cherished the way it felt to have Livia’s hand in mine as we each scrolled on our phones, showing each other the different review videos or brands of choice.
Moments like that made me feel more alive than any highlight reel goal.
I never thought I’d be the guy who got high off quiet nights at home.
I was always the one who wanted to go out to Boomer’s after a game or find the best night life when the team traveled to different cities.
But the last month with Livia, knowing what I know now about our future… it had changed me.
I’m going to be a dad.
Livia was crawling out of her skin, though.
She enjoyed the nights at home, but I knew she missed getting dolled up and going out.
So, I vowed that as soon as she was feeling better, that was exactly what we’d do.
I’d take her out and let her show off her baby bump in her skin-tight dresses, and I’d be there to rub her feet when we got back home, too.
I’d keep my hands to myself as long as she wanted, and then gladly drop to my knees and bark like a dog as soon as she said the word.
Because I wanted it all with her — the quiet and the loud, the bright and the dim, going out and staying home, dressed up and in sweats, cuddles on the couch and burying myself deep inside her.
And I wanted to parent with her.
I’m going to be a dad.
My stomach still tumbled with the thought, even a month later, and I wondered if that would ever change. Part of me hoped it wouldn’t.
I wondered if we’d have a boy or a girl, if they’d favor Livia or me or be a perfect little blend of us both.
But one thing I knew for sure was that Livia would be a damn good mom, and just like she wanted, she’d write the story she wished played out for herself.
She’d be the mother to our kid that hers should have been to her.
She hadn’t told her parents yet. She wasn’t sure she would at all.
And I didn’t blame her for not feeling like they deserved to know.
In fact, I felt protective over our baby in a way that I didn’t want them to know, either.
They would soon enough — but I didn’t feel the need for them to be involved now, and Livia didn’t seem to, either.
Livia did decide to share the news with her sister — along with her answer about the wedding.
She wasn’t going.
And I fully supported her in that decision, too.
The ache in my chest was strong when I thought about all she’d been through, about how callous her parents had been, how complicated things were between her and her sister.
I couldn’t change that, no matter how I wished differently, but I could be with her in this new chapter and make the future brighter than the past.
That was a goal I would score, no matter what challenges stood in my way.
“Fabri.”
I glanced up, blinking out of my thoughts as Coach McCabe stopped in front of my stall. His expression was sharp, the way it always was before a game.
“Coach,” I greeted.
He nodded for me to stand, and once I did, he folded his arms over his chest and looked around the room before back at me. “I’m starting you tonight. First line.”
The words punched me right in the chest.
First line.
Me.
Coach clapped a hand on my shoulder pad with a wry grin. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“Is that what I look like? I was going for shocked to death.”
“Hey, don’t joke about this, alright? You know as well as I do that you’ve earned the chance. Don’t cheapen that with self-deprecation.”
I swallowed, pride swelling in my throat even at the lashing. Because he was right. I had earned it.
And it meant a hell of a lot to me to hear that he saw that, too.
With one final squeeze of my shoulder, he released me without further fanfare. “Show me you can land it home.”
And then he was gone, moving on down the row.
I sank back down into the bench in front of my locker, staring at the white of my tape, hearing the blood rush in my ears.
A year ago, the pressure of this opportunity would have crushed me.
I would have heard Coach Leduc’s voice, sneering, reminding me I’d never be enough, that if I slipped even once it proved him right.
But tonight, that voice was nonexistent.
I wasn’t that kid anymore.
I’m going to be a dad.
Maybe it should have scared the piss out of me, the inescapable truth of that. I knew parenthood wasn’t for the weak. But instead of terror, I only felt steadiness. I was like an old oak tree, rooted deep to something stronger than my own fear.
“Yo, Fabio,” Vince called from across the room, snapping me out of it. “Try not to whiff it in front of the home crowd tonight, yeah?”
He must have overheard Coach telling me I was starting. Or maybe McCabe had talked to him before he even told me. Vince was first line, too, after all. And I saw it in my friend’s playful smirk with the chirp.
He was trying to relax me; to let me know he believed in me, too.
Aleks snorted, tossing a roll of tape to Jaxson. “He’s not you, Tanny Boy. Man’s been hot as hell lately. You just pay attention to your own game.”
“And you pay attention to your hands,” Will cut in, scowling like always as he leaned back in his stall. “One wrong slash and you’ll be cozying up in the penalty box before the first intermission.”
“Please,” Aleks scoffed. “The refs love me.”
“Yeah, like they love root canals,” Will shot back, earning a chorus of laughter from the guys.
“Don’t act like those penalties I get don’t get the crowd fired up,” Aleks kept defending.
Jaxson smirked, snapping his gum as he waddled past us on his skates. “Yeah, fired up to see me score on the power play your dumb ass just handed ’em.”
The chirps kept on, but I didn’t miss Daddy P’s nod of encouragement as he stood, like he wanted me to know everyone had faith in me taking that first line. And then we were filing out, one by one, the lights and roar from the crowd thundering almost as hard as my heart.
And for the first time in my career, I didn’t feel the weight of the moment.
I felt ready.
Because I’m going to be a dad.