Epilogue
No Threats Necessary
Livia
June in Tampa tasted like salt and celebration, despite the fact that some might think we shouldn’t be celebrating at all. The air was heavy with summer, the kind that curled my hair and made it even harder to breathe than the little body crowding my organs.
There was a faint hum of laughter rolling out from the back deck of the waterfront house that belonged to the Ospreys General Manager.
It was decorated and fully catered for the end-of-season party.
Lights were strung across the railing, and they twinkled against the dark water, the downtown skyline barely visible off in the distance.
Tampa felt like home more than ever in that moment.
We didn’t get the ending Carter dreamed of.
The Ospreys lost in Game Five of the Stanley Cup Finals, and the entire city felt the ache of it.
But there was pride split right down the middle of that ache.
The boys had played like men possessed, Carter most of all.
He was incandescent on the ice— stronger on the puck, calmer in the face-off circle, feeding passes like a conductor.
His name was on lips that had never said it before.
Broadcasters said “what a season” about him with reverence.
He was a revelation to the league.
And a revelation in my life.
At twenty weeks, I’d popped past the point of ambiguity; there was no mistaking who I was carrying with me everywhere I went.
Our little girl announced herself in everything I wore, from the soft white dress I’d chosen tonight to the big Ospreys t-shirt I slept in most nights, one I stole from Carter.
It was wild now that we were in the part of pregnancy where movement was a thing. I laid awake most nights struck with wonder, my hand on my belly, feeling my world flip along with her. And when Carter talked, she stretched and kicked, as if she already knew his voice, as if she already adored it.
He followed me around the party with one hand tethered to me, unable to help himself. It would have been ridiculous if it weren’t so sweet. The man had been shameless in his advances with me since the day I met him, but he was full-on obsessed now.
I couldn’t even pretend like I didn’t love it.
“You good?” he murmured for the third time in ten minutes, palm warm against the small of my back, thumb sweeping idly.
His hair was tousled, his jaw clean-shaven after he and the rest of the guys let their beards grow all through the playoff run.
He’d put on a linen shirt for me and left the top few buttons undone because he knew I liked to kiss the notch of his throat.
“I’m perfect,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. Considering I’d had two Fruity Pebbles cookies from Bake’n Babes, a delightful little mocktail, my feet were bare, my friends within arm’s reach, and my man glued to me? Perfect was the only way to describe it.
On the other side of the deck, Aleks and Mia held court at the long picnic table, her laughter ringing out like a bell every time he leaned in to whisper something at her temple.
They were leaving for their honeymoon at last, bags already packed and waiting at the door, and the way they couldn’t stop touching each other told me they were both over the wait.
Chloe and Will had claimed the hammock like a pair of teenagers, swaying gently, a newly married glow radiating off them both.
Will still looked at her like he couldn’t believe she’d said yes.
Ava wore an Ospreys cap backward and was making her rounds to anyone who would listen to her discuss why our loss in the fifth game had been complete bullshit and all due to mistakes by the refs.
Maven and Vince were on the stairs just inside, heads bent together, whispering and giggling like kids.
Vince had one hand splayed over Maven’s barely there bump and the other braced behind her on the step.
Every few minutes, Maven shot me a look that said can you believe this?
and I shot one back that said not even a little.
She’d just found out that she was having a girl, too.
We’d giggled all night together, dreaming about how our daughters would be best friends. They didn’t have a say in it. It was just how it would be.
It was a good night. The kind of night I wanted to bottle for our daughter and say, This. This is your family. This is what love feels like.
Grace breezed onto the deck in a sundress and bare feet, cheeks sun-kissed from a day on the water.
She pressed a cold beer into Jaxson’s palm and stole his snapback, tucking her platinum hair up under it with a grin.
“You look sappy,” she told him, tilting her head at him like she was suspicious.
“Is this what retiring your bad boy era looks like? Concern and a wrinkled brow?”
“I’m just tired,” Jaxson said in way of explanation, his hand floating to her hip like it always did. “And talked out. I lost my voice yelling at refs, that’s all.”
“You always lose your voice yelling at refs,” she said, stealing a sip of his beer. “Even when we watch from a bar.”
“Some of us are passionate, Little Nova.”
“Lucky me,” she murmured, bumping his shoulder with hers.
I watched Jaxson a beat after Grace had turned away, and the second she wasn’t looking anymore, he paled like he was nervous, like he was about to play a game instead of go into the offseason.
I narrowed my eyes, the suspicion mine now.
Coach McCabe was at the party, too — the host of it all alongside Dick, the GM.
He made his rounds, talking to each of the players with a little glint in his eye.
I could tell he was disappointed they hadn’t gone all the way, and simultaneously proud of all they’d accomplished.
I couldn’t imagine it, fighting that hard for months and getting so close only to fall a bit short.
But that was what I marveled at when it came to the professional athletes I worked with. They were resilient as hell, never feeling discouraged for long before they were on to the next game, the next season. It was inspiring.
I beamed with pride when Coach stopped by to talk to Carter, congratulating us on the upcoming birth before he told Carter that it had been a hell of a year for him.
I loved the way my man stood straighter, not backing away from the praise but soaking in the fact that he’d earned it.
He’d learned to take a compliment this season, to let it land instead of batting it away like a puck.
I liked that growth almost as much as I liked watching him win a puck battle along the boards with a man twice his size.
But not nearly as much as I liked watching him writhe for me with that leather collar around his neck.
When the party had settled a bit, Carter tucked me under his arm and leaned down. “How’s she doing?”
“Practicing her slapshot,” I said, tapping my belly. “Either that or she’s discovered tap-dancing.”
He laughed, quiet and delighted. He did that a lot lately. “Of course she’s got a good slapshot. It’s genetic.”
“I hope she gets your patience,” I said. “And your incessant need to kill any stretch of silence with a joke, no matter the merit of it.”
“You love my jokes,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to my temple. “They’re a gift. And I’m patient because you taught me to be.”
“Because I didn’t entertain your pickup lines for years?”
“And because I know better than to come before you say I can,” he added salaciously in my ear.
I elbowed him with a grin, but slid under his arm next, hugging him tight.
In a couple months, our families would cross paths for the first time when his parents and my sister came to the baby shower the girls were throwing for me and Maven.
I’d become close with Carter’s mom, accepting her gracious advice and support through the pregnancy.
I was grateful for her, especially since my mom was nowhere to be found.
She and my father found out about my pregnancy after Carter and I attended Lacey’s wedding. Carter had let it slip when he was chatting with Cole and some of the guys from the firm, and it didn’t take long for news to travel in that circle.
It didn’t change anything, though.
My parents hadn’t spoken to me or Lacey, and as much as it pained us both, we resisted the urge to reach out. They were the parents. They were the ones who had messed up. It was on them to make it right, and at this point, I was unsure if they ever could.
And so, me and my sister clung to each other for dear life, vowing to build a new family together.
Across the deck, Chloe waved me over with the urgency of someone who had discovered something vital on her phone.
“Baby clothes,” she announced, thrusting the screen toward me as I regretfully parted from Carter with a squeeze of my hand, his holding fast to mine until he had no choice but to drop it.
“Tell me this isn’t the cutest dress you’ve ever seen.
I think I could make something like it, but I might cry in the process. ”
“Well, I’m pregnant,” I said, taking her phone to see the bright rainbow dress more clearly once I reached her. “I cry at Subaru commercials. But yes, that is…something.”
“Wait until you see the tiny Ospreys jersey Mia found,” Chloe said, taking her phone back.
Mia popped up beside us as if summoned, her own phone out, a picture already loaded — a custom white infant jersey with FAbrI printed across the back and a soft pink number 00. “I know she won’t wear it for a while,” she said sheepishly, “but I couldn’t resist.”