HAYDEN
MICHIGAN
DECEMBER - TWELVE YEARS LATER
"Nice one, Kelsey!"
The eleven-year-old pumps her fist in triumph after sending the puck into the net. She skates over, grinning, to celebrate with her teammates. Meanwhile, the goalie—twelve-year-old Jake—shakes himself off, and pushes back up onto his skates.
Morgan, one of the other coaches, skates over to Jake and leans in to give him a few pointers. Jake nods and readjusts his stance in the net. The next shot comes his way, and this time he catches it cleanly in his glove.
"Great job, Jake!" I call, and he lights right back up, tossing the puck out. "Sarah, don't telegraph your shot—make the goalie guess. You got this!"
"Got it, Coach!" she shouts as she flies past me.
Six years into retirement, and I haven't missed pro hockey for a second.
Not with this life.
Emerald's City has grown bigger than I ever imagined it would.
Three rinks now—one for figure skating, one for hockey, one for public skating.
Through the glass, I can see the cafeteria crowded with parents nursing coffee and trying to keep warm.
Upstairs, the event hall is booked out for a birthday party.
And on this rink ?
Middle-school hockey practice, with me as head coach.
"You want to say that again? To my face this time?"
The familiar voice barks from across the ice, making me sigh before I even turn.
"Joy," I call, crooking two fingers at her.
She lets out a sigh of her own, then skates over and stops right in front of me, leaning on her stick. She looks at me with narrowed green eyes and a clenched jaw, her dark hair escaping from the braid in her helmet.
"What?" she asks, all pre-teen angst.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Sorry," she mutters.
"What do I say?"
She huffs. "You can't solve every problem with your fists."
"Why?"
"Because diplomacy is the best solution, nine times out of ten."
I blink.
"I... would've gone with because you can outskate them every time, but that works too." I grin. "You sound just like your mother."
Her whole face transforms.
"Thanks, Dad."
My heart warms, just as it does every time I hear one of them call me that.
2x League Champion. 4x All-Star. Coach Hayden.
All give me immense pride.
But Husband and Dad are the titles I cherish most.
I lift the whistle hanging around my neck and blow hard.
"Grab some water," I shout, my voice booming through the rink. Then I grin. "And then we're scrimmaging!"
A few of them whoop loud enough to echo, and I laugh because some things never change. Drills and training matter.
But playing is always the best part.
Joy skates over to her best friend, Mia—Jace, and Samantha's daughter.
Seems like our girls inherited all the hockey skills.
Our sons, on the other hand...
"No, Benny, that's my favorite color!"
"No, it's my favorite color! Mom, Oz says blue is his favorite, but it's mine!"
"It was my favorite color first!"
"Boys! No one owns any colors. It can be both your favorite color. Daddy and Joy's favorite color is green. Both of yours can be blue."
"Okay, Mommy," two matching little voices grumble.
The sweetest laughter in the world follows, and then the boys' giggles.
I turn, and there they are—Oscar and Bennett Sawyer, our little twin tornadoes. Six-years-old and identical clones with my light brown hair and blue eyes. They are masters of finishing each other's sentences, reading each other's minds, and driving me crazy during bathtime.
And behind them is my radiant, beautiful, very pregnant wife, beaming at me.
They'd been upstairs at the birthday party in the event hall for one of their school friends, and Linda had been there to lend Emerald an extra pair of hands and keep an eye on everybody.
Now these boys walk into the sanctity of the hockey rink, talking at the top of their lungs like they own the place .
Well... they kind of do.
I'm already skating over to them as fast as my forty-year-old body allows me.
And there she is. Emerald, a little more lines around her eyes and mouth, evidence of a life well lived. And still as gorgeous as the day I met her in that tutor center.
"Hi, honey," Emerald says, one hand cradling the curve of her belly.
"Hi, Daddy!" the boys shout.
Emerald finding out she was pregnant with the twins had timed out in a way that felt fated, because I'd already been thinking about retiring then. The boys made the decision easy.
I didn't want to miss any more milestones as I did with some of Joy's. I missed her first steps because I was at a practice, and I missed her first words—Mama, of course—because I was on the ice. A friend of ours told me it was normal, that working parents usually miss milestones because they don’t have the luxury of not working.
Emerald and I already had enough money to retire, and I wanted to be completely present. As a father, yes, but especially as a husband—because all of a sudden, we weren't expanding the team from two to three. We were jumping from three to five.
And I didn’t want to leave Emerald to juggle the chaos alone.
I grab my skate guards and step off the ice. The second I'm over the boards, the twins latch onto each leg, standing on my skates and giggling while I shuffle toward my wife, who is waddling toward me too.
The boys let go, allowing me to wrap my arms around Emerald and kiss her lips.
"How are you feeling, baby? "
"Tired, sore. Ready to meet her," Emerald sighs in relief as I lift her belly, easing some pressure off her hips.
"Better?" I ask Emerald, and she groans, nodding against my chest.
"Very," she kisses the spot right over my heart. Unfortunately, we make big babies. "You're such a good husband."
"You deserve it," I murmur against her temple. I pull back to see her face. "God, do you get more beautiful every day?"
She rolls her eyes, "You just love me pregnant."
"I do," I growl through a grin.
"Soak it all in, honey," she groans, rubbing her lower back. "This is the last one."
As much as seeing my wife pregnant always makes my caveman tendencies come alive, her comfort is always the most important. This is our last baby, so I am trying to enjoy it as much as I can. We've also been spending as much time as we can with Joy, Oscar, and Bennett.
Joy had gotten a little jealous when the boys were born, having to share her Mommy and Daddy.
The boys rummage in their backpacks and show me two books.
"Daddy, we got Goosebumps! "
"Mommy said she used to read it—"
"—all the time when she was my age. She said—"
"—they're scary books, but—"
"—we're not scared!"
My head bounces back and forth between them before they finish together. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I shudder to think what they could accomplish if they ever decide to use their powers for evil. Thank God they have so much of Emerald in them .
While Joy is all me in personality: stubborn, protective of her family, and ready to throw hands at any moment, the boys are all Emerald: sweet, curious, and impossible not to love.
Without them noticing, Joy sneaks up behind them and pops her face right between theirs.
"Boo!" she yells, making the boys jump a foot in the air. She cackles, "What was that about not being scared!"
"Joy!" Bennett shouts, stomping his foot.
Oscar points at her dramatically. "That's not nice."
Joy just laughs harder and then bounces over to Emerald, already taller than her mother, and throws her arms around her.
"Be nice to your brothers, baby girl," Emerald says, smoothing some hair back into Joy's braid.
"I'm not a baby, Mom," Joy mutters, though she's fighting a smile.
Emerald kisses her cheek. "You'll always be my baby. Even when you're fifty."
I watch them with a grin.
If the boys are clones of me, Joy is all Emerald.
Our daughter has been attached to her Mommy ever since she was born. If she was crying, it was one of three things: diaper change, feeding, or she wanted Emerald to hold her.
I remember being so terrified when Emerald was pregnant with Joy. My wife really did sprain her finger flipping me off when I hovered too much. I couldn't help it. Everything was so perfect. Life felt precious. I was terrified I was going to fuck something up, or something was going to happen.
Linda had put it best to ease my worries.
"I think we've already maxed out our trauma quota for the rest of our lives, sweetheart," she'd said dryly. "And if the universe tries anything else, I'll drop a house on it. "
And she was right.
Emerald made motherhood look easy, even though I know better. She's patient, funny, kind, and understanding. A complete marshmallow with them, especially Joy. Half the time, I'm the one who has to step in so they don't take shameless advantage.
Then the twins were delivered by C-section, and I spent half that delivery trying not to come out of my skin. If Linda and Tim hadn't been living right next door in the house we gave them for their anniversary, I don't know how we would've survived those first months.
I definitely didn't sleep more than three hours a night for the first year with newborn twins and six-year-old Joy.
But looking at my family now?
Worth every second.
"You better knock it off, Joy—"
"—yeah, or we'll tell Christopher about your crush on him!"
That wipes the smile right off Joy's face.
Emerald and I exchange a look because it is very much not a secret that our daughter has a giant crush on her best friend's older brother.
"You wouldn't," Joy hisses.
The boys wear matching smirks. "Try us," they stick out their tongues.
I really need to reconsider Ruby babysitting them. I didn't think she would be teaching them about blackmail.
"Knock it off, Sawyers," I bark, three heads snapping to me.
Emerald's leaning back into me, and I guide her over to the bench to get off her feet.
"Sorry," they all chorus.
Joy huffs and stomps off the bench, heading toward Mia and Kelsey.
The boys, meanwhile, settle near Emerald at the bench, already flipping through their new books.
Emerald sinks down with a sigh on the seat, and I kneel in front of her, unlace her boots, and start rubbing her swollen feet through her socks.
"That feels nice," she sighs, hand rubbing her belly. I smile at the sight.
Another little girl. A family of six.
"You should've gone home, baby," I say, not loving how swollen her feet are.
"I wanted to see you and Joy," she says, and the words hit me right in the chest. I take the seat next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we watch the kids on the ice.
"Coach, watch this!"
Mia and Joy skate down the ice, passing the puck back and forth. Mia fakes left the exact way her father would, then shoots and scores.
"Great job, Joy! Nice shot, Mia!" I shout, Emerald clapping from next to me.
Joy whoops, skating over to her best friend, where they do their not-so-secret celebratory handshake. Those two are a dynamic duo out on the ice, and I've already got scouts in my ear talking about legacy.
But Joy and the boys can do whatever they want in this life and be whoever they want to be.
The boys aren't all that interested in hockey, and that's fine by me. They love reading and are doing great in school. Bennett is already a regional spelling bee champion, while Oscar—who inherited my dyslexia—is getting into creative writing.
As long as they try their best, Emerald and I will support them.
"Oh," Emerald says softly, leaning her head against my shoulder. "My mom was going to stop by Hal's grave later. She got a really nice wreath from the garden center."
That makes me smile.
I go to his grave sometimes, just to talk, vent, let out all the feelings I couldn't when he was alive. My children know about him. Joy knows about her Mom's trauma, which we had to explain when she asked about the precautions her Mom takes out in public.
She was extra clingy with Emerald for a while after that.
"I love this," Emerald sighs, looking around the arena we built together. Joy having the time of her life on the ice. The boys giggling together over their books. Then back up to me.
"What?"
"This," she gestures around. "Our life. Our home. Us... Coach Hayden."
My grin widens, and I lean in, brushing my nose against hers.
"You know what it does to me when you call me that, baby."
"Yeah," Emerald says, rubbing her hand over her belly. "And I've got the proof right here."
I laugh and lean in, kissing her soft lips sweetly.
"Mom! Dad! Stop making out! Let's play!"
"Duty calls," I peck my wife's lips once more, before standing and taking off my skate guards.
Blowing the whistle, the team gathers at the center ice.
"Alright, keep it clean," I eye Joy, who shrugs innocently. "Focus on footwork and most importantly—"
Everyone stares, waiting for my expert hockey knowledge.
I smile.
"Have fun."