Epilogue 1 Harper
Seven Months Later
The morning light filters through the oversized windows of our new lakeside home, catching the dust motes that dance over a half-assembled crib.
A quiet, rhythmic sound, the soft scrape of a screwdriver against wood, anchors me to the present.
I lean against the doorframe of the nursery, one hand resting instinctively on the solid, high curve of my stomach.
The baby kicks, a sharp, insistent drumming against my ribs that feels like a private conversation only we’re privy to.
Jaxson is on the floor, his massive frame hunched over a pile of Scandinavian instructions that would baffle a structural engineer.
He’s wearing an old, faded Seattle Knights t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. He looks less like the 'Ice Wall' and more like a man engaged in a life-or-death struggle with a wooden dowel.
Seeing him like this, stripped of the pads and the pressure of twenty thousand screaming fans, still makes my breath hitch in a way that has nothing to do with pregnancy-induced shortness of breath.
"I think the instructions are lying to me, Harper," he murmurs without looking up, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. "There is no physical way this bracket supports the weight of a human being, even a very small one."
I let out a soft laugh, moving into the room with the slow, deliberate waddle I’ve perfected over the last few months. "It’s a crib, Jax, not a reinforced goalie crease. It doesn't need to withstand a hundred-mile-an-hour slap shot."
He finally looks up, and the stern, calculated expression he wears for the media melts instantly.
It’s a transformation I’ve witnessed a thousand times now, yet it never loses its power.
He drops the screwdriver and moves to his feet in one fluid motion, crossing the room to wrap his arms around me from behind.
His large hands splay across my bump, his palms warm even through the fabric of my sweater.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, the faint scent of cedar and expensive coffee enveloping me like a familiar shroud.
"Everything in this house needs to be impenetrable," he says into my neck, his voice dropping into that low, vibrating register that still sends a shiver down my spine.
I lean back into him, savoring the solid weight of his chest against my spine.
My career at Seattle General feels like a lifetime ago.
I still work, but the frantic energy of the ER has been traded for a clinical research role—a choice made for sanity, for stability, and for the tiny life currently using my bladder as a trampoline.
"You’re obsessing again," I tease, turning in his arms to face him. I reach up, smoothing the persistent line between his eyebrows with my thumb. "We’ve got this."
Jaxson goes quiet, a telltale sign that his mind is already three steps ahead of the conversation. He leads me over to the rocking chair we picked out and waits until I’m settled before sitting on the ottoman at my feet. He takes my hands in his, his thumbs tracing softly across my knuckles.
"I’m leaving for four days tomorrow," he says, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure you’re going to be okay?"
“We’re going to be fine.” I smile and lean over to kiss my overprotective husband. “I’m only sorry I can’t travel to New York with you guys.” This is going to be an epic game. It’s the first time my brother has played his former team since being traded to the Knights.
Jaxson’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth. "Ryan is sweating it. And I’m enjoying every motherfucking second of it."
My brother refused to resign with New York and was traded to the Knights in the off-season. He said he wanted to be closer to family. To us. Of course, his relationship with Jaxson is still a work in progress. A very rough work in progress.
"I still can't believe he moved here," I say, and feel the waterworks building up.
"He did it to fuck with me," Jaxson says, standing up and pulling me into his arms. "Now, I have to deal with his ornery ass every goddamn day."
“Thank you.” I lean up and place a kiss on his chin. “For putting up with my brother.”
“I’d do anything for you, firecracker.” He kisses me until I’m breathless. Then we stand there for a long time, looking out over the water as the sun climbs higher in the sky.
The house is full of the things we’ve built together. The isolation that once defined Jaxson’s life has been replaced by a chaotic, beautiful network of loyalty and love. It’s a new frontier, one where the lines between rivals and family have blurred until they’ve disappeared entirely.
The baby kicks again, a forceful nudge as if agreeing with the new arrangement.
Jaxson feels it and laughs, a deep, resonant sound that fills the room.
He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead before dropping to his knees to speak directly to my stomach.
It’s a sight that would ruin his reputation in the league in five seconds flat, and I love him all the more for it.
"You need to go easy on your mom while I’m out of town," he murmurs, his voice thick with a tenderness he only shows to me.
The baby kicks and does a roll that rivals anything a freaking Olympic gymnast could do.
Jaxson presses another kiss to my belly, then shoots me that look. The one that melts me from the inside out. “I love you, firecracker.”
I can’t even roll my eyes. Hormones are straight-up flooding my system, and Jaxson’s voice makes my stomach flip in eight different directions. Damn, he’s sexy as hell when he gets all mushy.
“I love you, too, Jax” I try for sassy, but the words come out all sticky and emotional, so I clear my throat. “Now, let’s get this crib finished before you leave town.”
His grin is immediate. “Yes, ma’am.”