Epilogue 2 Jaxson
The vibration of my phone on the nightstand is a dull, rhythmic intrusion into the heavy silence of the bedroom.
I’m deep in the ritual of a pre-game nap, my body hovering in that suspended state of relaxation.
Usually, it takes a cannon blast to wake me, but this sound is different.
It’s the specific ringtone I’ve assigned to Harper.
I’m actually expecting her call. It’s her last week of work before her maternity leave begins, so I had a huge arrangement of wildflowers delivered to her office.
I fumble for the device, my eyes squinting against the harsh glare of the screen. I don’t even look at the time. I just swipe the green icon and press it to my ear.
"Jax?" Harper’s voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something sharp and urgent beneath the clinical calm. That wakes me the fuck up. "It’s happening. My water just broke, and things are moving fast. I’m on my way up to labor and delivery."
My heart jumps into my throat. I’m off the bed before I’ve even processed the words, my adrenaline spiking with enough force to make my fingertips tingle.
"I’m coming," I say, my voice sounding thick and unfamiliar. "I’ll be there in five minutes."
I’m halfway down the hall of our lakeside home before I realize I’m still barefoot, clutching a single sneaker like it’s a sacred relic.
I don’t go back for the other one. I even forget to grab my keys from the hook—thank God for the keyless driving app in our new SUV.
I’m a blur of motion, a frantic, one-shoed maniac sprinting toward the garage, my mind racing through a checklist of what we prepared for.
The drive to Seattle General is a frantic haze. In a supreme act of kindness, I call my brother-in-law. “What do you want, dickhead?” His greeting almost causes me to hang up. Fucker.
“My wife is in labor,” I grumble. “Thought you’d like to know.” I hang up on the fucker. Let him do what he wants with the info.
The rest of the ride to the hospital is a haze of afternoon traffic.
After I pull into a spot in the parking garage, I shoot a quick text to my coach, letting him know I won’t be on the ice tonight.
Something much more important has all of my focus tonight.
Then I text Ryan and let him know we’re at the hospital.
He texts back almost immediately that he’ll be over after the game.
I’m tempted to send a snarky comment, but I don’t have the time to fuck with him.
Instead, I send him a thumbs-up and rush into the hospital. I need to get to my girl.
I find her in the delivery suite, her face pale but her eyes fixed on me with a clarity that grounds my spiraling panic.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her knuckles white as she grips the railing.
The room is a quiet hum of monitors and the soft footsteps of nurses who move with a practiced, rhythmic efficiency I usually admire, but right now, they're just background noise to the sound of Harper’s breathing.
"That was fast," she wheezes, her attempt at banter falling short as another contraction ripples through her. "Why do you only have on one shoe?"
I look down at my feet, the single sneaker an absurd testament to my unraveling. "I’m trying out a new look. Very avant-garde. I thought I’d call it ‘first time dad chic’."
I move to her side, sliding my hand into hers.
Her grip is brutal, a crushing force that would make my teammates wince, but I welcome it.
This is my crease now. This is the only save that matters.
I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers, letting my own breathing slow until it matches the jagged rhythm of hers.
"I've got you," I whisper, the words feeling like a vow. "We’re going to do this together."
“Says the man who doesn’t have a buzz saw cutting through his center right this moment.” She winces and grips my hand harder.
The hours that follow are the most grueling game I’ve ever played.
There are no periods, no whistles, no breaks in the action.
It’s a marathon of pain and endurance that makes a triple-overtime playoff game look like a light skate.
I’m not the star tonight; I’m the backup, the anchor, the steady presence she needs when the waves of labor threaten to pull her under.
"I can't," she gasps, her hair matted with sweat, her hazel eyes clouded with exhaustion. "Jax, it's too much. I'm so tired."
I press a cool cloth to her forehead, my heart aching with a third-level intensity I didn't know I possessed. It’s not just love; it’s a profound, terrifying respect. "You can. You're the strongest person I know."
I’m watching her face, seeing the transformation from pain to a raw, primal determination that shatters the last of my defenses.
She isn't just my wife or the mother of my child; she's the person who taught me that life isn't lived behind a mask. She’s the one who turned my empty penthouse into a home, who replaced my cold silence with the noise of love.
“One more push and we’ll meet your little one.” The doctor looks up from her spot at the base of the bed.
“I want a whole box of blueberry scones and a gallon of espresso when this is over,” Harper hisses as she bears down one more time.
Then there’s a cry—a thin, wavering wail that cuts through the clinical hum of the monitors and the heavy pounding inside my skull. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
The doctor moves with a practiced grace, and suddenly, there’s a tiny, squirming weight wrapped in a striped blanket.
When they place her in Harper’s arms, I feel my knees go weak, a sensation of vertigo that has nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the realization that my world has just recalibrated its center.
"Sophia," Harper whispers, her voice a fragile thread of wonder. "Look at her, Jax. She has your chin. Poor girl."
I let out a shaky laugh, reaching out to touch a hand that is no bigger than the tip of my thumb.
The skin is impossibly soft, a velvety texture that makes my calloused fingers feel like sandpaper.
Sophia Thorne. She’s tiny, vulnerable, and completely, irrevocably mine.
In this moment, every shutout I’ve ever recorded, every trophy gathering dust in my office, and every roar of the crowd feels like a hollow echo compared to the solid reality of this child.
I lean over and kiss my wife’s sweaty forehead. “I love you.”
Her answering smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s glowing. Fucking radiant. My heartbeat goes wild in my ears.
“I love you, too,” she whispers, her voice wobbling. “But next time, take the time to grab the second shoe.”
That earns a laugh out of me. Can’t help it. I’m gone for this woman. I kiss her again, softer this time, careful not to crush the tiny, wiggly baby sandwiched between us. Sophia is still making those little newborn snuffling noises, her hands balled into angry fists.
“Hi, beautiful,” I mutter, reaching out to stroke her cheek. I can’t get over how small she is. My pinky’s bigger than her nose. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Sorry about the chin. Maybe you’ll grow out of it.”
Harper snorts. “She’s got your hair, too. Look at that cowlick.”
Our daughter’s hair is sticking up in about six different directions, complete with a little spit-curl on her forehead. It’s the cutest shit I’ve ever witnessed. My chest feels too tight for breathing.
Harper cradles the baby close, her arms trembling from exhaustion, but she’s got that stubborn look I know better than anyone. She kisses Sophia’s head, then turns to me. “You want to hold her?”
Two seconds later, my giant hands are fumbling with the baby, and my heart is hammering so loud I can barely hear the nurse giving instructions. I’m cool and collected, but this tiny, breakable creature is enough to rattle me to the core.
Holy shit. I’m holding my daughter. There’s nothing like this. Not a damn thing. I can’t stop staring at her. She’s wrinkly and kind of pissed off, and honestly? The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, next to her mother.
“Hey, kiddo.” My voice comes out husky. “You wanna come home with us? It’s gonna be loud and weird, and you’ll have to deal with your Uncle Ryan sometimes. Sorry in advance.”
My wife snorts, her smile turning wobbly again. “She’s going to be the most loved baby in the history of Seattle.”
I glance over at Harper. Even after giving birth, she somehow manages to look like the sexiest woman alive. “You’re a goddamn legend, firecracker.”
Harper leans her head against my shoulder. “A legend who needs her sugar and caffeine fix. Nine months without caffeine sucked.”
“I’ve got you covered,” I tell my wife as I pull out my phone and flip to the DoorDash app.
There’s no way I’m leaving my girls right now.
After finishing the order, I sit next to Harper and pull her close to my side.
I stare down at the newborn in my arms, watching her chest rise and fall in a steady, perfect rhythm, and I realize that the man who once lived in a cold, empty penthouse finally has a home that is overflowing with warmth, noise, and love that no rivalry could ever break.
I didn't just make the ultimate save. I finally learned what was worth saving.
THE END
The next book in the series, Penalty Box Kisses is coming soon!