Chapter 14
14
BOUCHER
A week later, Keith trudged through the door after an away game, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Every muscle ached, the sting of blocked shots and hard hits still lingering, but the worst pain of all was the empty space in the stands. He missed them—missed seeing their faces light up when he skated onto the ice, missed the way Constance would cheer a little too loudly, and the girls would bounce excitedly in their seats.
Instead, he had to settle for a picture—a frozen moment in time sent from Constance’s phone. The girls stood in front of the television, tiny arms thrown high in triumph, and on the screen behind them, he could see himself mid-shot, seconds before the puck sailed past the goalie. It should have made him feel connected to them, but it only made the distance feel wider.
Then came the texts.
Bloody his freakin’ nose!
How dare they put you in the box for ten—seriously?
That ref needs glasses…
Gosh, you look sexy in your uniform…
HAHAHAHAHA—I saw what you mouthed on the screen even if they didn’t play the audio. I had no idea you said words like that. You must have been mad.
Okay. You look really hot in your uniform.
Oh my gosh… drop dead sexy.
COME HOME.
I miss you.
I’ll be waiting in the bedroom…
Keith couldn’t help but grin, his exhaustion easing just enough to make his steps lighter.As he quietly opened the garage door, he was met with the soft trill of one of the kittens—a sleepy greeting that was quickly followed by the thunder of tiny paws racing across the hallway toward their scratching pads.
Every night, they did this, unable to contain their excitement, and it was strangely comforting. The girls adored them, doting on them in ways that surprised him. They took care of feeding and water duty without a single reminder.
Litter duty, however, was still his job.
He set his bag down carefully, rolling his shoulders as he stepped further into the house, moving through the quiet darkness—until a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Welcome home…"
The words, spoken in a hushed, sleepy tone, sent warmth spiraling through his chest. A light flicked on down the hall, casting a soft glow around the silhouette leaning against their bedroom doorway.
Constance stood there, arms folded across her chest, his Wolverine's T-shirt hanging loose over her frame, the bold ‘01’ stretched across her torso. She was watching him, and despite the late hour, her eyes were bright, full of something deep and quiet and his .
"How are you feeling?" she asked tenderly, and he knew why. After a game he usually had a few bruises that were terrible looking. Last time, he ended up with a massive green, pink, purplish mark on his side where a puck hit him and she’d flipped out because she didn’t realize how hard it was on the body sometimes.
"Better now." His voice came out rough, tired, but honest. He let his gaze rake over her, drinking in the sight of her waiting there for him. "What are you doing up? It’s nearly midnight, honey."
"I missed you."
Keith exhaled softly, feeling the last remnants of weariness fade beneath the warmth of her presence. "I got your text messages."
"And here I am—in the bedroom," Constance chuckled, shifting slightly to the side in silent invitation.
Keith took a step forward, then stopped suddenly, something pulling at the edges of his memory.
"Hang on."
Her brows pulled together. "What’s wrong?"
"It’s midnight."
"And?"
Instead of answering, Keith crossed the room and reached into the entryway closet, stretching up onto his toes to retrieve something he had tucked away before his trip. He shut the door quickly to keep the kittens from sneaking inside, then turned to face her, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he held out a small package.
Constance blinked in surprise.
"What’s this?"
"Open it," he murmured, stepping into their bedroom and nudging the door shut behind him. His pulse picked up as he watched her fingers brush over the wrapping, hesitant but curious. He suddenly felt self-conscious, almost foolish for doing something so sentimental—but to him, it wasn’t just a gift.
It was a moment.
A memory.
A promise.
Constance perched on the edge of the bed, carefully undoing the ribbon before peeling back the brown paper. As soon as her gaze landed on what was inside, she inhaled sharply, her eyes flicking up to meet his in recognition.
"Happy anniversary," he whispered, his voice tender.
Her brow furrowed. "But it’s not our anniversary," she breathed, the emotion in her eyes making his chest tighten.
"It’s been the best six weeks of my life, and I felt like celebrating."
Her mouth parted slightly, her fingers tightening around the frame in her hands. "What? Oh, Keith…"
"It’s just a little something, you know?"
When they had gotten married, Keith had rushed to buy the newspaper, clipping out the black-and-white photo of them kissing in front of the courthouse. That moment was everything to him—the second his world shifted, the second she became his wife. It had been impulsive, reckless, perfect .
He had framed it then, and now he had written something new on the back, something that had been weighing on his heart since the moment he had left for the road trip.
"Turn it over," he whispered.
She did, her hands trembling, her eyes glistening with unspoken emotion as she read the inscription.
No matter what happens this season or the next, I already won when we said ‘I do.’
~ Keith
A shaky breath left her lips. She swallowed hard, blinking away tears as she lifted her gaze back to his.
"I thought about what you said," he admitted, his throat tightening. "I’m truly happy, and if you want a child with me—I would be honored. I can’t think of a more beautiful way to show how much I love you than creating something that takes the best parts of us."
Her lips parted in surprise, a tear spilling down her cheek. "I wanted to talk to you about that," she whispered, nodding as she wiped her eyes. "I love you so much, love our life, and I think I do want another baby."
Keith let out a breathless laugh, relief crashing over him like a wave. "Oh, thank God," he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Constance burst into laughter at his reaction, shaking her head.
"I didn’t want to be the deciding factor," he admitted, grinning. "And we both know I have such a hard time telling the girls no—can you imagine me with our own baby? My stars, he’s gonna be so spoiled."
"He?" she teased.
"He. She. They," he chuckled, meeting her gaze. "It could be a ‘they’ if we get lucky. If it becomes a ‘them,’ then we might need a bigger house."
"You should have told me you wanted a baby."
"Honey, not every happy ending has to finish with a baby," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. "I’m kind of partial to it being you and me, years and years from now. You know? When I married you, I was in this for the long haul. I still am—and always will be."
Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her gaze before she suddenly smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Get over here," she said playfully, setting the frame aside before launching herself at him.
He let out a grunt of surprise as she tackled him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. She hovered over him, grinning as she braced herself on his chest.
"There are repercussions for being so handsome, so sweet, and so loving."
"Oh no," he teased, voice weak with feigned distress. "Help—but please don’t. Let me suffer whatever punishment my sexy wife has thought up in her head…"
"You are so silly sometimes."
"Because I’m crazy about you, Constance," he admitted, his voice dropping to something softer, rawer. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. "I love you more than you will ever know."
She swallowed, nodding. "I love you too—now, let’s celebrate that anniversary."
"That’s my girl."