Epilogue
Valentine’s Day
Aurora
Reece crouches beside the hospital bed and slides my UGGs over my wool socks.
They’re a little snug—my feet still swollen, even after having the baby.
It’s Valentine’s Day and twenty-four degrees outside with sleet and freezing rain.
Eight days have passed, and they’re finally sending us home.
The private maternity suite was comfortable, and the nurses were wonderful, but I’m yearning for my own bed and a long, hot shower.
“I can’t wait to take a bath,” I say dreamily.
“I know, princess. A few more weeks. Your incisions have to heal.” Reece stands and kisses my forehead. “You sound ready to go home.” With a smile, he helps me to my feet, an arm around my waist for support.
“More than ready.” I wince, my sore abdominal muscles protesting the movement, and grip his shoulder for balance.
Eli fusses in the bassinet while Jackson carefully slips a tiny New York Stars jersey over his onesie, the number forty-nine on the back.
“Shh, my baby,” he coos. “You’re okay. I got you.” He brushes Eli’s fist, and the baby’s hand instinctively curls around his index finger. “We’re surprising Daddy.”
I started making Jackson’s and Ethan’s jerseys for Eli, but he arrived before I could finish. This one was custom-made by the team store as a gift for Ethan.
Eli’s eyes blink open, revealing dark-gray irises. A nurse said they’ll most likely change, but I hope they only lighten to the color of Ethan’s. I smooth my hand over his soft hair. He settles, closing his eyes and sucking on his pacifier as if he hadn’t eaten just half an hour ago.
Reece holds my jacket open as I pull it on over my hoodie.
Once Eli is dressed and we’ve taken a dozen photos, Jackson gently places him in the carrier, ensures his hat covers his ears, and tucks the blanket around him.
The doctor says it’s fine for me to lift the baby, but the guys insist it’s unnecessary, since one of them is always with me.
Jax caresses Eli’s round, dimpled cheek with his knuckle. “I still can’t believe how perfect he is.” He gazes at our baby, utterly captivated. “We finally get to take him home. He’s really ours.”
Eli has taken over his entire world. Jackson barely sleeps and returns from practices and games shaking, as if going through withdrawals.
Everything the baby does, he soaks up. He stares at his tiny fingers and toes, touching them with wonder.
I woke from a nap yesterday afternoon, and I swear, he was counting the baby’s eyelashes.
He’s not the only one smitten. Ethan has fully embraced being a dad, hovering like a protective shadow, demanding everyone wash and sanitize their hands, researching the highest-quality formula…
He absorbs every piece of information the nurses share, tracks feedings, and obsessively monitors Eli’s weight gain.
He’s only left the hospital for practices and games, choosing to work from his laptop on a wobbly bedside table.
If it wasn’t for Jackson being on the team, I doubt he’d have left at all.
I overheard him tell Rocco he was considering hiring someone else as General Manager, his gaze darting between me and Eli, anxiety etched between his brows. As soon as we were alone, I shot that down real quick.
“Do you not trust me to take care of Eli on my own?” I asked while Jax and Reece stepped out to grab dinner.
Ethan sat beside me on the bed, watching the baby nurse, his arm around me.
His gaze lifted, his signature scowl in place.
“Of course I do. I trust you explicitly.” His eyes searched mine, his frown deepening.
“You’re doing an amazing job. I can’t believe what you’ve endured to have this baby.
You’re incredible. Did I say something to make you feel differently? ”
“No.” I shook my head. “But why step down as GM? You’ve already given up coaching. Not having control of the team will drive you crazy—no one will ever be good enough.”
He hesitated, his large hand cupping the back of Eli’s head, thumb tracing his jaw and cheek.
“Being away from you—both of you—will drive me crazy. I don’t want to miss a single moment.
” He swallowed hard. “I keep thinking, what if I were traveling when you went into surgery?” His eyes turned glassy.
“What if I’d missed his birth? I needed to be here to make decisions while you were under.
I’m just…” He trailed off, raking his fingers through his hair.
I pressed a kiss to his lips. “Being a control freak,” I finished.
“Brat,” he whispered before returning my kiss. “I’m afraid something will happen, and I won’t be here.”
“You built our entire world from the ground up. We’re safe and well cared for because of you. We’ll be okay—and if something does go wrong, you’ll fix it, no matter where you are.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “I know you will. And you’re going to do amazing things with this team too.”
His fierce protectiveness has reached new heights, and I love him all the more for it, but the baby and I will be fine. We have Reece, Gram, the twins, Lucas, Rocco, Harper, and the entire Rossi family. Jax needs him, and we’ll travel with them once the pediatrician gives her approval.
Reece hands me my hat and mittens, and I glance out the window. Outside, the weather is brutal—icy rain blowing sideways. Hopefully, it will deter the media from bugging us.
“We’re all set, baby girl.” Ethan enters with discharge paperwork and a wheelchair, a wide grin showing off his dimples. He locks the wheels and kisses my temple. “The car is pulled up front, and the twins are waiting.”
“I can walk,” I protest. “I’ve been lying in bed for a week.”
All three men give me identical looks of displeasure.
Ethan shakes his head. “Hospital policy.”
“And my policy,” Reece adds, easing me into the chair. “You just had a baby and major surgery.”
I don’t argue. I’ve learned to pick my battles, and I already know we’re going to war over a cup of dark roast coffee when we get home.
Jackson drapes a thick blanket over the carrier and lifts it. “Is the car seat base installed?”
Ethan and Reece gather our many belongings.
Jax went a tad overboard on baby clothes and gifts—so much, Rocco called Ethan, worried Jax might be manic-spending.
But no, he’d simply bought out a baby boutique someone on the team had recommended.
He hadn’t had time for shopping; he wanted to get to the hospital.
In his defense, the clothes are absolutely adorable.
“Triple-checked it myself—after watching five different YouTube videos to figure it out.” Ethan tosses a bag over his shoulder. “Had to move it twice. Why is it so fucking complicated? You’d think car seat manufacturers and car companies would get together and make these things easier.”
Jackson
A nurse and a middle-aged security guard with a large, protruding belly escort us down to the vehicle. It’s a tight fit in the elevator, a silent ride. It feels like the calm before the storm.
My stomach twists with anxiety and excitement. I’ve never been happier—or more terrified. I have to remind myself my father is dead. Hugo is dead. Our baby is not a threat to anyone. We’re safe. But no matter how many times I repeat it, I only half believe it.
I glance at Ethan. He cups the back of my neck, his thumb caressing my skin. I can tell by the muscle bulging in his jaw he’s feeling the same: overprotective, hyper-focused on our family’s safety.
He gives my neck a squeeze. “We don’t know if there are any photographers out there.”
“There better not be.” I tighten my grip on the carrier handle. My body feels like a live wire, every nerve ending on high alert. “I swear, if someone gets too close, I’m elbowing them in the fucking face.”
The security guard snorts a laugh behind me. “Not that I wouldn’t love to see that, but they’re not allowed on the property. They gather on the sidewalk out front.”
I exhale a sigh of relief, easing some of the tightness in my chest.
He wasn’t lying. When we reach the exit, photographers are lined up along the edge of the street, cameras poised, a cluster of them waiting at the corner. They’re all huddled in winter coats, plastic covering their equipment to protect from the icy rain.
Since our move to New York, the paparazzi have become more curious about our relationship.
They take their photos, make their speculations, and comment on my gameplay, but they mostly keep their distance.
New Yorkers tend not to give a fuck. This is the largest group of photographers I’ve seen—outside the arena.
My breath clouds in front of me before we’re even through the automatic double doors. Des jumps out of the SUV as soon as we exit and opens the back door. Dante grabs the bags from Ethan and Reece and loads them into the trunk.
“Let’s move.” Reece pulls his baseball cap down to hide his face and helps Aurora out of the wheelchair.
On the outside, he prefers to be the anonymous one, the bodyguard, the mystery guy.
Aurora draws her hood up, and Ethan steps in front of us, shoulders squared. Des and the security guard block the other side while Reece makes a beeline for the SUV.
“Jackson! Jackson! How’s the baby?” someone calls out. “Is it a boy or a girl? What’s the name?”
“Fucking vultures.” I angle my body to shield Eli from the cameras and the wind. “What good is a picture of a car seat?”
We’ve all agreed to keep the baby’s photo off social media for as long as we can. It’ll become more difficult as he grows and is seen at the arena, but that’s Reece’s job to coordinate and manage with security. We’re not taking any chances with our family’s safety.
“Um, you’re carrying it, so…” Aurora teases before stepping up into the vehicle, Reece behind her.
Ethan climbs in, and I hand him the carrier. I follow, instantly relieved to be out of the biting cold and away from prying eyes. Des shuts the door, then hurries to the front.