Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
Franky
I woke up tired, sore, and a little anxious. My first sight was Jason and our baby sitting in an armchair by the window, a faint nightlight illuminating them like something out of a Rembrandt. My body relaxed. She was safe.
And why wouldn’t she be, asleep in her daddy’s arms? He was awake—which was probably good because he was less likely to drop her—and was whispering to her. I listened in.
“You have the best timing, Super Kid. So we lost the game last night, but we still have a Game 7 to play. And if we win that one, or should I say, when we win that one, it means you were here to see your daddy lift the Cup. Pretty cool, huh? Also, Harper said you’re the first baby born in the Rebels arena.
You’re already making history and not even twenty-four hours old. ”
He nuzzled his nose against her soft thatch of hair and inhaled her deeply.
“Is she okay?” I asked.
His tired gaze fixed on mine. “Hey, Mama. She’s fine. Got her all checked out and even though she’s a couple of weeks early, her weight’s on the money. Seven pounds, three ounces.”
“I knew she was going to be supersized.” Calling her Super Kid had somehow manifested a giant baby.
She turned her head and opened her mouth, which I knew from my reading was called “rooting,” a sign she was hungry.
I had already fed her once after we arrived at the hospital, and while it took a few tries, we figured it out.
Now Jason brought her to me and adjusted the bed, so I was sitting up.
When he placed her in my arms, my heart burst with all the love I felt for her, and when she latched onto my nipple, the initial pinch soon gave way to warmth and comfort.
“The Rebels lost the game?” I whispered as she suckled away.
“What can I say? I’m indispensable.” He smiled, his tired grin bright in the dark of his beard. “We’ll get ’em next time.”
After she had been fed and burped, he placed her down in the cot beside the bed, then pulled his armchair close to me.
“How are you feeling, Doc?”
“Like I played four back-to-back best-of-seven series and won the Cup. Or at least I imagine this is what that level of tiredness would feel like.” I reached for his hand and squeezed. “I’m ready for that reckoning, if you are.”
“Always, Francesca.”
I blinked away a tear. “Everything you said at the baby shower was right. I’m the weird geek who created a shell, just like my beloved snails, an armor that would keep me safe.
From bullies. From mean girls. From the boys I liked and who never liked me.
From the mother who never thought I was pretty or worthy.
I used my brains to scare off anyone I saw as a threat to my heart.
Even though you offered to be her father, a small part of me wondered, why?
I doubted your motives. And I especially doubted your attraction to me. ”
“For a woman with a genius-level intellect, you’re kind of a dummy.”
I sniffed. “I know. I’m not sure you could ever be that good an actor.”
“Hey now.”
I laughed at his affront. “The thing is, attraction is just that—our bodies telling us another person can make us feel good. Anything more than that requires true chemistry and an alignment of values. You called it mutual respect. Compatibility. You also said that it’s better—all of it—with two.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Not just sex, Jason.”
“I did say that. Sex, parenthood, love. I meant every word.”
I believed him. My nipples were leaking.
My vagina felt like a bomb had exploded.
No doubt I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Yet this man was gazing at me with so much love that none of it mattered.
I could make a mental spreadsheet and outline all the evidence, but for this, I think I needed to take a leap of faith.
Despite all my weirdness, or maybe because of it, this man loved me.
“If it’s better with two, it might be even better with three.” I cast a glance to our sleeping daughter.
“Love that combo.” He applied a soft kiss to my damp forehead. “Love you.”
“And I love you,” I whispered. “Truly, I do.”
“Sure that’s not the endorphins talking?” His voice held a note of doubt, like he was suddenly the one who couldn’t believe.
“If it is, they’ve been chatting away for months.
Since I spied that EpiPen in your pocket.
Since I turned over that cat cushion and saw a cat skull.
Since you brought me home the night of Theo’s party and loved my hurt away.
Those endorphins might even have been whispering in my ear when I saw you give a little girl a handmade bracelet for her birthday and wore the one you made for yourself.
” So, making a list of reasons didn’t hurt.
“The real question is: how could I not love you, Jason? You’re cocky and hotheaded and arrogant and bossy.
But you’re also kind and generous and funny and I’m happy to be darted by you any day of the week. ”
He narrowed his eyes. “Darted?”
“It’s a snail thing.”
“Of course it is.” He lifted my hand and softly kissed my thundering pulse. “Those Boston fuckers have no idea what’s coming their way in Game 7.”
“What’s that then?”
“Utter annihilation. I’m a new dad, a man in love, and a player who’s hungry for that Cup. Besides, we need it to baptize Cammi.”
I blinked. “Cammi?”
“After Cammi Granato, the first woman player in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Just an idea. We can wait, see if it suits her. We just need to decide before my day with the hardware.”
Which he hadn’t won yet. That, and the fact that neither of us was religious didn’t seem to matter. If Jason Isner wanted his daughter baptized in a silver-and-nickel alloy bowl while the Cup made its victory tour this summer, I had no doubt he would find a way—and a priest—to make that happen.
Gloriously in sync, we turned to our daughter and gazed at her with naked adoration. Cammi did have a nice ring to it.
“Will you stay?” I asked, feeling worn out, both mentally and physically. Birthing a baby and finally giving into the love you deserved took a lot out of a woman.
“I’m going nowhere, Doc.”