I couldn't see properly through the tears. "We have a daughter."
Julian was crying too. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine." She had ten fingers and ten toes and she was breathing. I wrapped her in my jacket and placed her on his chest.
Our daughter's cries filled the driveway and she waved her tiny fists as she scrunched up her face.
Julian hugged her. "Look at you. Couldn't wait another single minute, could you?" He stroked her hair."It’s dark like yours."
"Her eyes might be yours." I touched her cheek with one finger. "We'll find out with time."
I gathered them both and carried them inside. My legs were unsteady in a way they hadn't since my first professional game. In our bedroom I settled them on the bed and covered them in blankets before climbing in beside my mate.
"She's so tiny," I said.
"But those lungs." Julian was wincing with every laugh. "The whole street heard her."
"I delivered our baby in full hockey gear."
Julian laughed and our daughter startled at the sound. "What do we call her?"
We'd never decided but one name was at the top of our list. "Darcy?"
Julian nodded.
My phone buzzed with a text from Raul.We won 3-1. Everyone okay?
She's here. Her name is Darcy. Both dads are fine.
Thirty seconds later, Coach messaged.Congratulations. Take the week.
I placed the portable bassinet on the bed and we lay on either side of it watching our daughter sleep. I was hopelessly, completely in love with her in the way I hadn't known was possible until approximately forty-five minutes ago.
I reached across the bassinet and found my mate’s hand.
"We're parents," Julian whispered.
SEVENTEEN
JULIAN
Four years ago I was a dog walker who'd tangled a grumpy goalie in a knot of leashes and thought about him for three days afterward.
Now I was lacing up ice skates in an empty arena while our almost four-year-old daughter demonstrated her backward crossovers on the ice and Renard watched her with the expression he reserved for things he loved most.
In all the years we’d been mated, Renard had never gotten me on the ice but now that our daughter was taking lessons and had been begging me to learn, I’d finally agreed.
"Ready?" My mate crouched to check my laces, tugging them snug with the efficiency of someone who'd been doing this since childhood.
"As ready as I'll ever be." I tested my weight on the blades.
"They feel very wrong."
"They'll feel right once you're on the ice. Trust me." He kissed my temple. "But I've got you."
Darcy had been asking me to learn. Every week she came home from her skating lesson with new things to show us, and every week she'd look at me with those gray eyes and say, "Papa,come on," and every week I'd found a new excuse until I ran out of them.
Renard had arranged the arena for the three of us. It was a full hour with no audience. It was just us, the ice and the overhead lights. It was the kind of thing he did without making a production of it.
