“Why aren’t you playing with Daddy?” Zeke asks, glancing at the seat next to Nova with Ashton. “Daddy always says how he lets you play with his stick. How it’s so much bigger and better than yours.”
Ashton chokes on his drink, coughing, and clears his throat.
I’m holding back my laughter, as is Nova.
“Hockey stick,” Ashton quickly corrects my son. “I like to play hockey with Luca and sometimes he lets me borrow his hockey stick because now that he plays for the NHL, I can say that I’ve played hockey with—you know what, never mind,” Ashton grumbles, realizing that he’s practically arguing with a preschooler and digging himself deeper. “Your daddy is a better player than I am. He made the big leagues. I still play for the college team.”
Zeke eyes him skeptically. “You suck?”
I try not to laugh along with Nova and the others nearby who overhear him.
“Zeke, that isn’t a nice thing to say,” I reprimand him, but he shrugs and climbs from Nova’s lap to Ashton’s, as if that somehow makes up for his lack of remorse.
When I glare at Zeke, he grumbles under his breath, just like Luca.
“Sorry,” Zeke apologizes, and I’m not quite sure that he means it, but Ashton ruffles his hair.
“It’s okay. No offense taken.”
Zeke has gotten so big, I can’t believe he’s only four, but I swear he’ll be ready for college in a few years with the teenager attitude starting. I suppose when you live in a house full of hockey players, you pick up some of their mannerisms.
At least he’s not cursing, fighting, or shoving other kids his age. And the kid loves ice hockey and skating. He’s already a better skater than me on the ice.
It’s embarrassing.
After the game, we wait for Luca to finish the press conference before meeting up with him. He’s showered, dressed, and looking handsome as ever in his black sweater and dark denim jeans.
Wren is asleep in my arms, curled up against me, and Ashton is carrying Zeke, who is still wide awake well past his bedtime.
“Daddy!” Zeke squeals when he sees his father and climbs out of Ashton’s arms.
Luca puts his duffel bag on the floor and bends down, holding his arms out for his son. “Did you have fun watching the game?”
“You did great, Daddy. You were so fast on the ice. You went zoom! Zoom!”
Luca chuckles. “Someone is going to be hard to put down to bed tonight,” Luca jokes and kisses Zeke’s cheek, lifting his little guy into his arms. “How are my girls?”
“I’m fine,” Nova says, though she knows he’s asking about Wren and me. She’s being downright cheeky tonight.
Luca smiles and gives Nova a hug. “Glad to hear you’re fine, too. But I was asking about my wife and daughter.”
“We’re good,” I say, keeping my voice quiet and low as to not startle Wren. Although somehow she’s learned to sleep with Zeke’s outbursts and squeals.
Luca leans in, capturing my lips with a heated kiss that stirs my insides awake and tingly. Slowly, he pulls back, a wry smile crosses his face. “We won tonight,” he says.
I swear, even after he’s spent hours on the ice, every game they win, he’s got an extra boost of energy. It’s probably the adrenaline, or maybe it’s the fact he scored a goal tonight that has him beaming.
“Do you want me to take Wren?” he offers as I hold our little one.
He’s been a doting father, always there, always helpful. He even legally adopted Zeke, which is amazing and puts my mind at ease. If anything should happen to me, Zeke and Wren will be cared for by Luca.
“I need help getting her winter coat on,” I say. It’s more of a winter snow suit and Luca hands Zeke back to Ashton, who decides to wiggle right down his arms and then take Nova’s hand.
Luca helps me slip the snowsuit on Wren, and he zips it up while I hold her. Our baby girl is still sound asleep by some miracle. It’s also late. I still can’t believe Zeke is wide awake; he’ll be a terror tomorrow if he doesn’t get enough sleep.
“Let me carry her for you,” Luca offers.
“You’ve got your duffel bag to take to the car.” I’m not offering to carry his heavy ass luggage.
