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“What’s the matter?” I asked, easing onto an elbow.

“I’m a WAG,” she groaned.

I smirked. “Try to sound a little more excited.”

She shook her head and squeezed a pillow against her midsection. “I’ll be surrounded by blonde hair, Lulu Lemon, and screaming toddlers climbing the walls like they’re possessed.”

“Not gonna lie, the kids are sometimes a little out of control. That gentle parenting shit doesn’t work.”

Vera hummed and anxiously fiddled with the tag that poked out of the pillowcase.

“They’ll love you, Sugar.” She raised a brow, knowing I was lying through my teeth. I changed the subject. “When was the last time you seriously dated someone?”

The question seemed to surprise her, despite our earlier conversation. For a second, I thought she would put those walls up again and refuse to answer.

“His name was Jeffery—Jeff for short. We dated all throughout high school and broke up in July before our freshman year.”

“What happened?”

She sighed and started rubbing the tag between her fingers again. “He was supposed to attend Summit University with me. It was pretty serious between us. We were going to get an apartment together. We toured a bunch of apartments and condos, and something started eating at me when he couldn’t commit to a place. He found something wrong with every place—the view wasn’t ideal, the layout was terrible, he couldn’t see himself working out in the gym, the acoustics were off—he just went on and on. He even criticized the ones on his wish list. I thought maybe there was someone else, but that wasn’t it. Come to find out, he had other college plans that he failed to clue me in on. He committed to a business college in London and had no intention of attending Summit. He was stringing me along because he was too much of a coward to confess.”

She laughed bitterly.

“He tried to convince me to go with him. I told him to kick rocks and enjoy the fish and chips.” She shrugged in the muted darkness, and I could tell that confession cost her something—a memory, a disappointment, a reminder that not everyone could be trusted with her heart.

“Have you heard from him since then?”

“He messaged constantly the first year we were separated, but I never engaged. As the years went on, he messaged less and less. I think the last time I heard from him was January.”

“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. But y’all must’ve been pretty serious to be moving in together at 18. What did your parents think about it?”

“They were all for it. They loved us for each other, and I think Jeff crushed both of our families when he took off.”

This was the part where I’d normally say I was glad he abandoned her, but being broken up with less than 24 hours after making it official wasn’t on my bingo card.

“I’m sorry you went through that. I wouldn’t do that to you, but I think eventually, we should have a bigger conversation.”

“About what?” she asked, hitting me with curious eyes. I slipped my fingers through hers and squeezed.

“I’ll be a free agent in two years. My team could extend my contract, I could be picked up by another team, or I’ll retire.”

Her brows met. “Retire? So soon?”

I swallowed hard. “The average NHL career is around five years. I love the game. I do. But my body… some days it feels like I’m held together by tape, adrenaline, and spite. I wake up hurting. I go to bed hurting. I feel like my body is warning me, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like that.”

I looked at her earnestly. “I want to be able to run around with my kids one day,” I said quietly. “I want to be the dad who’s on the floor building Legos, not the one lying back in the recliner because his back is shot. I want to be able to teach them how to skate without worrying my hip will give out.”

Her eyes softened.

“I want to be present. I don’t want to miss things because I’m recovering from a hit or another surgery.” I cleared my throat when my voice dropped. “I want a life after hockey. A real one that I’m not limping through.”

I didn’t say the rest. I didn’t say that I pictured her in that life, and that the thought of a future without hockey felt less terrifying because I’d have her.

She leaned in and rested her head on my shoulder. “Thanks for putting that in perspective for me. I wouldn’t have ever guessed you were living with that kind of pain. You hide it so well,” she whispered. “You deserve a life that doesn’t hurt every day. You deserve mornings where you wake up without bracing for pain, and you deserve to run around with your kids and not worry about what part of you might give out.”

She paused, sat up, and searched my face. “And if retiring is what gets you that future… then I support you. You’re more than hockey, Hartford, and you don’t have to destroy yourself to prove it. I just have one request.”

“What’s that?” I asked, leaning down to kiss her.