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She snorts and I smile. “Good to know.”
“And if it happens, it does.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Our eyes meet as she folds a little jacket, and I say, “We’ll keep looking at surrogates, or maybe look into adopting another.”
Her eyes glaze over. “So, you want more kids?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t know shit about parenting, but I think we’re going to do okay. Shit, Jace could barely care for himself, and he’s got two kids and a wife. He’s actually doing great, too.”
She laughs. “Leave him be. He has always been a good guy.”
“Spoiled.”
She rolls her eyes. “All of you were.”
She isn’t wrong. We had money growing up, but when my dad left us for his new wife, Mom struggled a little bit. We’re not close to my dad, and I think we’re all better off that way. Especially since we have River. He’s a great stepdad. A great man.
“I am having lunch with Tristan after my appointment.”
I nod. “Let me know how that goes too. Have you talked to her since I left?”
“We talk every day,” she says simply. “She’s in pai
n, hates being pregnant. But her due date is Friday, and they think she might go earlier.”
“Hopefully she can wait until I get home.”
“I hope so,” she says, optimistic but excited.
I clear my throat. “So, I think you should give her an out.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “What?”
“Tristan. I was talking to Jace, and he thinks that if she wants an out, we should give it to her. It’s been a lot, Claire. With her leaving that douchebag and then being pregnant, I think she needs to let this part of her life go.”
Claire doesn’t seem to agree. She has that furrow in her brow. “But don’t we want the baby to know her?”
I shrug. “What if he doesn’t? Would it be so bad?”
She blinks as tears gather in her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“We’re still his parents, no matter what we decide, but I think we should respect her.”
She doesn’t look at me; she keeps folding the same jacket. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
At least she’s willing. “Let me know.”
“I will.” But she looks sad. I hate that. I want to wrap my arms around her, smother her with kisses. Hell, try to make a baby. Over and over again. A grin fills my face as I drink in the elegant image that is my wife.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say, and when she looks up, she’s grinning. “I love you. So damn much, and I’m sorry you’re having to pack without me.”
She shrugs, though her grin stays intact. “Part of this hockey wife gig.”
“You’re the best hockey wife ever.”
She beams. “Because I love the best hockey-playing man ever.”
