by Lainey Davis
Juniper keeps talking, saying, “The bride and groom were pretty clear that they don’t want a drawn-out ceremony. Their engagement lasted long enough. So anyway, really the only required parts are that you each agree to marry one another and then I can do some declaring…but do you want to say anything? Vows off the cuff?”
Emma nods. She’s a writer. I should have expected that she’d have something magnificent to say, but I’m unprepared to hear her start telling me, “Thatcher Stag, you started out as such a cad. But I then saw through the chinks in your inked-up armor, and boy. Do I like what I found in there.” She dabs at her eyes. “When you open your heart up to me, when you tell me all the things that frighten and inspire you, all the things that bring you joy…I want to be with you. I want to be the arms that hug you, the whispering voice of reassurance, the nagging wife who begs you to get your hair cut so I can see your beautiful grey eyes.” She reaches out and strokes my cheek gently. “I know I’m not very good at staying calm or dealing with my fear when I don’t feel in control, especially about my health. But I know that you’re here for me, to keep me safe and to make sure I get all the help I need from the people who know how to give it. I’m so excited to make a life with you, Thatcher, as your friend and your partner and your wife.”
I lean in to kiss her but she tilts her head back. Juniper whispers that I’m not supposed to do that until I’ve at least verbally agreed to marry Emma. “Well,” I say, “It’s really hard to follow that. All I know is that you’re brilliant, Emma. I mean that in every sense of the word. There is a brilliance that shines from you and it inspires me. I told you, you’re my muse. I want to live up to your light so I don’t seem dim beside you. You make me better, stronger, and a more complete person. I was wading around in a sea of bad choices before I met you, and you reached down and pulled me into this lifeboat. You’ll make me the luckiest man around if you let me be your husband, Emma Cheswick. I love you with every cell of my body, and I love even more that you’re so bravely growing this new life for us.” I have to stop then because I’m about to cry and I feel a knot in my throat that chokes me. I let the tears flow, because fuck it. If a man can’t cry at his own wedding, well…fuck it. “I just love you, Emma. And I know I mess up a lot, but as soon as I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I wanted that to get started. Right away. You’re the best gift I ever got, and I’m so excited to get out of the snow and take you home as my wife this Christmas.”
And then I don’t wait for Juniper, but I lean in and kiss my girl. I pull her close against me, letting my lips meld with hers, until we feel like one being. Emma pulls back with a slight gasp and drops her hands to her belly. “Mr. Stag,” she says, beaming, “I just felt Prince Duke kick!”
“My kid has much better timing than me,” I say, dropping a hand to her belly, wanting him to know I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.
Juniper declares us husband and wife and my family erupts into cheers. I lean in again and kiss the hell out of Emma until Ty rips down the mistletoe and starts shaking it in my face. Emma laughs and shakes her shoulders. Her teeth start to chatter and I kiss her once more. “Come on,” I tell her, yanking her toward the house. “Let’s go inside, Mrs. Stag. Alice made cake.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later
TY
Someone throws me a water bottle after the final buzzer sounds. Game seven of the Cup final, here in Pittsburgh, and we won 2-0. I know I’ve won a cup before, and I’ve played thousands of hockey games in my career, but knowing this is the last one, I’m real worked up. Everything seems to slow down as I look around the arena. I hear the roar of the crowd, see my teammates clapping each other on the back. My coach comes out and pulls me in for a hug, saying, “I’m really gonna miss you around here, Stag.”
“Thanks for giving me a chance, Coach,” I say, clapping him on the back.
“Sure you won’t change your mind about this?” I shake my head, then, and he sighs, walking away to the crowd of ecstatic fans.
I know I should take off my helmet and talk to the press, but I want to keep it on for just one more minute, savor these last seconds as a pro hockey player. The guys in suits come out on the ice, rolling out the little carpet they put down so nobody drops the Cup. There’s a squad of guys wearing special white gloves and they present the cup to our captain, who immediately skates over and hands it to me. Me!
I’m the first one to get to do my victory lap hoisting up the Cup. I toss off my helmet then and make my way around the rink. I pause beneath the box, where my family is pressed against the glass, going wild. Thatcher is up front, holding their tiny baby, Wesley. He came a little earlier than they were expecting, but Wes and Emma are both doing great. Well enough to come to a night time hockey game, anyway. I shake the cup in their direction, and see Tim gesturing for Juniper to come down.
He sure as hell better help her get down here. At 38 weeks pregnant, she’s still rowing every day on the rowing machine, so she’s no slouch. Even if I do have to hand her the handles, since she can’t reach around that Stag-baby belly. But I can’t have my pregnant wife slipping on the ice. Then I remember that Alice is pregnant, and Tim probably won’t want to leave her alone up there. He gets extra nuts about safety when Alice is pregnant. We’ve been teasing the hell out of him, getting all anxious again right after he started to calm down. I frown, wondering who is going to give JJ a hand, and then I see my father helping my wife down the stairs. That makes me smile. I’m glad he’s here with us this time to see me win the Cup. Mom would like that. Ted should be around for all these moments. Hugging all these Little Stags.
I finish out my lap and hand the cup off to the next guy, staring around the arena at all the fans, who are waving flags and pumping their fists as they shake their Fury jerseys, many of them with my name on the back. I never thought anything would top this feeling—being part of the best team in the entire pro hockey league. But this doesn’t even compare to how I feel when I see my pregnant wife smiling at me from the entrance to the ice.
I know the team is going to ask me to say something about my retirement, and I make my way over to help her out to the podium before they hand me the microphone and ask me to comment about my choice to quit hockey at 29 when I’ve never even had a major injury.
I pull my wife in closer and she doesn’t even wince at the smell of me in my gear or my sweaty jersey. The reporter makes his way over to us, asks rapid-fire questions, and hands me the mic. “Look,” I say. “Hockey has given me so much. When I was a young kid in trouble, hockey gave me an outlet for my anger and my grief. Hockey brought me home to my family and let me experience teamwork.” I give JJ a squeeze. “But this woman right here? She’s growing my son. And this is my whole world right now. There’s nothing more important to me than being here for them.” I drop a kiss on Juniper’s cheek, thinking about how proud I felt when she won Olympic gold, but how hard it was for me to get away to be there for her when she hit that milestone. I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of our father; I don’t want to miss one difficult or one joyful moment of this family life. “I want to make Team Stag my priority, and I truly hope my fans can appreciate how much that means to me.”
Juniper starts to shuffle off the ice with me, but I’m still in my skates, so I bend down and scoop her up to thunderous applause from the crowd. She nuzzles her nose into my neck and says, “I thought you were going to talk about your long-term plans to coach at-risk kids?”
I shrug, setting her down on safe, dry ground. “There’s time for that later,” I tell her.
I look ahead down the hall and see security escorting my family down to greet me. My entire family—my father, my grandmother. Both my brothers. Their babies. Everyone in the world who matters to me is right here, together. I pull everyone in for a group hug, and smile. The Stag Family is cranky and loud and up in each other’s business, and every bit of it feels perfect. Together, we have come so far. And right now? The Sta
g Family is exactly where we need to be.
THE END
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And for now…here's a teaser for
Deep in the Pocket: A Football Romance
He's her research partner…
but what happens if they learn more than they bargained for?
"All right, folks. Here comes your least favorite part of the semester. Research projects." There is a collective groan and Matt holds out his hands. "With partners. I know, I know. It's awful. But this is life." As people begin to complain, Matt continues. "There isn't a career in statistics that will not involve collaborative research. And there isn't a research project you'll encounter in life where you won't want to fire someone on your project team."
Matt pulls out a jar of slips of paper. He makes a joke about the odds being in our favor, and starts to pull out pairs of names. I don't recognize anyone in this class, so I can't do anything other than calculate the probability of my being partnered with Talon…until I hear him call my name. "Serena Sanders?" I raise my hand. He nods. "Let's see. You'll be working with…" there's a pause as he rummages in his jar of names. And of course, he says, "Talon Kelly. Well, you're already sitting near each other, so at least you don't have to move!"
A few minutes later, the pairs are assigned and we are turned loose to exchange contact information and make a plan for the research project. I sigh and start smoothing out my hair. It's long and straight, and I usually keep it back in a ponytail while I'm working, but today I wore it down. I wanted to look my best, so I actually blew it dry this morning.
I realize how stupid that is, to get all dolled up for my stats professor, but I can't help it. I'm totally starstruck. I sigh and scoop up my notebook, turning around to face Talon, who is still sitting sprawled in his chair, bulging arms crossed across his chest that seems to be bursting out of his tight SCU t-shirt.
Neither of us says anything for a bit, but eventually he says, "you going to give me your phone number? Invite me back to your place to research, baby?" He winks.
"Jesus, Talon. Does this crap actually work for you? You think I'm going to sleep with you and then do the entire research project myself?"
He laughs. "I know you're going to sleep with me, baby. I've seen you looking at the Claw."
I start stuffing my books back into my bag and huff at him. "You're referring to yourself in the third person now, is that it? Of course I'm looking at you, Talon. You're limping around like the bionic man. You don't exactly blend in."
He reaches out for my arm, his fingertips surprisingly soft on my skin below my own SCU t-shirt. "All right, all right. I'll grant you that. Hey. Why do you look familiar?" He furrows his brow while he looks at me. "Did we already sleep together? Is that it? Is that why you're so huffy?"
"You are absolutely disgusting, Talon Kelly. No. I have not slept with you." I rip a sheet out of my notebook and write down my cell number and email address, and slam it into his chest. "Get in touch when you're ready to get serious about this project. This class is important to me."
He chuckles softly and looks at my info. I hate that I keep staring at the blond-streaked curls sticking out from his backward ball-cap. His hair grows in tight ringlets that I've seen on the jumbo-tron, stuck to his forehead with sweat when he pulls his helmet off during games. I remind myself that nobody that good looking is ever going to be a kind person. I storm out of class before it's over.
I'm halfway back to my apartment before I realize I've missed the discussion and homework assignments.
~~~
"Oh, are you awake, Sanders?" A deep voice comes from the doorway. Talon walks into the room and I instinctively pull the covers up to my chin. He looks completely normal, apart from the knee brace. Meanwhile, I feel like I got hit by a truck. "Hey, easy. I'm not going to jump your bones. But I do have to go soon. I've got PT in a little while." He hands me a bottle of water from the pocket of his sweatpants and crutches over to the bed.
I ask him, "What happened last night? I…got carried away."
He laughs at this. "You sure did! I never saw anything like it. Usually, drunk girls are desperate to get into my bed. You fought me pretty hard."
I drink the water, waiting for him to explain. He starts to tell me how he ran into Alissa and me at the bar after I'd had half a pitcher of margaritas. He and his roommates had come in for a six-pack, and I'd begun shouting at him. "You were blaming me for whatever it was that led you to your sorry state," Talon says, still laughing. "Alissa invited you both up to the apartment to watch Spaceballs with us. She and Smith excused themselves to his bedroom and, well…"
"Talon Kelly, if you tell me you took advantage of me while I was blackout drunk, I swear to God--"
"What? Fuck no." He seems really insulted, and explains that I'd spilled nacho cheese all over my clothes during the movie. "I threw your stuff in the wash and gave you my shirt, gave you my damn bed, and slept on the couch. Knee brace and all."
I feel my flush return. As if to drive home his point, he begins to unwrap something he had hanging from one of his crutches--a grocery bag with my jeans and shirt inside. I feel sheepish, and look down. "Thank you," I say, my voice soft as I try to hide behind my hair.
Talon reaches a hand forward and brushes my hair aside, and I am taken aback by the kindness of his gesture as much as the rush of heat I feel where his skin touched my face. His blue eyes go dark as he asks, "What had you so worked up yesterday?"
I exhale and shake my head. "It's too humiliating."
"What? More humiliating than spilling nacho cheese all over yourself when you could have been banging the quarterback?"
I throw the empty water bottle at his chest and pull the covers over my head. He persists. "Hey, Serena, I am fresh from surgery and slept on a sofa a foot shorter than me. You owe me your tale of woe."
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