Page 65 of One Pucking Heart

I lift my arms, cradling his face in my hands. “I’m so proud of you. You deserve this. You have worked your entire life for this. Just go and do what you do. You got this. The Cup is yours.”

He blows out a breath. “It’s ours. We got this.”

“You do.”

“I love you so much.” He kisses me.

“I love you. Now go get that cup.”

Bending down, he kisses my belly, “for good luck” as he’s been doing since my pregnancy belly popped out. He stands, kisses me again, and hurries out.

As soon as he’s gone, I close the door and groan into my arm as another contraction hits.

This is not happening. The little cherub that’s been happily bouncing on my bladder for months has refused to come out. Today marks ten days past my due date. My doctor has wanted to induce me for a couple of weeks now. Apparently, as a forty-one-year-old, I’m basically geriatric and considered high-risk in the pregnancy world. There hasn’t been a time these past two weeks that would’ve been convenient, given the playoff schedule. We figured the baby was holding out until after tonight, when this would be over. But no, he or she was waiting until daddy was in the midst of his lifelong dream to join us.

I stand tall and rub my enormous belly. “Please give me this.”

I realize begging my unborn child to wait a little longer is pointless, but I’m doing it anyway. My husband will not miss seeing his first child born. He will also not miss the last period of the Stanley Cup finals, and neither will I. I’ve grown to adore the Cranes organization and everyone here. The past year has been the best year of my life, and in part, I have these people to thank. They’re my family now. I want to see our guys win the Cup as much as anyone. More importantly, I want to see Beckett’s face when they do.

I pull out my phone and text Ari, who is sitting with the Feldmores and Iris, and ask her to meet me in the team’s VIP box. The box is reserved for special guests of the coach and owners of the organization. But given it has glass that I can hide behind, it is where I will be.

Ari is standing outside the door to the VIP area when I get there. “Mom, are you okay? Are you in labor?”

“Yes,” I answer, and her mouth falls open. “I have been all game, but the contractions are starting to get intense. So I need you to get word to Beckett that I’ll be in the box for the last period. Do not tell him I’m in labor. Just say my feet are swollen, and I’m going to sit up here. It’s a story he’ll buy, considering how swollen my feet have been, and this VIP area has the most comfortable cushioned seats.”

I bear down as another contraction hits. It consumes me with an intense wave of agony from my toes to my scalp.

“Mom. You need to go to the hospital. I’ll go with you.”

“No! I’m staying. I can make it another twenty minutes.”

She huffs out a breath. “That’s with no stops or overtime. You know we’re currently tied with Vancouver, right?”

“I can do this. Labor takes hours and hours. Just please tell Beckett where I am. He’ll worry when he doesn’t see me, and I don’t want it to affect his game.”

“Okay, then I’m coming back up here and sitting with you, and if a baby’s head pops out between your legs, I’m taking you in.”

“Deal.”

I barge into the VIP box and quickly relay the current situation before another contraction hits. Though with my sweat-glistened face and giant protruding belly, I think my predicament is pretty obvious.

Coach Albright’s ex-wife stands from an oversized leather chair. “Here, take my seat. I’ll grab one of the chairs over there.”

“Thank you,” I say, grateful for the comfortable place to sit. I heard the coach’s ex-wife wasn’t the nicest lady, but she got my stamp of approval.

The guys are getting in their positions. The period break is over. The referee stands in the center of the ice, ready to drop the puck. Bash stands in the face-off spot, waiting for the puck to fall. Beckett looks up at the box, and his face breaks into a smile when he sees me. I plaster a grin on my face, give him a thumbs-up, and blow him a kiss.

My heart melts at the sight of him, and I beam with pride. I love my husband so much. I truly don’t like to think about how it felt to live a life without him because it feels as if he were always meant to be mine. Two minutes into the game, Ari joins me in the box. I do a double take when I notice Bash’s jersey number across her chest. “Why are you wearing Bash’s jersey?”

She looks down at her attire as if she had forgotten what she was wearing. “Oh, I didn’t really even think about the number. I forgot all my Cranes clothing in my apartment, so I picked one up in the store downstairs before the game started. I just grabbed the first jersey in my size.”

“Oh, okay,” I say before another contraction consumes me. Ari grabs a pillow from the sofa in the back of the suite and stands in front of me, blocking me from view, as I scream into it. I don’t know why yelling like a madwoman helps the pain, but it does. I don’t spare a glance to my side to see what I’m sure are looks of abject terror on the faces of my suite mates because every second that I’m not consumed with pain has to be spent watching the game.

“If you go to the hospital, you can get an epidural to help with the pain, Mom. Beckett will understand.”

“No,” I cry. I want to see him win this. I wave my hand through the air. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m quite positive I’m past the epidural stage. I’m sure I’m too dilated. Looks like I’m doing this the all-natural way.”

Having this baby without modern medicine to reduce the discomfort wasn’t part of my birth plan, but I’m not surprised it’s going this way. This is Beckett’s child, after all, and it is going to do exactly what it wants.

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