Page 66 of One Pucking Heart

Three minutes left in the game and we’re still tied, two to two. It’s been a stressful back-and-forth game with both opponents equally matched with talented players.

“If this goes into overtime, I may die.” The words leave my mouth before I think about their ramifications. The utter horror on Ari’s face causes me to chuckle. “It’s a joke, my love.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not a funny one, Ma.”

Two minutes left.

“Come on!” Ari and I cheer in unison.

One minute left.

“Please sweet baby Jesus. Come on, baby!”

Tears stream down my face, and a cluster of emotions swell within. I’m so proud and anxious and worried and hopeful and in agony all at once. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I pray for a win for the Cranes. “Come on. Come on.”

I cry and scream through the contractions openly now, the sound muffled by the roar of the crowd. Every fan in the arena proudly displaying their navy and white Cranes attire has been dreaming of this moment for years. It’s been decades since this organization has won the cup.

Thirty seconds left.

The Cranes have possession. Cade races down the ice, a Vancouver player by his side. Bash breaks free of his defender and rushes the man on Cade, slowing him down just enough to give Cade an opening. His stick smacks the puck, and it slices in the air toward Beckett, who has a defender blocking him. Beckett turns toward the boards, and faster than I’ve seen him skate, he spins around his defender. Shards of ice fly around him as he circles the Vancouver player until he’s between him and the puck.

Beckett stops the moving puck with his stick and, without a moment’s hesitation, slaps the puck toward the Vancouver goal. Halko, the goalie, lunges toward the corner of the net, his gloves missing the puck as it whips by and hits the back of the net.

The buzzer sounds, and the stadium explodes.

Ari and I jump up and down, hugging one another as tears fall. The roar of the crowd is so loud the stadium vibrates. The Cranes rush on the ice and fall over one another in a giant huddle of celebration. Sobs wrack my body as overwhelming joy fills me up. I can’t even imagine what Beckett is feeling at this moment.

“Are you okay?” Ari asks, concern lining her features.

I continue to jump, crying hysterically and holding my belly. “Never better!”

She smiles and celebrates with me.

Beckett looks up at the box and holds his arm up with his pointer finger in the air, looking like the happiest man in the world. I hold up my pointer finger, and with a huge smile on my face, I yell, “Number one, baby!”

The giant silver cup is brought out onto the ice and handed to Beckett. He raises it over his head and roars, skating in a circle, hyping the fans up.

I’ve never been in a place with this many happy people, and the energy is out of this world. I hope someone is taking lots of pictures of my man holding that cup over his head because this is a moment I want to remember for the rest of my life. Not that I could ever forget it.

Another contraction hits, and this time the pressure is so strong it feels like my butt is going to explode. I remember that sensation from Ari’s delivery, and her arrival came shortly after.

I grab her arm as I double over in pain. “We gotta go. Come on.”

As we hurry to my car, I call Iris and tell her to get Beckett to the hospital as fast as possible. I couldn’t risk sending Ari through the excited crowd to tell him. It might take too long. This baby is coming soon, and as much as I love this place and the people in it, I’m not having my baby here.

The pressure grows as Ari races toward the hospital, and I’m starting to wonder if I waited too long to leave. The front seat of a car isn’t high on my delivery location list either.

She swerves into the emergency room circle drive. A hospital employee in scrubs comes out to meet us. Ari jumps out of the car.

“She’s having a baby like right now.”

In a matter of seconds, I’m in a wheelchair being pushed to the labor and delivery unit. The louder I am through my contractions, the faster the employee pushes me.

A nurse helps me into a gown, and then I’m on the hospital bed. The on-call doctor comes in and does a quick check. “You’re fully dilated, fully effaced, and I feel the head. It’s time to push,” she says.

“No. I can’t. Not without my husband. We have to wait.”

“We can wait a few minutes, maybe, but that baby is coming whether we’re ready or not.”

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