Page 125 of Riding the High

Did you just pay over $800 to have rush hockey jerseys with your name and number made for Ginger and Mabes?

Maybe. Gotta have them wearing my number when we obliterate the Rocket.

NASH

This guy’s a total goner.

I learn from the best.

NASH

I am the best, aren’t I?

I don’t deny Nash’s accusations. I am a goner. And tonight, everyone in this town will know it. Including my beautiful wife.

NASH

FYI, she could wear a jersey lined with gold and you fuckers still wouldn’t beat me.

SARGE

I taught you everything you know.

@Nashyou got everything set for me?

NASH

Yes, bro, I told you. It’s all taken care of. Just show up and do your part.

Also, you fuckers will never beat me. See you at noon.

I breathe out a sigh and mentally make sure I have everything I need for tonight. I grin when I see Wade’s message come through in our private chat.

SARGE

He has no idea we have half his old teammates playing with us?

Not a clue.

SARGE

It’s going to be so fun to beat his ass. Thank God we have help. Fuck, babies are tiring.

You got this, old fella.

SARGE

You’re next.

Hope so.

I turn and pull two jerseys out of their bags, laying them over the back of the couch ready to be packed and taken to the girls. They’re helping out at the Harvest Fest until three, working at Glenda’s booth. She’s become quite the sought-after artisan for all things crocheted or knitted.

When they’re finished, we’re all heading to Nash’s Olympia Sports Center for the game: Pros vs. Townies, the Rematch. Only, the Townies have some surprises up their sleeves. We recruited six of Nash’s former pro teammates, which gives us a fair and fighting chance at kicking their ass this year. I run my hand over one of the crisp white jerseys: “Ashby 18.” The number I wore through my years of hockey and football in high school. Looking at it now unlocks memories of Ginger with CeCe in the stands when I played, reminding me of the way she was always there, cheering me on—always in my corner like I’ve always been in hers.

On the back of both shirts, under the number, is the small patch that says “Daddy’s Girls.” They’re going to fucking love them.

I shake my head in disbelief. Three months ago, I never would’ve guessed I’d visit Vegas for the weekend and find the love of my life in Ginger Danforth. Everything has changed since that trip. Now, instead of thinking about how I’m going to make it through the day, I fucking look forward to it. It’s a thrill never knowing what the day will bring, but always knowing it will be an adventure with her around. The babies I’m ready to start putting into her … fuck, I want that too. The idea of watching her grow with my child does something to me I can’t explain.

---