Page 60 of Much Ado About Hockey

The first score of the game.

And with it, a new nickname for the golden boy, the captain of the Wolverines.

Captain Pimples.

Jett bit back a grin, his chest swelling with pride as he skated alongside his line. Savage wasn’t going to forget this moment anytime soon—and Jett couldn’t be more delighted. He had a new weapon now, a fresh angle, and he wielded it with the kind of gleeful precision that only a truly shameless chirper could manage. He tossed zit jokes left and right throughout the game, each one more ridiculous than the last, knowing full well how much it rattled the other bench. The laughter, the snickers, the gasps—they were fuel.

It was shaping up to be one of those perfect days, one he would never forget.

A great day.

A great moment.

And what felt like the beginning of an incredible forever with Karen and this new team.

Even as he moved across the ice, legs pumping, vision sharp, his mind wandered for the briefest of seconds. He imagined Karen laughing, imagined her hand pressed to her growing belly someday, the way she’d look holding their baby. The way their child might have her smile or maybe his eyes. He thought about all the ways he wanted to show her love—not just in words, not just in bed, but in every second they were together. He wanted to win the Stanley Cup just so they could have baby photos taken with a cute little baby tooshie peeking out from the top of the cup.

Getting fired, married, and hired—had been the ultimate hat trick from the universe, but he was the one who won it all in the end.

“And I wouldn’t change a thing,” he grunted through clenched teeth, sending the puck flying across the ice with a clean, hard slap. It soared, spun, and found its mark—another point on the board.

“I’m in love with my wife,” he said aloud, not caring who heard him, not caring how it sounded. His voice was a vow. A celebration. “And she wants my baby. We’re gonna have the cutest baby with an adorable butt.”

“You’re weird, dude,” Coeur laughed. “I thought I was bad, but I think you take the cake.”

And Jett shrugged, grinning at his teammate whom he knew understood only too well. Barrett Coeur’s wife was pregnant. There would be plenty of cute baby booties racing around in their lives – especially considering he’d been voted to have Thanksgiving at his condo.

Maybe I should tell Karen about that sooner rather than later.

As the roar of the crowd rose around him and the bench erupted in cheers, Jett glanced over his shoulder toward the stands.

There she was.

Karen stood with that glowing smile he’d never get enough of, blowing him a kiss and waving like she was the only person in the arena who mattered—and she was.

In that moment, everything else faded away.

The scoreboard.

The chirping.

The game.

All he could feel was her love—and the certainty that he’d won more than a match tonight.

Life was good.

EPILOGUE

The soft humof the city stretched beneath her like a lullaby, twinkling lights flickering across the skyline as though the stars had spilled down and settled among the buildings. Karen stood on the balcony, the crisp night air cooling her heated cheeks.

Behind her, the faint echoes of laughter and clinking dishes were fading; the door now closed after the final wave of goodbyes. The chaos of Thanksgiving, so full of warmth, noise, and love, had finally ebbed, leaving only the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat, the weight of her full belly, and the soothing touch of silence.

“Well, that went over better than I thought,” Karen admitted aloud, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned against the balcony railing. Her hand instinctively rested against the swell of her stomach, her fingers moving in slow, absent-minded circles over the stretched fabric of her dress. Inside, the memories of the evening played like a favorite movie—plates stacked with more food than reason would allow, shrieks of laughter from the kids chasing each other down the hall, and Jett insisting on passing around a bowl of Tums with each serving of pie like it was a treat or some sacred family tradition.

Her heartburn had been relentless. Sharp, fiery bursts that caught her off-guard at all hours, making sleep elusive and meals feel like a gamble. The doctor had reassured her—nothing to worry about. The books she’d devoured said the same. And the old wives’ tales? They claimed her discomfort was the sign of a baby born with a glorious mane of hair.

She chuckled to herself, thinking of Jett’s mother and her own story—that she'd endured the same searing heartburn only to deliver a perfectly bald baby boy with the roundest, softest head imaginable. That bald baby now stood tall and broad-shouldered in their kitchen, still the center of attention, still making her laugh even when she didn’t feel like smiling.

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