Page 133 of Make the Play

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After all the chaos of foam darts, ketchup waffle crimes, and a four-year-old warlord demanding to be carried to bed like royalty, the house has fallen into a blessed silence. Which isgreat, apart from the fact I’m now fully aware that we still haven’t heard back from Jake and Charlie. Something sharp twists in my gut, but I try to ignore it.

I’m curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath me, when Chase comes in from the kitchen. He hands me a glass of wine and plops down beside me with a beer in hand.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I murmur, “but you’re weirdly good at this.”

“At babysitting?” He cracks the cap on his beer. “Please. I play professional hockey. I thrive in chaos.”

“Yeah, well, the chaos thinks you’re its king. Meadow told me she’d marry you if I don’t.”

He grins. “I said I’d consider it if she added dental insurance.”

I snort, sipping the wine. “They clearly adore you.”

I adore you, too.

Fuck.

“Don’t worry. I burned the waffles. Balance restored.”

We lapse into a companionable quiet, the kind that only really settles when the noise has been wrung out of a house. My limbs feel heavy, my brain slow.

Then both our phones buzz at once.

Chase glances down. “Storm group chat.”

I unlock mine and see Jake’s message already lighting up the screen.

Jake:Theo James Brooks. 6lb3. Little guy came out screaming like he was late for pre-season.

Attached is a photo of a tiny, squishy, impossibly real baby. Pink and wrinkled. Beautiful.

“Oh,hellyeah,” Chase says, nudging my knee with his. “Look at that guy. He’s got goalie vibes already.”

I don’t respond because Jake didn’t mention Charlie. No “everyone’s fine.” No update, or reassurance. Just a picture of aperfect, wailing newborn and an awful vacuum of silence where her name should be.

I force a smile and nod, locking my phone and reaching for my wine. “He’s cute,” I say lightly. “Definitely going to be a menace.”

Chase glances at me with a frown. “You okay?”

Before I can answer, another buzz lights up the screen.

Jake:Mama and baby are doing great. Charlie’s a superhero. I’ve cried the entirety of the Atlantic already.

This time, the picture is of Charlie in a hospital bed, hair a mess, face flushed, a newborn tucked against her chest. She looks exhausted and radiant, and my throat tightens at the sight.

Chase exhales a sigh. “There she is. God, that’s a good photo.”

But I can’t look at it, not for more than a second, because the relief hits too fast and hard, a rubber band snapping back and catching me square in the chest. It’s whiplash. One minute, I’m wrangling Noah and Meadow, the next I’m choking back tears over a damn text.

A healthy baby boy. Everyone’s fine. But that irrational fear, the one I haven’t ever really talked about, hits me hard and fast.

I blink once. Then again. Trying to hold back my stupid tears, hoping Chase doesn’t see how close I came to falling apart.

But I feel his hand on my shoulder before I even register it. He’d usually tease me, but right now he’s looking at me with a softness that catches me off guard.

“Zo,” he says quietly. “It’s okay to be worried, you know. No one’s gonna think less of you.”

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