Page 76 of Stick Fight

Am I really thinking about kids now?

Shit. I don’t even know what I’m thinking. All I know is, the idea of building something real, something better, with Gabby doesn’t scare me. It feels… right. Her ex had done a number on her, and left her broken. I wasn’t sure I could be the guy who fixed things. I’ve never been the guy to stick around, to put someone back together, to become a part of their healing. That was commitment, and commitment is what I’ve always run from.

But the truth of it all is this, it was Gabby who put me back together, who helped me heal from the chaos of my childhood. Taylor waddles over, her belly leading the way, and lets out a theatrical groan as she works to lower herself beside me.

“Need a hand?” I reach out to steady her.

“Thank you,” she breathes, settling in. Then she grabs my hand and presses it to her stomach.

I blink. “Wait—what?—”

Before I can finish, I feel it. A thump. Then another. Like a little heartbeat trying to get my attention. My jaw drops.

“This one’s going to be a soccer player,” she says proudly.

“Not if Elias has anything to say about it,” I shoot back, still a little stunned. “Or me.”

She laughs and throws her hands up. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

“None. We’re a hockey family. Always have been. Always will be.”

She gives me a look, one brow raised. “And what if he wants to dance? Or play the cello? Maybe follow his granddad into politics?”

I shake my head, grinning. “Nope. Hockey.”

She laughs, but I catch that twinkle in her eye. And for a moment, I wonder—what if itwasme someday? A little one kicking inside Gabby’s belly. A life we made together. Yeah. That future doesn’t feel so far away anymore.

Taylor laughs, one hand resting on her belly like she’s already protecting her future from the chaos we’re all bound to cause. “What if you and Gabby have a boy, and he wants to be a designer like her? You’d want him to follow his dreams… right?”

I let out a short breath, caught off guard by the question. “I mean… yeah. Of course.”

But my voice trails off, because my gaze has already drifted to Gabby. She’s standing by the pool, hair damp, cheeks flushed, eyes soft as she talks with Maeve and Stella. And right then, it hits me like a punch to the gut—the truth of it. I don’t just want a life with her. I want a future where she’s doing what she loves. Where she doesn’t have to shrink herself to fit someone else's expectations. Including mine.

“Everyone should follow their dreams,” I say quietly.

“Exactly,” Taylor replies. And when I look at her, she’s not looking at me—she’s watching Gabby, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. Like she knows something I don’t.

Is that what she’s trying to say? That Gabby’s not living the life she really wants? God. I know that. I’ve just been too afraid to ask what it would mean—forus—if she ever started chasing it again.

“Who wants a burger?” Noah calls, snapping the tension like a twig.

Taylor tries to hoist herself out of the lounge chair with an exaggerated grunt, and I reach out without thinking, helping her up.

“Thanks,” she says, then adds more seriously, “I’m disappointed Gabby’s not coming to the wedding… but I get it.”

My stomach tightens. I haven’t said a word about it, but clearly Gabby has. I think maybe a part of me was hoping she’d change her mind, but that’s selfish thinking.

She stretches her back with a little groan, then slips her arm through mine like we’re family. Because somehow, we are.

“Come on,” she teases, bumping her belly gently against my side. “Let’s not keep this baby from its hamburger. He’s definitely inherited his dad’s appetite.”

We head toward the grill where Noah’s got a rhythm going, flipping patties and handing them off faster than a short-order cook on a holiday weekend. The kids swarm like seagulls, grabbing burgers and hot dogs, ignoring every green thing in sight as they collapse into seats with ketchup-streaked smiles and sticky fingers.

Gabby hands Stella back to Maeve, then pulls a breezy sundress over her swimsuit and walks toward me. She’s glowing, like summer and sunshine and something else I can’t name. She reaches me, and I lovingly brush my knuckles against hers.

“You’re cold,” I murmur, catching her hands in mine. They’re damp and chilled from the water, and I fold my fingers around them, holding her like she’s something breakable and precious.

“The water was refreshing,” she says with a sly smile. “You should have jumped in.”

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