Page 46 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

Jake hugs his mom and then tiptoes down the hall and peeks into the nursery. A moment later, I hear a whispered, “Hi, baby girl,” followed by the creak of the rocking chair.

Abby appears in the doorway, smiling. “He begged to see her. I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

Wes stands beside me, hands in his pockets, watching the gentle domestic scene like it’s something sacred. Like it’s something he’s never quite had but always wanted. “I think he’s more obsessed with that baby than with hockey,” Wes whispers.

I nod. “She has that effect.”

In the nursery, Jake gently rocks back and forth, his big hand wrapped around Violet’s tiny one. He hums under his breath—a quiet, off-key lullaby—and I feel my throat tighten.

The rocker creaks gently under his weight, a slow, steady rhythm like a heartbeat. Violet's eyes flutter open, her tiny mouth forming a sleepy "o" as she stretches her fingers around Jake’s thumb. He stills, as if afraid to move, then smiles down at her with the reverence of someone who believes he’s just been given something sacred.

"Hey there, sweet girl," he whispers, his voice as soft as the nursery nightlight. "Did you miss me? I scored, you know. I bet you’d be proud."

Abby leans against the doorframe with a hand to her chest, her eyes shining. “He does this every time he sees her. Talks to her like she understands every word.”

“I bet she does,” I murmur.

It’s quiet in the hallway outside the nursery. I lean against the doorframe and watch as Jake continues to rock Violet, his focus entirely on her. Something about the way he looks at her—as if she’s the most precious, fragile treasure in the world—makes my chest ache in the best possible way.

And I wonder: what will they be like when they grow up?

Jake is already growing faster than I can keep up with. His voice has started to change, and he’s beginning to care more about things like his hair and whether his socks match. One day soon, he’ll be taller than me. He’ll trade his youth hockey jersey for high school tryouts and start using words like "college" and "future." And Violet… she’ll lose those baby rolls and start toddling around, then talking, then asking questions about everything under the sun.

Will they still be close when they’re teenagers? Will Jake be the fiercely protective big brother figure, chasing off any middle school crushes who look at her the wrong way? I can alreadyimagine it. Him showing up to her school concerts in his letterman jacket, sitting in the front row and cheering louder than anyone else.

Maybe she’ll be the one who slips him handwritten notes when he’s nervous about a test or sits beside him in the bleachers while he stares too long at some girl he’s too shy to talk to. Maybe she’ll tease him about his skates always smelling like old socks and he’ll roll his eyes and call her a pest—but he’ll still tie her laces when no one’s looking.

I picture them as adults—Jake at a crossroads in his twenties, unsure of what’s next, and Violet calling him out of the blue just to say, “I believe in you.” Maybe she becomes a nurse like me, or an artist, or something wild and unexpected. Maybe Jake becomes a teacher, or maybe he follows his dad into pro hockey or Wes and becomes a coach, pouring everything he’s learned into the next generation of kids.

And me? I want to be there through all of it.

I want to be the aunt who always shows up. Who sends care packages to dorm rooms and lets them crash on my couch when life gets hard. The one who remembers their favorite ice cream flavors and listens to stories about breakups or new jobs or dreams that haven’t yet taken root.

I want to be the place they turn to when the world feels too big, the person they know will always have a cup of hot cocoa ready, and a hand to hold.

Being their aunt isn’t a consolation prize. It’s one of the deepest honors of my life. I’m so grateful to Beckett and Abs for letting me be so involved.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m trying to hold on too tightly—if it’s selfish to want to be so entwined in their lives. But watching Jake with Violet tonight, something settles in me. This connection isn’t about control. It’s about love. The kind that roots itself in small gestures and grows slowly, quietly, into something lasting.

And maybe… maybe that’s what I want with Wes, too.

To grow something slowly. Steadily. Something built not on grand gestures or perfect timing but on quiet, steady presence. On showing up. Again and again.

Tonight, I watched Wes coach Jake with patience and ease. I saw the way Jake lit up under his attention, the way he instinctively looked to him for guidance. And I saw how Wes looked at me—not with apology or longing, but with a kind of gentle certainty that told me he wasn’t going anywhere.

It makes me think about the future in a new way. Not just one filled with milestones and plans, but with ordinary moments that string together into a life. Afternoons at the rink. Evenings filled with baby giggles. Shared silence that feels like home.

I want that.

And if I get to be part of Jake and Violet’s future, if I get to cheer them on, support them, love them through all their versions, I will consider myself one of the luckiest people alive.Should my life one day include children of my own, even more wonderful.

Wes steps up beside me again, his arm brushing mine, his presence quiet and warm. Watching Jake with Violet feels like watching a secret unfold—something tender and unscripted. The kind of moment you don’t plan but never forget.

“They’re something, aren’t they?” he whispers.

I nod, throat thick. “They really are.”

Wes steps closer. “Quinn, you’re good with him, you know. Steady. The kind of anchor he will always want and need.” He studies my face for a beat, then says, “You’re going to be part of every important moment in their lives. I can see it.”

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