Page 91 of The Final Faceoff
I shrug. “Avoid my sister.” I pause and sigh. She saw me the other day on the train. I was with Leif and she texted me something like ‘bitch how dare you, you haven’t contacted me.’ My answer was silence. I’m not ready to tell her—or the family—that I’m pregnant. They’ll be even more pissed if they learn that the Crawfords have known for a while. See, it’s best if I avoid her. “And of course, pretend to answer work emails, maybe spiral about the fact that I don’t know what my life looks like in six months.”
His mouth twitches. “Sounds productive.”
I narrow my eyes. “Some of us don’t have neatly scheduled lives, Mr. Professional Athlete With a Regimented Existence.”
“Neatly scheduled,” he repeats, amused. “You’ve seen my life, right?”
I have. I’ve seen him juggle press, training, sponsorship obligations. Valentina, who is his PR, has him doing some promotional stuff. Then there’s his agent sending him to several places for photoshoots and even commercials. He has to get all that done before next week when he’s finally back on the ice—not that he’s taken a long break from it. The couple of times we’ve been at his parents’ he ends up practicing some drills with them.
Kaden has been here in New York a few times and they’ve rented a rink just to skate and see who defeats whom. Those are the times where Val and I hang out. She’s taken me window shopping for baby clothes. I’m not ready to buy anything yet though. It feels a little overwhelming. Maybe by the time I hit twenty-five weeks I will start focusing on what the little one will need.
And then there are the times he just stays, next to me, as if whatever’s going on in my head isn’t too much for him.
As if I’m not too much for him.
The baby book rests on my lap, my fingers still idly flipping through it when suddenly . . . I freeze.
It’s subtle at first, a fluttery, almost bubbly sensation right beneath my skin. I shift, adjusting my position, and there it is again. A tiny, unmistakable movement.
My breath catches, and for a second, I just sit there, hands splayed over my stomach, trying to process it.
Leif notices instantly. “What? Are you okay?”
“I think—” My voice hitches. “I think the baby just kicked.”
His entire body goes still.
The amusement from earlier vanishes, replaced by something softer, brighter. Like he’s afraid to hope but desperate to believe me.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, pressing his hand against my stomach. “Wait. Just?—”
And then it happens again.
Leif inhales sharply, his breath catching like he wasn’t ready for it, like this moment is bigger than either of us anticipated. His palm spreads over my skin, fingers curling slightly, as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling.
And for a guy who’s usually all sarcasm andcalm down, Hailey,he looks shaken.
His throat bobs. “That’s?—”
“The baby,” I whisper.
“Our baby is finally moving,” he states, swallowing again, and then drags me into his lap, burying his face in my neck, his arms locking around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Hey there, little one.”
I exhale against him, pressing my cheek to his. My throat tightens. I don’t know why this feels so big.
The baby kicks again, and Leif smiles. Not the smirk he gives reporters, not the teasing grin he throws at his teammates. Not even the one he delivers when he’s being a stubborn cocky goalie. Nope. This is his real smile. The one he only gives me, but this time is for the baby, maybe for us.
ChapterThirty
Hailey
The No-Trade Clause
I should’ve known better than to think I could sneak out for a chai latte without consequences.
It was Leif’s day off and since he has nothing to do, he has been hovering all morning—offering food, tracking my hydration like a man who took a health and wellness seminar way too seriously—so I figured a quick walk to my favorite café would clear my head. A little fresh air, a latte that isn’t turmeric-based, maybe even a moment to process what Aspen offered me last night—becoming a producer for her next gig.
