Page 97 of The Final Faceoff
Her.
I blink at the screen, like if I stare hard enough, I’ll suddenly know this tiny person inside me. Like I’ll recognize her the way I recognize my own reflection. But instead, all I feel is . . . everything.
Too much.
“Her?”
The word barely makes it out, like my brain is still buffering. Like the universe just hit me with a plot twist I wasn’t prepared for. And then—Leif’s fingers tighten around mine.
Not just a squeeze. Not just reflex. He grips me like he’s holding onto something more than my hand. Like this—this moment, this heartbeat, this impossible reality—is rewiring him too.
I don’t look at the screen, but at him. His reaction is what shakes me the most. He’s feeling this. Not in some abstract, oh-how-nice way. Not like a friend witnessing something vaguely interesting. But in a way that sinks into his bones, reshaping him from the inside out.
His breath hitches. Just barely. His Adam’s apple bobs once, twice, like he’s swallowing something too big to name. There’s also the shine in his eyes. The quick, uneven inhale. The moment he blinks too fast, jaw locking tight like he’s physically keeping it together.
Leif is crying.
Not the big, heaving kind of tears—just a couple. One that slips down the edge of his cheek before he drags a hand across his face like he can erase the evidence.
I barely process the doctor dimming the volume, her voice smooth as she points at the screen.
“Everything looks great. Strong heartbeat, perfect measurements.” She glances at me. “Would you like some pictures?”
I nod, but my brain is still stuck on him.
Leif exhales, staring at the screen like it’s holding the meaning of life. Like everything that came before this moment—every game, every injury, every win or loss—was just background noise leading up to her.
Suddenly he says it, “My girl.” It’s more breath than sound. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, but now that it’s out there, he can’t take it back.
My chest tightens, and before I can process the way those two words hit me, he lets out a short, choked laugh and scrubs a hand over his jaw.
“I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Of course we’re having a little girl who’ll be as amazing and stubborn as her mother,” he murmurs.
I swallow, my throat tight. “So what, you were expecting a mini hockey player?”
He shakes his head, his fingers tightening around mine again. “No. I was expecting this—you turning my whole world inside out. That’s what you do.”
His eyes flick to the screen again, and then—then—he does something I don’t think I’ll ever recover from. Leif leans forward, kissing my belly as if trying to feel her. “We can’t wait to meet you, baby girl.”
“Oh, God, you’re already wrapped around her little finger, aren’t you?” I try to joke because this is too much.
I know he’s been sayingoursandwe,but now . . . this looks so real.
He lets out a slow, uneven exhale and finally looks at me. “We’re having a little girl.” He says it again, softer this time, like he’s tasting the words, trying to get used to them. “Hailey, I don’t even—I don’t even have words to tell you how happy I am.”
I squeeze his hand, because for once, I don’t either. It’s like suddenly we really have become us—a family. And yet, I’m still doubting his love, or my love for him. Somedays I wish I wasn’t a little dark cloud that can’t see the good but only the bad and sad. I wish I could be the right person for him and that thought makes me cry. If only I can be as sunshiny as he is, as hopeful, as . . . loving.
Will I ever be enough for a guy like Leif Crawford?
ChapterThirty-Three
Hailey
Every Great Goal Needs an Assist
The sun is shining. Birds chirping. A crisp breeze ruffling the ends of my hair as I step out of the doctor’s office, the sonogram photos tucked safely into my wallet.
Leif has his own copy.
