Page 11 of Breaking the Rules
Grant reaches across the table to squeeze my shoulder. “Congratulations, man. That’s amazing.”
“Thanks. You guys responded to the news a hell of a lot better than I did.”
“How’s Becca doing?” Grant asks.
I stare into my beer. “She’s okay.”
Grant narrows his eyes, smelling bullshit like it’s caked on my face. “And you?”
I try out my best nonchalant shrug, but if I’m being honest, fuck if I know. We’re losing our minds with three kids already. Add a fourth to the mix, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to pursue my career, knowing I’d be leaving Becca at home, so outnumbered. I have enough guilt about playing again already.
If I had the balls, I’d admit the truth to myself. My hockey career is over. I had a solid run, a fucking fantastic one, even. But shit happens, right? Life changes and you move on, left with only memories of those good times.
Tonight, I don’t have the balls. Instead, I talk Nashville stats with the guys and grab Preston that beer. I stay out late and don’t look at the clock.
For a little while longer, I let myself pretend I can reconcile my dreams with my reality.
6
BECCA
I’m starting to think the universe has a personal vendetta against me.
Bishop woke us up at the ass-crack of dawn on a weekend morning, then had a tantrum until I agreed to let him watch cartoons in the den. Around seven, the twins wouldn’t take the bottle, still refusing to eat anything that doesn’t come straight from my nipple.Then, around eight, I puked in the kitchen sink.
Just your average Saturday morning, right?
I’m dozing on the couch when Owen comes back from his morning run. He usually takes a longer route, so I’m a little startled when he returns in under an hour.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, kicking off his shoes.
“You just surprised me. Is it supposed to rain or something?”
“No. I just couldn’t stop thinking. We should talk.”
Ah. The long-awaitedlaterhas finally arrived. “Okay.”
My stomach feels unsettled, and I really hope I don’t throw up again. He sits down next to me, and a whiff of his masculine scent hits my nose.
God, I miss going on runs with him. Ever since the pregnancies ... well, let’s just say my body isn’t quite the same. I’m not the spry, bouncy twenty-something I used to be. Plus, running makes me pee my pants.
Owen takes my hand in his, caressing his thumb over my knuckles, and I feel tears forming behind my eyes already. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great. Nauseated and tired.”
He nods. “Want some mint tea? Some toast?”
My heart swells. When I was pregnant with the twins, I had awful morning sickness. Likehead glued to the toilet all morningsickness. On those hellish days, Owen would always brew me some tea and make me breakfast, something simple to settle my stomach.
“That sounds perfect.” I offer him a weak smile.
When Owen comes back from the kitchen, a steaming mug in one hand and a plate of peanut butter toast and sliced bananas in the other, the tears begin to fall.
He’s used to the pregnancy hormones, so he doesn’t badger me with questions likewhat’s the matter?ordid I do something wrong?like he did when Bishop was still in my belly. Instead, he just lets me cry, wiping tears from my cheeks with his thumbs and wrapping me in his impossibly strong arms.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs over and over.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if it is gonna be okay. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this again. I can’t imagine having a newborn. I’ve barely begun weaning the twins off breast milk, and I have no idea how I’m going to nurse another kid. My boobs are pretty much deflated balloons at this point, and—”
