Preseason games are a bit crazy. You have the regular guys who are trying to warm up for the season, but aren’t getting too much ice time because the last thing anyone wants is to get injured during a preseason game. Then, you have these fresh, young guys with baby faces who are trying to earn a spot on the team and the coaches are watching them with the eye of a hawk looking for its prey, seeing what they need to work on.
So far, these guys need a lot of work. One is cocky as hell, yet he isn’t playing well enough to live up to his attitude. I hope they send him back to where he came from sooner rather than later. There’s one guy who has good instincts, but lacks the confidence and is like a deer in the headlights on the ice.
“Trust yourself and act,” I tell him as we skate down the ice to chase the puck.
Poor kid blushes.
We’re all disconnected, to say the least, but I manage to tally a goal and so does our captain, Brayden Hayes, and EJ Bertuzzi. Even so, we lose five to three.
“Sing for us, Captain!” someone shouts after the game.
“Where can we put in requests?” someone else hollers.
“All of you motherfuckers can shut the fuck up!” Brayden glares around the room. He’s been a grouch since Marco showed us the videos of him singing karaoke at a bar earlier this month. When asked why he did it, all he said was to get laid, but he wouldn’t divulge more than that. “I was forced! It was for sex! Leave me alone already!”
“Was the sex good at least?” Z asks.
Brayden curtly nods once. “Not sure it’s worth this shit, though.”
“It’s worth, as in it is? Present tense? You’re still seeing her?” Marco asks.
Brayden groans. “Fuck off, Marco. This is all your fault. There will be hell to pay, know that.”
Marc holds his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t record or post the videos online.”
Brayden doesn’t seem to care about that. This has seriously soured his mood. I mean, I’m sure it’s not exciting to know that experience is online, but he seems to be overreacting a bit. Then again, if I was as private of a person as Brayden is, I’d probably be rocking in a corner from panic right now. He seems pretty close to that level.
“Let’s see the dance again,” Bruiser pushes like an idiot.
Brayden decides to ignore the guys.
“Are you bringing her to the BBQ?” Rossy asks.
Brayden tenses, so I’m taking that as a no. They keep peppering him with questions, but he stays silent. This will all be forgotten about soon, I’m sure. I forget about it the moment I step out of the building and head to my car. There are a few texts from Sylvia, so I check them as I walk.
Sylvia: There’s dinner here if you’re hungry after the game.
Sylvia: I told Lizzy.
Sylvia: What the hell is Brayden doing singing karaoke?
“Scotty!”
I turn around at the sound of the rough tone and see one of our new teammates, Sergey Orlovsky. “What’s up, Serge?” I ask.
“Where’s good place for food?” Sergey is still learning his way around, obviously.
“What are you in the mood for?” He just shrugs and pats his stomach. “My wife already has dinner ready if you want to follow me to my house.” When he frowns, I add, “It’s fine and I promise the food will be good.”
“Okay.”
I text Sylvia to give her a heads-up. He follows me to my house. I expect Sylvia to greet us, but it’s Stella and Stephanie who rush over. They skid to a stop and glance back and forth between me and our visitor.
“Hey, this is one of the new guys on the team, Sergey Orlovsky. Serge, these are my daughters, Stella and Stephanie.”
“What position do you play?” Stella asks.
“I’m winger,” he answers.
“Hey, where’s Momma?”
“In here,” she shouts from the kitchen. “Go sit in the dining room.”
Sergey follows me, the girls follow him, and I tell him to sit. The girls start to show off the nails they apparently had done while I see if Sylvia needs help. She’s coming out of the kitchen with two plates loaded with food, though, so I walk by her to grab a couple of bottles of water from the fridge.
“Are you dating anyone?” I hear her ask when I reenter the room.
“Sylvie, stop. He’s still trying to learn his way to and from the arena and everything. He doesn’t need you trying to set him up.”
“I’m married,” Sergey gruffly tells her. Sylvia’s eyes widen and I know she wants to ask why he’s not at home eating food his own wife cooked instead, but Sergey adds, “Thanks for food.”
“Of course.”
Stella asks where he’s from. While she’s distracting him, I grab Sylvia’s wrist and pull her over to me to kiss her real quick. She looks better than usual. Happier. Less burdened. At ease. That’s the best term. She doesn’t seem so anxious anymore.
“Quit ogling me and eat your food,” she whispers before giving me another kiss and then turning to our daughters. “Stella, there will be plenty of time to talk to Sergey later. Let him eat in peace.”
“She’s fine,” he tells her.
I pull Sylvia to sit in my lap while Stella starts asking Sergey all about Russia, which is where he’s from. He genuinely doesn’t seem to mind telling her everything she wants to know and he adds on to answer more than her questions. I have to admit I’m a bit curious about him being married. I didn’t know he was married. He doesn’t wear a ring. But the last thing I need to do is turn into my wife. That’s his business and none of mine.
Soon, Sylvia pulls the girls away for a much-needed bath and Sergey thanks us for dinner before he makes his escape. I change into a pair of pajamas before slipping into the bathroom.
“He seems nice,” Sylvia says as I lean against the door.
“Yeah, seems to be. How was the day with Lizzy?”
“We got new bears,” Stephanie answers. “Mine is wearing a tutu!”
“Mine is a baker.” Stella frowns. “They were out of skates and jerseys; only had stupid football stuff.”
I listen as the three of them alternate in telling me about their visit to the nail salon, shopping, and going to the playground. Once they’re all dried and dressed, we move to their bedroom. Sylvia takes Stephanie and I get Stella. We brush their hair until it’s free of tangles.
“Daddy, will you read to us tonight?” Stella asks.
“Of course.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Sylvia teases.
“Daddy’s better,” Stephanie says bluntly.
“Don’t y’all love me at all?”
“Duh, Momma.” Stephanie rolls her eyes. “You’re good at cooking and—”
“You help us with our homework,” Stella finishes.
“I get it,” Sylvia waves them off. “Daddy gets to do all the fun stuff.”
“You take us shopping and get our nails done,” Stephanie points out.
“We’re equally awesome, aren’t we?” I ask them. That, they can agree on. I’d like to think our kids love us equally just like we love them equally, but Stella is more of a daddy’s girl than Stephanie is. Stephanie is a lot like Sylvia. She might not be hers biologically, but she takes after her nonetheless.
With their hair tangle-free, we get them tucked into bed. I grab a book and sit on the floor between their beds in my normal reading spot. The girls lie on the edge of their beds so they can peer down and look at the pictures. Sylvia leaves us, like she sometimes does. I think she likes them to have time with just me, especially if it’s during hockey season.
The girls fall asleep quickly tonight. Their day must’ve worn them out. I quietly leave to find Sylvia. She’s washing dishes. We have a dishwasher, but it never gets used. For some odd reason, she likes to do them by hand. I take my place next to her to take over rinsing duties.
“This kid better like me more than you,” she blurts out.
I laugh. “You know they love you.”
“Yeah, but you’re their favorite.” She pauses, her hands freezing over the plate. “It feels weird to say something lighthearted like that.”
“Lighthearted is good, Sylvie,” I reassure her.
“I keep thinking of all these things we need to do, like transform the guest bedroom into a nursery, but at the same time...” Her voice trails off.
At the same time, she doesn’t want to start a process only to have to revert things back to the way they were for one reason or another. “Make a list,” I tell her, “of everything we’ll need to do, and every week, we’ll do one or two things and that’s it. The further along you are, the better you’ll feel. How’d Lizzy react?”
“She’s convinced that since I got pregnant in the first place that it’ll all work out.”
“I like the way she thinks.”
Sylvia laughs. “She’s also very excited for us.”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to try to make another appointment Wednesday. I want to make sure you can come before things get crazy and you’re gone for that big road trip. Plus, I wasn’t exactly listening last time, so I figured a redo would be great.”
“Try for first thing in the morning,” I tell her.
“I know.”
I lean over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re the best wife I’ve ever had?”
She laughs. “I’m the only wife you’ve ever had, so that automatically makes me the best.”
“Not necessarily. Could make you the worst,” I point out, but that earns me a glare. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t.”
“My point,” I continue, “is that I love you and you are the best.”
She hums as she glances at me from the corners of her eyes. “Sounds like you’re trying to butter me up, Scott.” She’s lifted one of her legs at the knee and is rubbing her foot up and down my calf. My first thought is that she’s on to me. My second thought is that she shouldn’t be balancing on one leg. “Are you?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
She grins as she grabs the last pot. “I was about to say.”
“Say what?”
“That after ten years, it appears you’ve lost your edge if you were buttering me up already.”
I let my jaw drop. “Are you trying to say that my seducing skills need work?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. I take the pot from her hands, drop it in the sink, and pick her up, causing her to squeal in surprise. “Be quiet; the girls are sleeping.” Then, I kiss her hard and quick.
“We can’t leave that last pot,” she says as I start walking toward our bedroom.
“We can, and you won’t be thinking about it at all in just a minute.” I close and lock the door with one hand. A moment later, I’m laying her down on the bed. I’m about to yank my shirt off, but Sylvia puts her hands on my chest to stop me. “What is it, Sylvie?”
The lamp on the nightstand is on, so I can see her eyes water. “I love you, you know? I don’t know what I would do without you.”
A tear manages to escape. I lean down to kiss it away. “I know and I love you too.”
“You’re so good to me.” She takes a deep breath and moves her hands up to cup my face. “I just wanted to say thanks for being a good man. I appreciate all you do for us, too.”
Speechless doesn’t feel like the right term, but I’m not sure what to say in return to her. I love Sylvia and my girls and they’re my world, so I do right by them. Treat them well. What am I supposed to say when she thanks me for doing what’s right? For doing what I want to do for them—things that come as easy and natural to me as breathing?
When words fail, actions speak.
Leaning down, I kiss her. Unhurried, soft, and deep, I kiss her until she’s reaching for the hem of my shirt to move things further. My mouth, my hands, and the movements of our bodies manage to give her a better response than one I could ever say.
Wednesday morning comes sooner than I thought possible. I got in late from Buffalo, so Sylvia gets up with the girls in an effort to let me sleep in just a little longer. She wakes me up by rubbing my back and giving me a quick kiss.
Today is a big day. I get to see our baby and hear the heartbeat. To say I’m excited would be the understatement of the century. Sylvia was able to get the first appointment of the day, so once we drop the girls off at school, we head right over to the doctor’s office.
“Will you stop it?” Sylvia laughs, pushing my hand away from her stomach, which has a barely there bump. At this point, one would just think she’s gained some weight. “It’s not a genie lamp, Scott.”
“No, it’s a baby lamp.”
She laughs and shakes her head as my hand goes back to her stomach. I sure do hope it continues to grow.
“We need to take pictures of you and this baby lamp.” I want documentation that this actually happened and I want a way to remember every second.
“Don’t start calling it that.”
“Boyd,” a nurse calls.
We stand and I follow Sylvia, who suddenly has my hand in a death grip. I mostly focus on relaxing her for the first half of the appointment. She’s slow to release her tension as she’s reminded that everything seems as normal as can be.
And then, our baby appears on the monitor. Such a small little thing. Sylvia starts crying and then a soft little heartbeat fills the air. All of a sudden, it hits me.
We’re having a baby.
“Scott?” Sylvia’s voice is shaky and she looks worried. I realize why when she reaches up and wipes a few of my own tears off my cheeks.
“We’re having a baby,” I whisper. “Our own baby.”
“I know. It’s crazy.”
It’s crazy for sure, but what a miracle. To think that my wife is finally carrying a baby nearly a decade after we were told it would never happen. To think that it’s my kid in there. My mind can’t seem to wrap around how surreal it all is. Her doctor is planning to keep a close eye on her and the baby throughout the pregnancy, but by the end of February, we could be bringing home a baby.
No. That’s not right.
We will be bringing home a baby.
In the meantime, we’re going to savor every last second of this pregnancy. It’s Sylvia’s first, very well may be her last, but either way, it’s a blessing. The fear is still there. It mingles in the back of our minds. Fear has never stopped us before and it won’t hold us back now.
Later, after our game day skate, I head over to the store inside the arena. I find a onesie and a jersey for a baby and buy it. The associate eyes me, but I don’t say anything. When I get home, I find Sylvia taking a nap on the couch.
“Wake up, Sylvie,” I say as I gently shake her shoulder.
She wakes rather quickly and pushes herself up. “What is it?”
I hold up my purchases. “We’re bringing the baby home from the hospital in this,” I hold the onesie a little higher, “and you’ll take the baby to his or her first game in this. Promise?”
Her eyes shine, but she smiles. “Promise.”
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