Page 131 of Slap Shot Surprise
TWENTY-SIX
mabel
EARLY MARCH
“What time ishe going to call?” I asked for the tenth time.
“He said by eight tonight.” Joe indulged me by answering again anyway. He stopped rubbing my feet long enough to check his watch. “And it’s just before eight.”
We were on the couch, me stretched out with a book in my lap, Joe sitting with my feet in his. ESPN was on the television, but he wasn’t really watching. And truthfully, I wasn’t really reading.
His agent was calling tonight to let us know whether or not Chicago wanted to offer an extension on his contract. If they didn’t, Joe would become a free agent in July. Another team—anywhere—could make him an offer. And if he wanted to keep playing hockey, he’d have to take it. If I wanted to be with him, I’d have to go too.
And I did. I would.
I’d moved down here a few weeks ago, right after my baby shower, and I knew immediately it had been the right decision. Everyday life with Joe was amazing. He was sweet and generous—he’d cleared space for me in his walk-incloset, in his dresser, in his bathroom. He had the guest room painted and carpeted just the way I had done the baby’s room at my house (Ari with the assist there...she was suddenly Joe Lupo’s second biggest fan). He bought a rocking chair for the room so he could help get the baby to sleep and let me get some rest. And he bought a litter box, cat bed, cat food bowl, and even a cat carrier for Cleo. “I want to make sure she feels at home too,” he said.
I laughed and burst into tears all in one breath, of course.
Austin was bringing the crib down this weekend. I hadn’t sold my house yet—we figured it would be good to have a place to stay when we visited Cherry Tree Harbor with the baby, until we had our own permanent home.
The historical society was sad to lose me, but they understood my family mattered most. I said I would always be happy to help with anything they needed and to please let the new curator know she could reach out at any time. They threw me a little going-away party/baby shower on my last day.
My due date was just six weeks away now.
Every time Joe left for an away game, he was more nervous. But I’d found a doctor I really liked, and she had assured me everything was looking great with the pregnancy and there were no troubling signs. I’d had no more fainting spells, my blood pressure was normal, and the baby was now the size of a pineapple. I got tired early these days, so I was often in bed by the time Joe got home from a game. But he’d crawl in behind me and wrap his arms around my stomach, warm and protective. And every single night, without fail, he whispered that he loved me.
One morning I woke up to a text from Ari that said just one thing.
Better than pining.
Then a screenshot arrived—Joe had posted a photo of us on Instagram in which he was standing behind me, arms wrapped around my middle, his face buried in my neck. I’m laughing with my mouth open and my eyes closed, and the shot is kind of blurry. But the caption made my heartbeat quicken.
Never letting her go.
I felt chosen and cherished. Just like I’d always wanted.
Joe had told me not to worry about the contract and just get settled in, so we hadn’t discussed it yet. But over the last few weeks, I’d made up my mind.
“Joe,” I said, setting aside my book. “I want you to know something.”
“What, cupcake?”
“No matter where the offer is, I’ll go with you.”
His fingers stilled on my foot. His eyes met mine. “Really?”
“Really. We’re a family.” I put my hands on my stomach. “Where you go, we go.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he reached for me. “Come here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. I gave him my hands and let him pull me toward him so I lay across his lap, my arms around his neck. “You mean it?”
“Of course I do. If you still want to play, and you feel good enough to do it, you should do it.” Ever since he’d gotten back on the ice after rehabbing his shoulder, he’d been playing well. The team had turned their bad luck around, and they were on a winning streak again. If they stayed consistent, they were assured a playoff spot and had a good chance to win it all.
“It’s funny you say that. Because I’ve been thinking, if Chicago doesn’t extend, I’ll retire.”
“Retire?” I raised my eyebrows. “And do what?”
“Move up north. Buy some land. Watch our kids grow up.”
