Page 32 of Over the Line

Another shrug, still without any shame. Typical Barns.

“Okay, so no Uno tonight,” Temo declared. “Otherwise we’ll end up with a fistfight or some shit.”

Garrett looked at Barns with wide eyes, then shook his head emphatically. “I’m not getting into a fistfight with him! I’ll die!”

“Not you and—” Temo flailed a hand at the goalie. “I mean whichever one of you plays like a dickhead and whoever gets pissed off. I don’t want to have to clean up blood in Saint’s mancave again.”

“Again?” Garrett peered at Temo and me. “Is there a story there?”

Rolling my eyes, I held up two fingers.

A mix of alarm and amusement curled his lips and widened his eyes. “Do tell.”

I turned to Temo. “You gonna tell him or am I?”

“I am,” he declared. “So he gets the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Craws and Barns both howled.

“Bullshit, man.” Barns smacked Temo’s arm. “If it’s coming from you, it’s a lie.”

“Dude, I will kick your ass.”

Barns sat up a little straighter, as if to remind us all that he was almost six foot six. “I’ll just put my hand on your forehead and let you swing at nothing.”

“I’ll bite your fucking knees!” Temo snapped his teeth, and we all collapsed into laughter.

Right then, Hannah, Craws’ wife, came into the room, their five-month-old in her arms and a playfully concerned expression on her face. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Craws gestured at the baby. “You want me to take her for a bit?”

Her shoulders dipped and she exhaled, letting the fatigue show. “Yes, please.” Her features scrunched. “I know I shouldn’t be⁠—”

“Babe. Relax.” Craws smiled and rose. He kissed his wife’s forehead and gently took the baby from her arms. As their daughter settled on his shoulder, still sound asleep, he said, “Go chill for a while. I’ve got her.”

She glanced at the baby. “You sure?”

“Yes. Go.” He smiled, touched her cheek, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “It’s a party. You’re supposed to relax, too.” He patted their daughter’s back and smiled. “And I’m not going to say no to spending time with her.”

That seemed to relax Hannah. “Okay. Just let me know if you need⁠—”

“I got her, babe. Where’s the diaper bag?”

“The room off the foyer. With the coats and stuff.”

He nodded. “Okay. Got it.”

She smiled, gave the baby a gentle pat, and then left the man cave while he eased back into his chair.

“How old?” Garrett asked.

Craws smiled proudly. “Five months last week.” He paused. “And I’m lucky I have her.” He looked pointedly at me. “After someone tried to give me an on-ice vasectomy.”

Alarm widened Garrett’s eyes.

“What?” I spread my palms, though I couldn’t keep a straight face. “You got credit for the goal! And obviously things still worked, since…” I gestured at my teammate’s daughter.

“Still. That was some bullshit.” To Garrett, Craws said, “So, yeah, I was next to the crease, and this dickhead”—he nodded at me—“banked a shot into the goal. Off my cup.”