Denver, Colorado - 1 month later

Stanley Cup Finals - Game 7

Game seven.

I'd never wanted something for someone else so much in my entire life.

Siobhan and I sat on the edges of our seats in the owner's box, watching the clock count down to zero. The buzzer blared, marking the start of the second intermission. The players on ice hopped onto the bench, making their way down the hall into the locker rooms. Tonight's game had been impossibly tight so far and the stakes were unimaginably high.

After a nail-biting second period, the score was tied 1-1. Not ideal, but the last few minutes of the second period had been a little sloppy on the defensive side so at this point, I was just relieved Colorado wasn't down. Hopefully, they'd come back in the third with a new fire lit beneath them.

In the seat beside me, Siobhan groaned, leaning back in the black leather club chair. "Oh my god. I am going to have the worst heartburn from all those spicy wings." She grimaced and rubbed her round belly beneath her white jersey. Although our due dates were close together, we looked nothing alike. She was roughly half my size because it was her first pregnancy—and because she was only having one baby.

"On the plus side," I said, "old wives' tales claim that having heartburn means your baby will be born with lots of hair. Maybe Luna will a full head of hair like Tatum did when she was born."

Tatum still did, actually. She insisted on keeping her hair long "like a princess" and made me style it in all kinds of elaborate ways that required the assistance of YouTube videos, a million different combs and brushes, and infinite patience. I'd finally perfected the art of the French braid, at least, but my buns were not up to her satisfaction. I needed to work on that before her ballet classes started again for the year.

Her own attempts were almost as good as mine—that is to say, also not great. If anything, Chase was the best hairstylist in the family so far. I guess that went along with the whole "good with his hands" thing.

"Did you have heartburn with Tatum?" She frowned as if trying to recall, then grabbed another hot wing despite her complaint moments earlier. Couldn't fault her for it; food tasted so much better pregnant. I didn't know why, it just did. It was like how Chase felt about eating after games.

Which brought us to one massive perk to being a player's wife: box seats with in-suite food service. Especially when you were eating for two, like Siobhan, or for three, like I was. And especially when you needed to bury your feelings beneath a pile of junk food because the tension was too much to handle.

If we were this on-edge, I could only imagine how Dallas and Chase felt. Dallas had already made it to the playoffs twice—and won once—but it was a first for Chase. I wanted the win for him so badly I could feel it. Then again, he'd seemed confident going into tonight. He'd given me a kiss and strolled out the door like it was any other game. I might have been more nervous than he was.

Stress gripped me again and I grabbed a tortilla chip covered with melted cheese, scooping up salsa and guacamole, cramming it into my mouth. I swallowed and added, "Maybe I would have had more heartburn last time if I'd been able to keep food down for the entire nine months."

"No kidding." Shiv shot me a sympathetic look. "I was nauseous for about a month and it was torture. I didn't even actually throw up. But at least you're not sick this time, right?"

Miraculously, I wasn't. After having hyperemesis gravidarum the first time around with Tatum—which is basically medical lingo for throwing up constantly your entire pregnancy—I was at a higher risk of having it again. A twin pregnancy was complicated enough, so I was thankful I could eat at all.

"Right," I said. "Now I'm just eating us out of house and home." You knew it was bad when I was starting to catch up to Chase in terms of food consumption. It seemed like all I did lately was eat, nap, and play dolls with Tatum. Maybe I was the preschooler in this equation.

"Oh, stop." Shiv's cherry-red lips tugged into a smirk. "You look beautiful. You're tall and you carry pregnancy well. I'm just going to look like I swallowed a watermelon in another month or so."

I laughed. "Not likely." Contrary to her protests, it was already clear Shiv was going to be one of those pregnant women who were all belly and barely needed maternity clothing until the end. AKA, not me.

After yet another bathroom break for the two of us, the game resumed with Dallas hopping onto the ice for the first shift. Despite what I'd hoped, Denver didn't crush Anaheim out of the gate. Anaheim didn't show up any better, either. Both teams were tired—and it showed.

For the first ten minutes of the third, the game remained tight with lots of scoring opportunities on both sides but without any luck getting the puck past either goalie.

We watched with bated breath while Dallas took possession again, skating up the side and pivoting into position to take a shot. Svenson, one of Anaheim's star defensemen, picked up speed and headed right for him. My grip on the armrest tightened as Svenson crouched down, plowing right into Dallas—and serving him a knee to the stomach in the process. Dallas spun into the boards, catching the side to steady himself.

Shiv gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth. "What the fuck was that?"

"Dirty hit," I said, shaking my head.

Dallas took a second to regain his bearings before gliding back into position, though he didn't seem one hundred percent. He was probably winded at a minimum, if not sporting several bruised rubs. It seemed like an obvious call, but play continued without a whistle.

From the player's bench, Chase mouthed a string of expletives and gestured to the officials, angrily pointing at Dallas. Chase was asking the same thing as Shiv, only using far more colorful, descriptive language. When he didn't get a response, he stood up and leaned over the boards, continuing his verbal tirade.

Once Chase realized it was fruitless, he flopped back onto the bench and shook his head, leaning his elbows on his knees. Even at a distance, I could see the rage across his face.

"And no call? Nothing?" Siobhan turned to me, her mouth wide open.

"That should be a five-minute major," I said. "Intent to injure. Or a five-minute minor, at the very least."

She let out a growl, throwing her head back. "The officiating in this game has been a goddamn joke."

"It has been. They haven't been calling things evenly at all."

While fans often thought their team was being unfairly singled out, this time it really seemed to be the case. It wasn't just the lone, isolated hit; it was the pattern of Anaheim getting away with questionable behavior while Colorado was getting called for anything that was even borderline.

The refs needed to pick a lane and decide whether they were putting their whistles away in a free-for-all or whether they were keeping the players accountable. On both sides.

I wanted Colorado to win that much more because of it.

Shifts changed and Dallas climbed off the ice while Chase hopped on, skating like a mad man into Anaheim's zone. The fire I'd been hoping to see had been lit, at least for him.

If Svenson's intention had been to activate pissed-off Carter mode, he'd succeeded. And he was probably going to find out the hard way shortly, because some things hadn't changed—Chase was still a force to be reckoned with on-ice. No one wanted to find themselves on the receiving end of one of his hits.

Shiv and I both grimaced as Chase slammed another player from Anaheim into the boards, sending a crunch across the arena so loud we could hear it from the second-level box seats. A cheer erupted from the crowed, peppered with a few angry boos from a handful of Anaheim fans. This time, at least, there wasn't a whistle for Colorado.

Siobhan drained her second Sprite and nervously combed through her glossy brownish-black hair with her fingers. "This is so freaking stressful. It would be so much more tolerable if we could drink."

"No kidding," I said. Most of the time, I didn't mind not being able to drink while pregnant, but a drink or three to take the edge off would have come in handy tonight. Earlier in the game, Siobhan nearly threw her drink after a bad call that sent Dallas to the penalty box for a minor infraction. The other team had committed far worse sins without any recourse.

"I forgot to tell you," she added. "Dal bought some non-alcoholic beer for me last week. He was trying to be nice and I didn't have the heart to tell him it was awful, but now I'm scared he'll keep buying it. It tasted like a bale of hay." She made a face.

"Hay?" I teased. "How much hay have you eaten?"

"You know what I mean."

The clock continued to count down, each second crawling by like an eternity. Less than five minutes in the third period remained and it was still tied. We sat on the edges of our seats, praying silently. All Colorado needed was one goal. One blessed goal and the game would be theirs.

"I hope they don't go into overtime," I said. "For their sake and ours."

Unfortunately for everyone involved, it did. Sudden death overtime—20 minutes of 5-on-5, first team to score would win.

My heart spiked to an all-time high watching the players cluster down near Colorado's net. Anaheim began to cycle the puck, gaining the upper hand in the play, and a sense of impending doom crept up on me. All night, I had been certain Colorado would win, but their defense was tired, lagging behind and struggling to keep up. If things continued like this, there was a good chance Anaheim was going to score and take the game.

Suddenly, one of Anaheim's players speared someone on our side. A whistle blew, finally calling a long overdue penalty against Anaheim and granting Colorado a much-needed powerplay.

"Bout freaking time," Shiv muttered, letting out a sigh of relief.

"They got this." But I said it to reassure myself as much as her.

Chase and Dallas hopped onto the ice for the powerplay, both tearing up the ice with a renewed level of energy. Shiv and I fell silent, the two of us too tense to speak. This was it—the golden scoring opportunity. 8 minutes into overtime, 5-on-4.

Colorado's right winger took hold of the puck, flying up the side to bring it into Anaheim's zone. Chase was perfectly in position to receive the pass and he skated back a few strides, sending it to Dallas in front of the net. Before Anaheim's defense could cover the distance, Dallas shot the puck past the goalie, sinking it in the bottom right-hand corner.

All the players on the ice froze temporarily as if in disbelief.

The buzzer sounded, marking a career-defining moment for the entire Colorado team and kicking the players on the ice back into motion. We both let out whoops of joy, leaping out of our seats. Or more accurately, awkwardly slid out of our seats due to our pregnant bellies.

"Oh my god!" Shiv squealed and turned to face me, bending forward to wrap my upper half in a tight hug. I squeezed her back, moisture welling up behind my eyes.

We broke apart and returned our attention to the ice where the Colorado players were huddled together, hugging and patting each others' helmets. A massive surge of pride hit me as I watched Chase celebrate with his teammates.

I'd been there for his first NHL game, first playoff game and now, first Stanley Cup win. After years of grinding—including several trades, plus a knee injury and surgery that sidelined him for months—he'd finally achieved the ultimate goal.

"They did it," she added.

I grinned while fighting back tears. "They sure did."

*

After fighting through the crowds to reach ice level, Shiv and I squeezed past everyone exiting the ice and stepped onto the playing surface to join Chase and Dallas, along with the other players and their families.

My heart swelled the moment I laid eyes on Chase, who was grinning and hugging one of his teammates. Chase's eyes landed on me and widened, a look of excitement shifting into one of disbelief.

In a few quick strides, he was towering over me with a stern frown across his handsome face. With his skates on, the height difference between us was much larger than normal.

"Get your adorable butt off the ice, Mrs. Carter."

I glanced down, realizing my error only too late. "Uh... I can balance just fine."

In truth, I'd been so caught up in the excitement following that that I'd forgotten about the safety factor entirely. While Chase tended to be overprotective, in this case he was right—someone four months pregnant with twins probably shouldn't have been shuffling around on a sheet of ice.

Especially not me, who was arguably somewhat clumsy to begin with.

"Maybe when there was one of you," he said, raising his eyebrows and fighting back a smile. "But you need to stay on solid ground until those babies come out."

He slid a hand around my torso, carefully steering me around his other teammates and their families, back over to the benches. In my peripheral vision, I spotted Dallas and Shiv, who appeared to be having a similar exchange while he escorted her off the playing surface too.

At least I wasn't the only one who'd had a momentary lapse in sanity.

In fact, it might have been because I was pregnant. Pregnancy brain was a real thing. Last week, I put my phone in the fridge for over an hour before realizing where it was. And maybe having twins meant my pregnancy brain was twice as bad. Or that was my story and I was sticking to it, as far as Chase was concerned.

Once I was safely off the ice, Chase planted his elbows on the boards and leaned over. He tugged off his gloves and curled his fingers, beckoning me closer.

"Now that you're safe," he said, "come here so we can celebrate."

I looped my arms around his neck and he dipped his head, bringing his mouth to mine. He was a sweaty mess and while it probably should have grossed me out, somehow I loved him even more for it. It helped that I was used to sweaty, post-hockey Chase.

His hands lingered around my waist and he studied me with a smile. "How was it up in the sky box?"

"A little stressful," I said. "But you played a good game."

"It was, wasn't it? That last assist I made to Ward..." he pushed his dark hair out of his face, letting out a low whistle. "It was a beaut."

"You know what I love about you?"

Chase gave me a crooked grin. "Everything?"

"Everything," I agreed. "Especially your modesty."

"Modesty is overrated." He leaned in again, giving me another quick kiss on the lips.

Cheers and whistles echoed throughout the arena, the volume nearly deafening. All around us, fans continued to go wild. It was a big win—not only for the team, but for the franchise, too.

"I'm so proud of you," I said. "You deserve this."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

It was past 3 AM and the entire house was silent.

My mom, who'd been babysitting earlier, was sleeping in the spare room across from Tatum. Bailey was out cold in our bed, having fallen asleep almost immediately when we got home just after midnight. And I was sitting upright in Tatum's bed, where I'd just gotten her back to sleep after a nightmare.

Sometimes, I fell asleep in her bed with her during times like this, but not tonight. Turns out, winning the Stanley Cup leaves you a little wired. An adrenaline buzz from the win earlier tonight still coursed through my veins, rendering sleep an impossibility.

Tatum sprawled across my lap, her breaths slow and even now that her fears about spooky bats lurking in her room had been soothed. I gently picked up her head and shifted, placing a pillow beneath it for support as I slid out of her bed. Bending down, I planted a quick kiss on her forehead before padding out of the room.

I didn't know how I'd gotten so lucky. A perfect little family—soon to be not so little. Career I loved. Best life partner I could have ever asked for.

Things weren't perfect, but they were pretty damn close.

After washing up and brushing my teeth in the master bathroom, I crept back into our bedroom as quietly as I could to avoid waking Bailey. I almost succeeded, but the bathroom door squeaked behind me as I pulled it back open and she groaned, stirring beneath the covers. Ever since having Tatum, Bailey was an incredibly light sleeper, even though Tatum had been sleeping through the night for over two years.

"You okay?" Bailey rolled onto one elbow in the dark, looking up at me. "What are you doing up?"

"Tatum had a nightmare, so I was laying with her until she fell back asleep." I pulled back the covers and began to slide into bed beside her, placing an arm along her lower back to tug her closer.

"Oof," she said, shifting. "Now that I'm awake, I've gotta pee. Sorry, be right back."

I felt bad for her. Peeing was practically a part-time job at this point.

A minute later, she returned and nestled in under the comforter, her belly brushing against my bare torso. I placed a hand on her stomach, still marveling at the fact that there were two babies in there.

We would be outnumbered once they arrived, 3 kids to 2 adults. It was going to be chaos in the best possible way. Couldn't wait.

"Baby A was being a real pain earlier," Bailey whispered in the dark. "Wouldn't stop kicking during the game."

I chuckled, kissing the top of her head and inhaling the familiar rosemary-mint scent of her shampoo. "How do you know it was Baby A?"

"Because he wouldn't stop moving in the ultrasound. Clearly trouble, clearly takes after you. Carter genes through and through."

"Hmm, sounds a lot more like you."

Bailey laughed softly. "No way. Baby B is much calmer. She definitely takes after me."