Rosco studies me. “But if everything’s good on that front, why call in the troops for help?”
“Is this about Coach?” Van asks, and I know he’s in a tough position. Because he’s no longer playing, he’s become like an extra coach and if all goes as planned, he’ll join thestaff officially next year. So, the fact that Coach and I barely exchange words has to be strange for him. It’s strange for me, too.
I shrug. “He’ll come around. Or he won’t. But he and Maggie are having lunch next week, so that’s good.”
“So…” Santos prompts.
I realize I can’t stall any longer. “Maggie’s having kind of a tough time right now. I guess word is getting around campus that she’s pregnant and?—”
“No shit. It’s all over WolfChat. There’s a whole thread devoted to it,” Deano volunteers, pointing to his phone.
“Jesus. No wonder she feels like everybody’s talking about her. They probably are. Our schedules don’t mesh all that often, or else I’d walk with her to and from each class just to shut up the freaking busybodies.”
Santos has his laptop open already and he’s putting together a spreadsheet. “Give me Maggie’s schedule and I’ll make sure one of us is there to walk along with her and keep the gossips at bay.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I just think she’s feeling pretty isolated. I mean, she has Viv, of course, but she’s traveling for competitions now, so she’s not around as much. And between our crazy schedule and my shifts at the warehouse, I can’t be around as much as I’d like.”
Ollie studies me for a minute, but before he can say anything, Rosco starts talking. “She should hang out with our girls,” he says, looking at Will, Dean, and Van. “They just got together last night.”
“Yeah,” Van agrees. “But they went to one of those rage rooms where you break shit, so it’s probably for the best that the mom-to-be didn’t get an invite. I’ll message Josie and see what they’re up to next.”
I just can’t see Josie the librarian at a rage room. “Whose idea was that?” I ask.
Pete grimaces. “Claire Fowler’s.”
I’m trying to place the name when Rosco fills me in. “She’s friends with Holland and Josie. She had a, uh…breakup recently,” he says on a cough, “then she went on the world’s worst date. So, she was in the mood to fuck shit up and the girls were happy to help.”
Based on Pete’s reddening face, I feel like there’s more to the story, but I’ve got to head to the athletic center to get a workout in, so I don’t have time to catch up. “Thanks. She’d probably love to hang out with them, as long as there aren’t projectiles flying through the air and no one’s wielding a baseball bat. Actually, if they’re going shopping anytime soon, that’d be perfect.” My sappy grin is back as I say, “She’s stealing all my hoodies because hers are too tight now. And her stretchy leggings aren’t quite stretchy enough. I need to do laundry later tonight just so we both have clean stuff tomorrow.”
“Did you pick up your new gear yet?” Will asks, and I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Each semester, we get a couple new tees, hoodies, and sweats from the athletic department, and I haven’t gotten mine yet. I’ve been too busy to remember.
“You’re a genius,” I tell him.
“You really are a genius, Will,” Santos agrees. “Who else hasn’t picked up their stuff yet?” A couple hands go up and Santos taps out a text on his phone.
I’m pulling a pan out of the oven when Maggie walks in the door. It’s nine p.m. and she looks exhausted. Fucking beautiful, but dead on her feet. I actually left the training facility with the rest of the guys tonight, and I’m glad. Practice ended an hour ago and that gave me enough time to start some laundry, change the sheets, run the vacuum, and throw a pan of brownies in the oven. She had to do a glucose test at ourappointment yesterday and I was sure we’d be walking out of there with strict instructions to cut back on sugar, but nope. My girl passed with flying colors. So, we’re having brownies for dinner. With a side of chicken breast and broccoli.
Her face lights up in a smile when she sees me and that’s enough to fuel me through the next few crazy, hectic months.
“You’re not working tonight?” she asks, toeing her shoes off and hanging her bag on its hook.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m all yours.”
She looks around the apartment and then peers into the kitchen. “You are the best boyfriend,” she declares, reaching up for a kiss.
“You ever going to upgrade my title?” I ask in between kisses. Am I fishing? Yes. There’s no doubt Maggie and I are committed to each other, to our family, but I wasn’t kidding at Christmas when I told her I wanted to make it official.
She taps her chin. “Those brownies are definitely increasing your chances of getting a ring on this finger,” she teases. “Your chances will also improve drastically when I no longer look like I’m smuggling a beach ball.” She rubs her rounded belly and smiles. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to be sharing clothes for a while. Until I bust out of those, too.”
I place my hand over hers, loving the slow gentle way she glides our palms over her stomach. “No sharing necessary,” I tell her. “Go look on the bed.”
Maggie walks into our room and I follow, unable to stop myself from watching as she blinks at the row of hoodies lining our bed. “How many did you get?”
“Ten,” I answer. “Plus half a dozen t-shirts and a couple pairs of joggers.”
She grabs a hoodie from the stack and holds it up so that it drapes over her body. “These are perfect. And they’re so soft. Did you raid the bookstore? This must have cost a fortune.”
I shake my head. “As hockey players, we get team merch every semester. A couple other guys hadn’t picked theirs upyet, and since they were all razzing me for wearing a tee on a cold day, they donated to the cause.”
