Page 106 of Pucked Together
The door opens and my husband steps in, handsome as ever in his Heatwave gear.
My husband. I still can't get used to it.
Rina looks at him and shakes her head, "Uh-uh. I just got her." She tugs the now-sleeping baby closer to her chest.
"You get one minute," Ryker says to her. Rina pouts but turns her attention back to the baby.
"And how's Mama Wildfire?" He says, coming up from behind the couch and hugging me. He places a kiss on my head, and my body reacts like it always does to his tenderness.
"Wondering if you'll finally just give in and take one for the team," I say, the dare lingering between us.
"Absolutely not," he replies sternly.
"Come on," Aunt Ginny and I say in unison.
"You might actually be good at it," Aunt Ginny says.
"No," he says. "But your minute is up, Rina."
Ryker stalks over to her, and she reluctantly gives up the baby.
He sits in the empty space between Aunt Ginny and me and snuggles the tiny baby in his bulging arms. I grab my phone and snap a picture. Loving how much my husband adores his daughter.
"Send it to me," he says. "I need more pictures of her."
"Oh my god, Balsy. You don't need any more pictures of anything. In fact, I'm putting you on a social media probation."
"What?" he asks, cocking his head in his signature way. "The fans need to know what's going on every second of my day."
His sarcasm drips from his sly grin, and Rina pulls out her phone.
"Exhibit A," she begins as she scrolls through his posts. "Boiled eggs. The breakfast of champions. With a picture of the eggs sitting in the saucepan. Not even boiling."
"It got eight thousand likes," he says with a shrug. His big hand plays with Stella's tiny fingers.
"Exhibit B," Rina continues. "This one just says ‘hashtag diapers.’ And you didn't even use an actual hashtag. Ryker!" She points to the picture as she turns the phone to us. "That's an open shitty diaper!"
Aunt Ginny lets out a boisterous laugh. "Rina, you can't ask professional hockey players to be masters of all things."
"No, Ginny, you're absolutely right. I can't." She tosses the phone to the empty spot next to her. "So that's why Ryker's on social media probation. Focus on hockey, Balsy."
"Oh, gee, thanks, Ri," he says with even more sarcasm.
And Rina glares at him knowing exactly the game he's been playing.
He kept up his end of the deal. And he's gone from asshole, Goalie-zilla to lovable, Daddy-zilla.
His social media accounts @DaddyBearBalsy garner over 2 million likes each. Mission accomplished if you ask me.
The familiar sound of Ante Up comes on through the arena speakers, and we all groan. DJ Nova's voice rings out through the loudspeaker.
"Heatwave fans, I welcome you to After-Party Fridays at the Space City Arena-a-a."
The four of us, including Baby Stella, who's now wide awake thanks to the wild personality blasting through the speakers, all get up and go to the opening overlooking the arena.
There, in the middle of the ice, is the rolled-out and sectioned-off dance floor. Every home game Friday has now been turned into an epic after-party for the fans. It's a place for them to dance and let loose, and a few of the Heatwave players always make an appearance.
"Put your hands together for the spark that keeps the Heatwave oh so hot! Ke-ee-la-an La-an-dryyy!"