From Wife to Girlfriend
Garrett Graham x baby mama!Reader
Part two to Puck Baby
Briar had crushed BU 5-0. All morning, the team had been hyping each other up, but Garrett was hardly a member today. His mind was elsewhere. Maybe with his prom-posal, as he wrote "you're a certified beauty, going to prom with me would be goal-den" and the bouquet of tiger lilies he spent over 200 dollars on from a nice florist. At lunch, he was thinking of your teary face as you slapped down the positive tests and then told him to stand outside the bathroom as you took the third one. During the game, he was focused on showing off for Isaac. He was practically walking on water. Your seats were right behind the players' section. So, while he was getting water, the toddler could bat him on his helmet. The win was only a temporary thrill. In the locker room showers all he could think about was how you cried as you zipped a knee-length white dress over your growing baby bump. And as he drove you and Isaac to dinner he remembered every tear that rolled down your cheeks at parenting classes, at sonograms, and finally in the delivery ward.
So many tears. So much wasted time. He wanted to give you your time back. He knows he can't take the tears back, but god damnit he would do something about the pain. It started with taking more initiative in Isaac's life. No more parties, period. Exceptional grades, exceptional performance. He was going to lock down that Bruins spot, and he was going to give you a good life. Obviously, he had a key to your apartment. It was a luxury two-bedroom in Brighton, and his dad pays the rent. He sends the house cleaners to your apartment while he takes you and Isaac to celebratory ice cream.
"So we're having another sleepover tonight, bud," He tells his son excitedly over his own kiddie-sized cup of chocolate chip ice cream. Isaac cheers from your lap.
"Garett, he's got school in the morning, and I'm running out of clean underwear."
"Just take a pair of mine, I know you prefer them," he winks at you, and you roll your eyes at his antics. Isaac’s face is covered at this point in moose tracks. Before you can even shuffle your son off your lap, Garrett is standing up to grab a hefty handful of napkins (how you forgot this crucial step is beyond you) and dampen a few with water. He sits down and places the remaining dry ones under his cup of ice cream before saying
“Alright, look at me real fast, bud,” and wiping down his face. The toddler squirms in defiance, but Graham doesn’t give up. “So did Phil find you?”
“Yeah, we talked with Grandpa, he was.” You trail off a moment, “Maybe he could make like every other fallen athlete and take up acting. Cindy seems nice, the poor thing.” Graham rolls his eyes, not at you but in anger. It’s all very normal between the two of you, and it makes you both ache. When you became pregnant, you knew this would put Graham's career in jeopardy, so you decided to keep your life private.
A select few knew the whole story, and hockey fans could recognize the last name on any day care form you filled out. So it was decided that while Garrett was in school, Phil would set you up with an apartment and hand you a credit card with your name on it “for any expenses the baby might have,” and when Garrett graduated and joined the NHL, you could choose to go back to school or get a job. But at a certain point, you and Graham decided not to stay together. Something about wanting to allow him a more normal college experience. He tried desperately to talk you out of it. At 18, he didn’t want to admit he was ecstatic that you would be a permanent part of his life.
Eventually, he agreed to seeing other people, and he slept around, although this time he was much more cautious about birth control. He knew you had a boyfriend for a few months when you were 19, but that he dumped you when he realized how difficult raising Isaac was, and that you weren’t as uninhibited as any other girl he could be dating. It took everything in him not to pummel that man.
The drive home from the parlor was quiet except for the sounds of wind against the windows and the engine rumbling. Periodically, Isaac would babble in his sleep after suffering a minor sugar coma. But all Garrett could do was watch you stressfully comb your fingers through your hair in his peripheral vision. Your life must be so difficult. The house was a wreck with a post-win party, so he drove you to your apartment, which was now dish-free and spotless.
“Gare,”
“I don’t wanna hear it. It’s all for Isaac.”
“Thank you.” You smiled as he walked his son to his bedroom and helped him into his pajamas. Teeth were brushed, stories read, and prayers said. The toddler was out for the night. Garret rejoined to see you absolutely melted into your couch and suddenly felt stiff in his cargo pants.
“Hey, Garrett.” You asked as he crossed the threshold. He hummed in response, “Can you get me a glass of wine? There should be some in the fridge.”
“Course,” he responded. When he returned, he had left his jacket by your door and set down the bottle and two of your glasses. Something fancy your aunt gifted you from Pottery Barn. He sat down and fought the smile when you dug your ever-freezing feet under his hamstring despite the giant knitted blanket cocooning you.
“Drinking tonight, Graham?”
“I won, and one won’t kill me.”
“Morning lift tomorrow?”
“Seven a.m.” He confirms
“Jesus, have mercy,” you laugh as he hands you your glass. He sips it, and you watch his face contort. “Yeah, sorry, I’ve been into these really crispy, almost tart whites lately. Hope I’m not pregnant and this is some craving.”
“Oh, have you been hooking up with someone?”
“No, no,” you trail off, sipping the glass, “just ever since I gave birth, I get so scared it’s going to happen again. Isaac is my whole world, but I’m not looking to make a solar system any time soon.”
“ I get that,” he tries another sip before putting the glass down in disgust. “he seems like a lot and like you have a lot to deal with.”
“Oh, I make do.”
“What if you didn’t have to?”
“Why is Phil going to hire me a nanny? I swear the debt keeps growing.”
“No, nothing like that. I was thinking that you know, once I graduate. Maybe we can move in together. Give Isaac a better shot at a real family.”
“Garrett,”
“You don’t have to answer me tonight. Just think about it.” A silence falls over the living room. Even the murmur of the TV, which seemed to be permanently set to level 7, turned into a dull hum. You twiddled your toes under his leg and then curled them so they crack. You finish your glass, and Garrett hands you his rejected one.
"Thank you," you laugh, "Gare?" There's such an innocence to the way your voice pitches up. Once again, he hums in response. "When was the last time you had sex?" Oh, that's not innocent. He pretends to think about it. Pretends to count the days. After a beat he clears his throat.
"Last week, it was Friday."
"Really? What's his name?" he snorts at your quip
"Yeah, right, asshole. Her name was Jenna."
"Ugh, Jenna, I would kill to have had sex last Friday "
"When was the last time for you?" You take a glug of your glass
"Just you know, 8 months ago."
"Eight months!"
"Shhhhh!" you reprimand
"Sorry,” he curls his lips, "eight months?"
"Hey, I don't want to talk about it
"You're the one who brought it up
"I know, I know. But I don't wanna know what to do, Gare. I can't handle the apps, I don't have time for bars, and I swear to god my vibrator will burst into flames if I pick it up again." Finally, he turned around and faced you. His face was hard and concentrated, the way you imagine it was under his helmet. He begins to say something and then stops himself, licks his lips, and starts again.
"You're probably tired. Why don't I run you a shower and get you in bed?"
"No," you trail off again, a lilt in your voice, "I want a bath."
“Ok, I’ll set you up a bath.” He says so in an informational tone. Almonds like he’s trying to convince you that he can draw you a bath even if he doesn’t believe a tub actually exists. Down the hall, Isaac’s bathroom only has a shower, sink, and toilet. But when he snoops in your bedroom, he sees two doors. One for your closet, the second for an en suite. First step, he fills the tubs with the hottest water he can, remembering the time the two of you tried showering together and he felt himself get cooked alive. Then he located a few tea lights you had and a Bic lighter before setting out the small lit candles. He finds a bag of bath mix, hangs it around the faucet, and the water starts forming aromatic bubbles. It’s around this point that he turns around and finds you watching him from the doorway with this serene expression.
“Baths are almost ready.”
“I can see that,” you set your glass and the bottle of wine on the edge of your bath. Then you peel off the top layers of your outfit. Socks, jeans, sweater, and toss them on top of your hamper. You turn on the shower and resume stripping, having found a claw clip to put your hair in. It’s at this point that Garrett turns fully around and covers his eyes. “Come on, I’m just running off.”
“And I’m just being polite.” He hears the shower stream cut off, and you step out towards your tub
“Gare, I gave birth to your baby.”
“Doesn’t matter, you haven’t told me you want me to see you naked.” You step into the bath with a plop and release a big sigh as the hot water envelopes you
“Ahh, you got it just right.” You pick up your refreshed glass
“What scalding hot,”
“Just preparing for hell.” You laugh, “You don’t want in on this?” Garrett cocks an eyebrow at you before stalking over and dunking half his fingers into the water. As expected, it feels like a double boil. He responds no, no, but stays leaning on the ledge of the bath so he can watch you sip your wine. “In that case, can you rub my feet?” One of yours sprouts from the water.
“Sure, kid,” he says as he stands across from you and works his hands into the knots in the fascia of one foot. You are able in the same way as Isaac does. When one is down, you hide that foot under the bubble and lift the opposite. He can’t stop smiling to himself. You look so relaxed, you might actually begin to melt. When both feet have been properly relaxed, you make a bit of a guilty face.
“Gare, can you rub my shoulders?”
“Of course, (Y/n).”
The air is exceptionally misty in your bathroom, and Garrett has to navigate the mess of hair and the space between your porcelain tub and your bare shoulders to reach you. The first contact with them sets goose bumps on both his arms. He tries to ignore them. Concentrate on your pleasure. But he is further distracted by you sighing once again. A couple of directions are exchanged, lowers before you sigh again. “That’s the spot.”
He couldn’t locate reasons to change a thing. The water makes trickling noises as you shift in tandem with his ministrations. “You don’t need me to do this, you know.” Your eyes have been shut for the last few minutes, but you still raise an eyebrow. “I mean, you could always drop him off at daycare and get a massage. At a real spa. From a professional.”
“You know how I feel about daycares.”
“Or hire someone to come here. Phil’s money is a sea one massage won’t drain his savings.”
“I don’t like having a stranger's hands all over me. You-you’re familiar. It’s comfortable.” He doesn’t respond with real words, just kind of grunts somewhere in the back of his throat. “Alright, this water is getting cold, and I’m gonna get pruny.” Garrett removes his hands and immediately misses the feeling of your shoulders between his fingers and thumbs.
“Let me go get you some pajamas.” He dries his hands on one of your towels on the way out, and you roll your eyes at his utter aversion to your nudity. Or the immense respect he’s shown for constantly protecting your naked form. He knocks on the door, and when you quietly ’yell’ I’m decent, he just places some folded up PJs on the bathroom counter. After you’ve dressed, you find him, disgruntledly separating and putting laundry into your washing machine.
“When was the last time you did your laundry, young lady?”
“I was getting to it,” you defend, “it’s really hard to keep up with everything that Isaac dirties.”
“Well, the best care you can take of him is to take good care of yourself.” He shuts the washing machine, pours some soap into the little drawer, and sets it to cold and delicates. “This preserves the color.” He winks at you as if a giant, burly hockey player lecturing you about your laundry wouldn’t turn you on. He had already drawn your curtains and flicked on your nightlight.
“This is all too much, Gare.”
“I’m a dad taking care of my kid. Now go to bed.” He peels back your comforter.
“Only if you can give me more cuddles.”
“I’m not getting in your bed in day clothes.”
“Then put your jeans on the laundry chair.” You point to the seat in the corner of your room where you rarely had the chance to read. He rolls his eyes and juts his chin in the direction of your bed. As you tuck in, you watch him peel out of his pants and lay them over your chair. Shamelessly, you admire the view.
“Coping a peak?” He teases
"You know it." Before he can even attempt to settle you are sprawling across his chest and digging your body into the mattress. The contact sets his body alight. He tries to relax but he feels every muscle tense up the way they did when he drove you to the hospital. "Gare," you say after a beat "your hearts pounding."
"Yeah I can feel that."
"Are you okay?"
"Just peachy keen. Try to get some sleep."
"Please," you sigh and roll over. Immediately garrett rolls with you to spoon you. You immediately pull his hand up by the wrist. "Are you comfortable, Gare?'
"Never been better." He plays it cool. You're halfway between tipsy and drunk and fall asleep for the first time since the lines turned pink in a blissful mist. The story is not the same for Garrett. He's having a complete moral dilemma. The boner he's sporting could cut diamonds, but he is way too comfortable to get up and jerk off. Your hair smells like your expensive bergamot-and-mint shampoo. Every inch of your body feels softer than the blankets that you rub your hands on in the store. He decides that no sexual relief is worth waking you up or disturbing you. It's a few minutes later when he feels a contact high from bergamot and mint, and finally feels himself pulled under by slumber.
His sleep lasts only a brief wink because he wakes to the sensation of a warm writhing something. You're murmuring something in your sleep and grinding against him. It takes him a few groggy moments to put all of this together. By the time he has rubbed the sleep from his eyes, your babbles have become coherent.
"Gare," you sigh. Oh, oh, he snaps into game mode. But as soon as he is conscious, he is thrown back into his moral dilemma. Wake you up, potentially embarrass you, and piss you off. Or stay still and fight himself while you wet dream against him. he opts for the potentially more dangerous option and gently shakes you awake. You awake slowly, similar to him, still reeling from the change of scenery.
"Why did you wake me?"
"Uh, I think you were-you were squirming. I did n't-I felt like a cat post." It appears that the content of your dreams comes back to you.
"Oh my god, Garrett, I'm so sorry." You immediately try to jump out of your bed, but are stopped by a gentle hand on your wrist
"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm not mad, I'm just. I'd like to be a part of whatever fantasy you were having." You're tucked into his chest, and your hands fly up to cover your eyes. "What?" he laughs
"It wasn't a fantasy." You remove your hands from your eyes. "I was dreaming of prom night, in the hotel, when we accidentally conceived Isaac."
"The sex was," he trails off, finding the right words
"It wasn't good-I know we figured it out later. But from what I hear, Mr. Last Friday, you've learned some tricks."
"I have," He licks his lips, feeling his heart just pound in his chest. "Do you want me to show you them?" You nod like an embarrassed little kid. "Okay," His smile is infectious, but is once again replaced by a studying look. "I can kiss you, right?" You don't give him a chance to feel doubt. You leap across his chest and take his head in both your hands, and kiss as much of your love for him. He makes quick work to pull both of your knees around his waist.
He traces up and down the back of your thigh as you move your mouth against his, only surfacing for a moment to demand, "Take your clothes off, now." You sit up in his lap so he can sit up and peel his shirt off. He barely has the time to throw it to the side before your mouth latches onto the side of his neck. You feel his hand on the drawstring of your sweatpants
"Your turn," He smiles and helps you pull them down your hips. The flimsy fabric joins his shirt in the somewhere else that all clothes end up in during sex. He leans back to admire the view. Despite grabbing the first clean pair of underwear he could find, he finds the hip-hugging apricot panties you’re wearing far sexier than any overpriced strappy lingerie.
“Stop, it’s really nothing special.”
“It’s you, everything is special.” He squeezes your hips before kissing you again. This time, he begins trailing his lips down your neck. As your posture melts, he feels you lean into his touch. Slowly, his right hand slides down your body as his left stays supporting your neck. He pauses for a moment before rubbing your clit over your cotton underwear. And the sounds you make, he might as well quit school and hockey and spend the rest of his life pleasing you. Finding the straddle awkward, he positions you on his left thigh and slowly slides your legs down before you kick them away.
“Is this okay?” He slowly slides his index finger inside you
“Yes, gare fuck-another.” Whoa, he rarely heard you swear, but from the feel of it, you were fucking soaked. He obeys, adding his middle finger, and you look like a woman possessed. The sounds pouring out of your mouth are incessant and unabashed. He works you out on his fingers until you're brought to the brink, and right as you're about to finish, he pulls his hand out. "What's not fair?"
"You really thought I was going to fuck you without eating you out?" Your face flushes at his tone. So assertive. so confident. "You're out of your mind." You flip over and place a pillow under your lower back. The moment his lips attach to your clit, you're brought right back to the edge. "Gare-Garrett that f-feels really good."
"Yeah?" He comes up a moment only for you to shove his head right back in
"Yeah," you're nearly groaning with relief as he takes his time, "Was starting to th-think that I was becoming numb to orgasms." He slides his fingers back into you, and once again, your back forms an arch like those in Missouri. The orgasm arrives like an assassin. A silent killer. One moment you're stuttering, the next a 'fuck!' flies out of your mouth with a Garrett's name not that far behind. He comes up, wiping his mouth with an infectious smile on his face.
"Oh my god,"
"I thought you weren't supposed to take the Lord's name in vain."
"You shut up and fuck me." You pull him down and kiss him again. Even the taste of your own cum on his lips doesn't deter you. Even as you kiss him, you strip from the big old band tee he'd given you. He stands up, and you watch unashamedly, savoring the view. Even in his boxers, you're taking perverted eyefulls of his sculpted body. He pulls his boxers down and slowly climbs at you. One more kiss before he lines himself up.
You want to pretend like this is super easy. Like you were made to fit together. But at 8 months out of practice, there is some serious discomfort. He pulls back and slows down, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just been a while.'
"We can stop-"
"No!" you cut him off. "Please keep going," you pull him back so you're chest to chest. I just need you to go slower, that's all."
"Okay," He licks his lips in concentration. He lines himself up again and takes it even slower. You feel every inch and contour as he slides himself in. That delicious burn. Finally, after what feels like years, he bottoms out. "I'm in, but I'll wait until you say."
"Thank you, Garrett, just give me a minute."
"You know," He tucks some hair behind your ear, "I don't mind it here. I could get comfortable." You slide your hands down his bare waist and feel the soft skin wrapped over contoured muscle. The pain subsides, and you give him verbal confirmation that he's in the clear. He moves slowly, painstakingly slow.
"Alright, Gare, I'm not made of sugar."
"You can just tell me to speed up."
"Fine, pick up the pace, Garrett." He obeys, once again pulling his hips back with a testing swing. As you moan, he gradually raises the speed. It's like this positive feedback loop where the more you moan, the faster he goes. "Yes," you whimper. "Yes!" Finally, Garrett allows himself to be vocal, letting pleasured grunt after groan tumble through his nose.
"Oh fuck, you feel so good."
"I do?"
"Yeah, you do so so fucking good, ah, please tell me you're close."
"Yeah, I'm." He puts his lips back on your throat. Anyone else would be embarrassed. Anyone else would be embarrassed, but the sex lasts very short before you're both tumbling over the edge. And you're not embarrassed. You feel the best you ever have. Garrett looks like he could probably sympathize. Your ears are ringing with joy. You don't remember the in between of the obligatory clean up and post sex cuddles. Maybe it's because with Garrett, you don't have to think; he just understands you. You fall asleep wrapped in his arms.
………..
The morning greets you with a kind of warmth you were unaccustomed to. Not because you were wrapped in the hundred-pound arms of the love of your life. In fact, you wake up to an empty bed and his clothes gone. You would sit and sulk, but there's a text waiting for you on your phone. I had to run out and get a toothbrush and some proper clothes for church.'
No more stress and confusion. When he gets to your apartment, you tell him to leave his toothbrush in the cup and bring a few outfits next time he's around. Pajamas won't be needed, but you couldn't wait to give Isaac the good news.
