#squeaks verse

“Babe,” Mat hovers over you, blocking the sun, “let’s go in the water.”

You frown up at him, shifting to the side so you can get back in the sun, and wave the paperback book in your hand at him, “I need to finish this. I’m only halfway through and we’re having book club next week.”

Mat groans and nearly throws himself to the sand, stretching his legs out in front of him and dragging his fingers in absent patterns. “Okay, but I’m bored and it’s supposed to be our vacation. Come swim with me.”

He starts piling sand on your Steve Madden sandal, making a little mountain on the insole. You roll your eyes at him - sometimes you’re convinced that Mat has undiagnosed ADHD - and flick your toes at him, catching his shoulder. Mat looks at your toes as they press against his skin, laughing and capturing your ankle with his non-sandy hand. He holds your foot against his chest and you wiggle your toes.

“Go take a walk and when you get back, I’ll come in with you,” you promise.

“Yeah?” Mat perks up, fingers tightening subtly on your foot. “Promise?”

He’s like a toddler. You giggle and nod, “I promise. Go take a walk, find me some treasure.”

“On it,” he grins, kissing your ankle bone before dropping your foot back to the lounge chair and scrambling up from the sand. His trunks are coated in a nice layer of the fine sand, like a chicken cutlet, and it makes you laugh as he sheds it when he walks off to the shore.

The beach is private, quiet. You and Mat had dragged the lounge chairs off the house’s patio and into the sand of the beach that formed the rental

house’s backyard. For a huge chunk of the last three days, you’d been out here, soaking up the sun and napping with the crashing waves as your white noise machine.

It’s been a perfect start to summer vacation. Sun, surf, sex. You and Mat have been able to stay up late and sleep in, grilling steaks and veggies every night. It feels like a fever dream, so different from the whirlwind of last summer - your first summer with Mat - and yet, just as fun.

The cocktails are flowing and Mat dutifully follows you around Citarella every morning while you shop for dinner ingredients.

Now, you watch Mat wander up the shore, kicking his feet in the water as he goes. Randomly, he bends down to pick something up. You’re so involved in watching him walk, you’ve read exactly zero additional pages by the time he returns to sit at the foot of your lounge chair.

“Sea glass,” Mat says proudly, emptying his pockets onto your towel. The colorful pieces are still wet, made translucent and shiny by the ocean water. You grin and set your book aside, leaning forward so you can sort through them like a mermaid inspecting her haul. He found a good mix of colors and you sweep them into your hand, depositing them into the small pouch in your beach bag.

“Definitely going in the sea glass jar at home,” you say, already planning on emptying the jar and reorganizing it by color. Maybe if you can find some more pieces before you head back home, you’ll get another jar from Home Goods and have some symmetry on your counters.

Mat waves his hand in front of your face, drawing your attention to the expectant look on his face. His eyebrows are lifted on his forehead and he blurts out, “let’s go in now, it’s so fucking hot.”

“I… okay,” you nod and squeal when Mat hauls you up onto his shoulder, your head flipped upside down and bobbing near his lower back, his forearms banded over the backs of your thighs. You brace your palms against the top curve of his ass and laugh as you bounce, Mat jogging to the shoreline. “Mat, stop! Oh god, it feels cold!”

His feet are kicking up splashes of cold water and you can feel it on your legs, skin hot from baking in the sun. Mat’s teeth scrape over your ass cheek, biting gently before he gives it a light pat.

“It’s refreshing,” he counters, wading in deeper even as you protest. “You were in earlier, babe.”

You wriggle in Mat’s arms, his shoulder digging into your stomach. “Yeah,” you whine, “before I baked in the sun. Mat, please don’t -“ you can feel his grip on you shift and your words are drowned out by the splash your body makes when Mat tosses you into the water. The cold water shocks your system and you flounder for a few seconds, arms and legs kicking until you can find your way upright and your head pops out of the water.

With a gasp, you shake your hair out of your face and windmill your arms to splash water in Mat’s direction. His laugh echoes and you keep splashing him until his arms wrap around you, forcing you to stop. Mat’s lips are warm on your neck, his chest firm against your back, and you give into the laughter bubbling in your chest. Waves rock your bodies up over the swell and back down, the easy way Mat’s holding you keeping you afloat.

“That was dirty, Mathew Barzal,” you grumble when he finally releases you and lets you turn, locking your legs around his waist and looping your arms around his neck. “I could’ve drowned.”

“Yeah right,” Mat rolls his eyes at you. “Your mom told me all about your Safety Swim lessons. You’re apparently a butterfly stroke prodigy.”

You him and squeeze your legs around his waist tighter when Mat bounces on the balls of his feet to float over another wave. “Okay, but when you were gossiping about me, did she tell you I failed my lifeguard certification because I couldn’t grab a brick off the bottom of the pool?” You laugh at the memory of your sixteen year old self floundering and gasping for air as you’d resurfaced, your dad squinting suspiciously at you - he’d never quite believed that you choked, always thinking you failed on purpose to avoid working in the summers.

“She failed to mention that,” Mat grins before diving under a wave without warning, leaving you to splutter water in his face when you resurface. He laughs and wipes at his face, dipping his chin to get a mouthful of saltwater to shoot at your collarbone.

You pinch at his neck and lean in to kiss him, tangling your tongue with his, pressing close against his chest. Mat’s fingers find the string ties on your bikini bottoms and tug gently and then harder when he gets resistance from the double knots you’d tied as protection against his fingers. He groans into the kiss and tugs harder at the strings.

“Stop that,” you mumble, biting down on his lower lip to make him whine. “This is a family beach.”

Mat bounces you in his arms, his cock thick and half hard under your ass. “Beach is empty, Squeaks,” he slips one hand under your bikini bottoms and pinches your ass gently. His palm is warm and broad against your skin. “Look around, we’re all alone.”

“I’m not letting you take my bottoms off in public,” you shake your head, looking over Mat’s shoulder at the empty beach. A little thrill zips down your spine at the thought though. You’re no stranger to public make outs and there’s been a few bars on Long Island and in the city that Mat’s fucked you in the bathroom. But fully out in public feels a little too risky.

“How about your top?” Mat asks, running his nose against your jaw. “Wanna suck on your tits and mark them up.”

The waves pick up around you as Mat’s lips mark a trail down your neck and you can’t even enjoy his ministrations because you’re worried about drowning. You stiffen in Mat’s arms when a wave splashes your face, breaking against Mat’s back, and he pulls back.

“You okay?” Water drips down his face and you push back his hair, slicking it away from his forehead. He’s starting to get a few freckles on his nose and it’s the cutest fucking thing.

You shake your head, “I’m not built for fooling around in the ocean. It’s freaking me out that we could drown.”

Mat lifts an eyebrow. “My feet are firmly on the sand, babe. We’re not going anywhere,” he chuckles. His arms tighten their grip, secure.

With a wrinkle of your nose, you pout, “take me back to the house and we can fool around in the pool.”

“Not even a quick one?” Mat asks, kissing your shoulder. “Wouldn’t take me too long to get you to come on my fingers.”

Said fingers make a slow creep over your ass cheeks, in between your legs. The tip of his middle finger brushes your entrance and you jolt in his arms, feet kicking out slightly. You whine his name and Mat dips his finger in shallowly, rubbing gently against your walls. It’s not enough, never enough after you’ve been spoiled by his cock, but you’re rocking against his finger. You’d blame it on the ocean, but the waves have died down a little for now.

“Mat…” you warn him and he laughs, flashing his teeth in a grin. “I’m not - we can’t -“

“We could,” he says, sliding his ring finger in next to his middle. They sink a little deeper into your cunt and you feel your clit twitch, warmth pooling low in your stomach. “It’s empty, who’d know?”

“The - the fish,” you gasp a giggle. Mat’s fingers twist inside of you and you whine, knowing you’re not going to win this battle. Not that you’re putting up too much of a fight.

Mat bites at your collarbone, flattening his tongue over the spot. “Wouldn’t be the first time an unsuspecting animal watched me finger you,” he teases, flashing you back to the Lees’ end of season barbecue just a few weeks ago and Mat making you come on his fingers in their guest room, not realizing that both Gordie and Howe were napping on the floor. The dogs had barked and scared the shit out of you and Mat, sending you both scurrying back down to the party only half satisfied.

“Let’s not - ah - make that a habit,” you sigh and to your relief and displeasure, Mat’s fingers slip from your cunt. You whine his name and cling tighter to his neck when he starts wading out of the water. “Where -?”

“My girl wants privacy,” Mat replies simply, bouncing over a wave. “So back to the house where I can make you scream.”

Your clit throbs at his words, the ridge of his cock hot and hard against your core. There’s nothing better than summer Mat and you can’t wait to get him naked so you can lick him. Summer also brings out your inner feral animal, call it a residual hormone imbalance from your teenage years spent at Boardy Barn.

Mat adjusts his grip on you as he hits the sand, holding you tighter and practically jogging back to the house. Your arms lock tightly around his neck, your laughter echoing off the sand. It’s not like he could possibly be that hard up for you, but you love his enthusiasm.

And you love it even more when he sets you down on the island countertop, dropping to his knees so he can lick a line up your inner thigh. His fingers find the edge of your bikini bottoms and deftly tug them aside, the air conditioned air on your wet cunt making you shiver. Mat groans at the sight of you glistening for him and without warning, dives face-first into your cunt.

“Oh!” You yelp, grabbing at his hair, hips jolting off the counter. Mat’s tongue circles your clit feverishly, his saliva mixing with your arousal to get you really wet and pliant for his fingers. “Mat, oh my gohhh.”

The bridge of his nose presses hard against your clit and two of his fingers join his tongue, filling you but not enough. He hums against you and you wail his name, your ass slipping on the counter from your wet bathing suit and the pool of arousal dripping out of you. If it weren’t for Mat’s tight grip on your thigh, you’re pretty sure you’d slide right off the counter.

“Stop stop oh god don’t stop,” you babble, grinding your hips against his face and pulling at his hair. His lips curl in a grin against you and it doesn’t take much more for the tight coil of pleasure building in your belly to snap. Mat’s nose rubs harder against your clit and you scream his name as you come, stomach muscles clenching so you crunch up with the force of your orgasm. You gush all over Mat’s face, his fingers pressing hard against your g-spot to prolong your orgasm.

“Oh god,” you wail, slumping back against the counter, feet kicking lazily. Mat laughs and leans back, grinning up at you with a soaked face and a twinkle in his eyes. He kisses the inside of your knee, hand stroking up the outside of your calf, his blunt nails scratching your skin lightly.

“Good?” He asks teasingly, standing to his full height and letting his hands drift from your calves, up over your thighs to rest on your hips. He leans over you and kisses your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast.

You nod dumbly, “very. What are we doing about this, now?” You let your foot graze over the obvious tent in his swim trunks and Mat jerks back, cock twitching violently from the slight contact. He groans and his forehead drops to rest on your tit. You giggle and run a hand through his hair, tugging lightly to make him groan again, the sound vibrating through your body.

Mat’s lips wrap around your nipple through your bikini top, startling a gasp from you and your back arches, pushing deeper into his mouth. One of your legs hooks around Mat’s hip and he bites down gently, making you squeak with the jolt of pleasure that zips right to your clit.

“Should I,” Mat nuzzles his nose against the swell of your breast, tugging at the damp fabric with his teeth to pull it aside, “go find a condom or maybe I’ll just make an even bigger mess of you.”

“Mess,” you whine, not wanting him to go away for a second. “Make a mess, come on me, Mat.”

He grins and nips at your skin again, pulling back slightly so he can fish his cock out of his trunks. It’s thick and hard and shiny with precome, making saliva pool in your mouth. You whine and Mat laughs, tugging at your thigh with his free hand until your ass is right at the edge of the counter, wet and waiting for him.

“Have I told you,” he grunts, stroking himself with a lazy hand, “how much I love you?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, drops of precome hitting your inner thighs. “Never get tired of hearing it though.”

Mat laughs, a strangled sound, and runs his fingers over your clit while he jerks himself off. You shiver under his touch, playing with your nipples while you watch him, following the bob of his cock as it disappears into his fist. Pressure builds low in your stomach again, a fizzy lighter than air feeling that Mat brings out all too often.

“Gotta say it more often,” Mat huffs, running the head of his cock over your inner thigh and leaving a wet smear on your skin. “Best fucking idea to do this, seeing you in these little bikinis, fucking you all the time.”

His cock is leaking steadily now, his strokes losing their rhythm.

“That’s,” you hiccup when he presses firmly on your clit, “what we do at home.”

“Different here,” he mutters. “More fun. Hold this to the side.”

His fingers fumble at the edge of your bikini bottoms, tugging them over to expose your cunt again. Your fingers brush his when you reach down to hold the damp fabric in place, letting your knuckles hit your clit. A breathy moan from you makes Mat’s cock jerk and a spurt of come dribble from the tip.

“Shit,” he laughs roughly, choking his cock with one hand and rolling his balls in the other. “Perfect little pussy for me to come on, isn’t that right, baby?”

You nod and grin at him, dropping your hand from where it’s playing with your nipple to your clit, shallowly dipping your middle finger inside your cunt. Mat groans, watching you finger yourself, his strokes on his cock growing erratic. “Tell me how much you like watching me, Mat,” you breathe, chest heaving as you get closer to your next orgasm.

“So fucking much,” he braces himself with one hand on the edge of the counter. You’re not sure who comes first, you or Mat, but you’re shouting his name and coming on your fingers and there’s a sudden, hot splash of Mat’s come on your cunt. You whine and Mat continues to finish on you, making a mess of your stomach and thighs for good measure.

He groans your name and a final spurt of come lands on your clit, making you shiver through the aftershocks of your orgasm. You’re limp on the counter and Mat rests his head on your thigh, huffing a laugh against your skin. Hand shaking, you rake your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. His come is still warm on your skin, drying at the edges of the puddles and making your skin feel tight.

“This was such a mess,” you laugh faintly. The counters are going to need to be extremely deep cleaned, multiple times if you’re being honest. You remember seeing bleach in one of the bathrooms, that’s probably going to have to be your cleaner of choice.

“You asked for mess,” Mat replies, wincing as he tucks himself back into his swim trunks. He wipes his hand on the outside of his thigh and snatches up a few sheets of Bounty to clean you off. You swat his hands away and shimmy off the counter, landing on wobbly legs.

Mat grabs your elbow to hold you steady and ducks his head to kiss the corner of your mouth. The dirty paper towels are crumpled in his hand.

Humming into his mouth, you murmur, “let’s go shower off. Be a little classier about the clean up, you know?”

As filthy as you and Mat can get, sometimes a girl just wants to act like a lady. Besides, the paper towel was abrading the faint sunburn that’s developing on your body. You need a nice moisturizing soap and some aloe. Maybe a nap before dinner.

“Whatever my girl wants,” Mat grins, kissing your neck and poking your side to get your squealing with laughter as he chases you up the stairs and into the bedroom.

-

Later, with the air still smelling like the steaks Mat had grilled and the burning wood from the fire pit you can’t stop adding logs to, you lounge against Mat’s chest and watch the sun set. His knees are bent and caging you in, warmth radiating off of his body in a way that’s making you sleepy.

“If you keep playing with my hair,” you yawn, Mat’s fingertips rubbing against your scalp, “I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

“Wore you out today, huh?” Mat laughs, a smug edge to his tone. You pull at his leg hair and he yelps, kicking out his foot to dislodge your fingers. “Fuck, ow! That hurt.”

You hum and let Mat settle his legs back around you, teasing, “you usually like a little bit of pain. Going soft on me in the summer?”

“Never,” Mat scoffs, hands around your waist and warm palms slipping under the fabric of your sweater to ghost over your skin. He sighs happily when he gets his hands on your tits, kneading them absently. You arch slightly into his touch and Mat tweaks your nipple to make you shiver. “Cold?”

The tease makes you exhale a laugh and you tip your head back to look at him, rolling your eyes, “cold shivers are much different than nipple pinching shivers.”

“Who said anything about a pinch?” Mat asks innocently, giving both your nipples a pinch that borders on painful. You whine, pouting at the flood of arousal between your legs. He laughs again, rubbing his palm over your nipple and dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

There’s a breeze off the ocean, unseasonably warm for this early in the summer, and the sky is a perfect pinky-orange. A slow wave rolls and breaks over the sand and a wild idea occurs to you.

“Hey, Mat?” You wrap your hands around his wrists, tugging on them gently. He curls his fingers with yours.

“Hey, Squeaks?” He exhales a laugh against the crown of your head.

You lean forward a little, pulling Mat with you, and turn to look back at him. He raises an eyebrow at the expression on your face and you giggle, “I have a crazy idea.”

“Does it involve you being naked?” Mat asks, kissing your cheek. He wiggles his hands out of yours and covers your tits, squeezing and dragging you backwards into his chest again. You shimmy under his grip and shift so you’re on your knees in between his spread legs.

“Funny enough,” you grab the bottom hem of your sweatshirt and tug it over your head, exposing your bare tits to Mat’s gaze and the cool air, “it does.”

Mat groans at the sight of your pebbled nipples and reaches for them, brushing his thumbs over the tight peaks. You shiver and arch into his touch, continuing, “strip. Let’s go skinny dipping.”

“Seriously?” Mat asks, hands frozen on your tits. His mouth curls up in a sly smile when you nod and then his shirt is joining yours on the sand. He nearly trips over himself to stand up and you giggle, rolling onto your back to shimmy out of your shorts. Mat’s laugh echoes off the sand and he’s stepping out of his shorts too, telling you to, “hurry up!”

You flip him off and Mat’s got his arms around your waist, swinging you to your feet, the both of your laughing. He’s got a tan line from his trunks, his ass pale white and firm, and his cock is already twitching to life as he runs his eyes over your body. Arousal pools low in your stomach and your nipples are tight in the cool air.

“You’re it,” you slap Mat’s shoulder and take off at a sprint towards the ocean, banding one arm over your chest to keep your breasts secure. Mat’s footsteps pound after you, sand kicking up at your feet, and he catches you easily, nearly tackling you into the ocean. His arms wrap around you as he falls, turning so his back hits the water first and you’re caught safely against his chest. The shock of cold water wakes you up and compared to the warmth coming off of Mat, your body has no idea to react except to let out an uninhibited cackle of a laugh.

“Fuck, I love you,” Mat’s arms tighten around you, his lips against the wet skin of your neck, body slippery against yours. Your legs tangle with his, waves rolling and crashing around you. There’s sand everywhere and you’re going to have a hell of a time rinsing off later, but Mat blows a raspberry against your shoulder and everything is a perfect, glowy orange with the sunset.

“Best idea ever or just best idea today?” You laugh, clinging to Mat. You tip your head back to look at the sky, soaking in the fading sunlight and the shifting colors of the clouds.

He buries his face against your exposed neck, rubbing his stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin, mumbling, “you’ve had a string of good ideas, baby. Starting with taking me back and continuing right here with skinny dipping.”

“You can take over decision making tomorrow,” you tease, wiggling against him until you can feel his cock hot and hard against your core. “I want to be so fucked out I don’t have a coherent thought all day.”

“Oh shit,” Mat groans, his cock jerking against your inner thigh just as a wave splashes against his back, “I can make that happen.”

With a wicked grin, you slip out of Mat’s arms and dunk your head under water, letting it cool you off before kicking and splashing away from him and back to shore. He shouts your name and you can hear him moving behind you, the cool air making goosebumps rise on your skin as you sprint back up to the house.

“Do you have to leave?” You ask, poking your lower lip out in a childish pout. Your fingers hook into the belt loop of Mat’s dress pants, as if you could keep him in the house just by touching him. 

Mat laughs and wraps his hand around your wrist, “yeah. Or are you going to be the one to tell Lou I missed the game because you wouldn’t let go of my belt loop? Or am I?” 

His fingers stroke absently at the soft skin on the underside of your wrist, tickling you slightly. 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Obviously we’d come up with a better excuse. The Prudential Center is like less than two hours away, I don’t see why you can’t leave tomorrow morning.” 

The whine in your voice is obnoxious even to your own ears and you hate how it makes you sound. But you’ve been so needy and clingy with Mat lately, a consequence of being in the third trimester and nesting. You just want him around all the time and honestly, as insane as it sounds, if you could unzip his skin and live inside of him, you would. 

When you’d mumbled that to Mat a few weeks ago, he’d laughed and stretched out the hem of his sweatshirt so you could crawl up underneath and rest your cheek against his heart. You’d nearly overheated and suffocated, but the gesture was nice. 

“League rules, Squeaks,” Mat replies now, fingers still rubbing at your wrist. “I’d change it if I could. But I’ll be home tomorrow night.” 

“That’s too long,” you grumble, tugging at the belt loop between your fingers. A flush of embarrassment makes your cheeks hot. “I’m sorry I’m being so needy,” you sigh, feeling your eyes well with tears. “I can’t control it.” 

Mat squats down in front of the couch, dislodging your hand from his belt loop. “Hey,” he gives you a reassuring smile, cupping your cheek in one warm hand, “I know it’s all the crazy hormones, but I don’t mind. I like being the guy you rely on.” 

Your breath hitches, a precursor to the crying lately, and the baby kicks just to remind you that you’re not alone even when Mat leaves for a game. 

You press your fingers to the spot where the baby kicked and Mat’s gaze flickers down to the rounded swell of your stomach. His eyes crinkle softly at the corners and lets his other hand drift to covers yours.  The baby kicks again and you both smile at each other. 

“Looks like the bug is going to be awake and keep you company,” Mat teases, flexing his fingers over yours. 

“Looks like it,” you reply, voice a little watery. You swipe at your eyes with your free hand, sniffling. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best?” 

Mat cackles and you grin. His stupid ass laugh is your favorite sound in the world. 

“No,” he says through another burst of laughter, “you haven’t! Last night I was berated for bringing you water that was too cold.” 

“It hurt my teeth!” You yelp in protest, holding a scowl for half a second before giggling. “This morning’s water was much better.”

Your husband rolls his eyes, mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’m glad to know I got it right,” he deadpans. “I gotta go now though. I’ll text you when I get to Jersey, okay?”

You nod, reluctantly, and when Mat stands up,  you reach for his hand to keep him in place just a little bit longer. He smiles down at your iron grip on his fingers and leans in to kiss the pout off your face. 

“Can you get my Stanley before you go?” You ask, when the kiss ends and Mat tugs at your hand to release his. 

“Sure, baby,” he agrees and snorts a laugh when you still refuse to let go of his hand. “Squeaks, c’mon, you gotta let go or I can’t get your water.”

You release his hand reluctantly, with a grumble. It’s getting ridiculous, how clingy you are, and apparently it will only get worse the later in pregnancy you are. 

Mat disappears into the kitchen and you shift on the couch, stretching out the twinge of pain in your lower back. Your belly gets in the way as you try and twist to crack your back, the baby kicking away. You’d been sitting normally on the couch, legs down, but now you try and bring your legs up to sit cross legged, to open up your hips a bit. It sort of helps, the swell of your belly resting in the cradle of your legs until you prop a pillow up under the bump to lift it a little. 

A sigh of relief slips past your lips when that works to help relieve some of the pressure. Unfortunately it means you’ll have to stay in this position as long as possible or until it becomes uncomfortable too. 

“Water and I brought you a snack too,” Mat announces as he comes back into the den, the crinkle of a bag drawing your attention like a dog spotting a squirrel. 

“Snack?” You repeat, reaching out your hands and making a grabbing motion. “Best husband ever, I stand by it.” 

He laughs and deposits the Stanley, clinking with ice, on the coffee table in front of you, along with the Costco-sized bag of Stacy’s pita chips and tub of tzatziki. Your current craving is definitely going to give you heartburn at bedtime, but it’s so worth it. 

“Keep that energy for when I put too many ice cubes in your drink again,” Mat brushes a kiss to the top of your head. He uncrinkles the top of the pita chip bag and snags a few to snack on in the car. “Love you.” 

“Love you,” you reply, blinking wide eyes up at him. “Can you please just rub my back before you go?”

It sounds like you’re trying to keep him in the house longer, and you are, but you also need your lower back rubbed. There’s been a persistent little pain the past few days and nothing helps but Mat’s hands working at the muscles. 

“Of course,” he nods and sits next to you, nudging you forward with one hand and pressing the other to the spot he knows is causing you trouble. His fingers dig in and you groan happily, bent over your stomach. The baby kicks and you press your fingers to the spot, rewarded with another kick that makes you smile. You love feeling baby move around. 

Mat’s hand slides under the hem of your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers rasping against your skin. His thumb digs into the dimple above your ass and you whine, feeling the knotted muscle shift and release slightly. 

He laughs and rests his chin on your shoulder, “making some pretty satisfied noises there, Squeaks.” 

“It feels so good,” you reply plainly, arching your back slightly and pressing into his touch. “I feel like I slept wrong or something.” 

“You’ve slept like a rock with that fuckass pregnancy pillow,” Mat grumbles, his beef with your favorite pregnancy purchase always at the forefront of his mind. You’ve definitely woken up more than once with the u-shaped pillow tossed to the floor and your leg thrown over Mat’s thigh. When asked, Mat always plays dumb, but you know he’d rather have you wrapped around him than some pillow. 

Your breath hitches when Mat finds a particularly sore spot and digs his thumb in, loosening it. “The pillow,” you sigh happily, “is the only constant I have, with you leaving all the time.”

Mat’s hand slides down and pinches gently at your ass, making you yelp and laugh. “How’s your back?” He asks, pressing the heel of his palm against the side of your spine. 

“Better,” you lean back against the couch when Mat shifts and stops rubbing at your back. “It feels a little looser, I guess?” 

“Try and walk around,” Mat kisses your temple and gets off the couch, ready to head out. “That should probably help loosen the muscles too.” 

You nod and lift your face for a good-bye kiss, a silent request that Mat happily obliges. You wrap your fingers around the lapel of his jacket and he grunts into your mouth, sounding suspiciously like a laugh. You force your fingers to uncurl and release him, watching Mat retreat to the front door where his overnight bag is waiting. 

“Hey, Mat?” You wait until he’s got the strap of his bag on his shoulder, keys jingling in his hand. 

“Yeah?” He turns back, an amused look on his face as he waits for your request. 

You let your lips curl into a wicked smirk, “can I get an orgasm before you go?” 

Mat’s eyebrows lift on his forehead and he barks a laugh. “Horny little freak,” he mutters affectionately, shaking his head. 

Around a delighted giggle, you reply, “but I’m your horny little freak and it’s why you love me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mat waves you off, laughing. “You know, you’re greedy too. You’ve had so many orgasms lately.” He’s trying to say it with a straight face, but can’t manage it, eyes crinkled up in amusement, laugher at the edges of his words. 

You beam at him, always proud when you make him laugh. Rubbing your hand over the swell of your stomach, you shrug, “I haven’t heard you complain before. I thought you liked burying your head between my legs and playing with me until I come all over your face.” 

Your clit throbs a little, ready for attention even though you’d mostly been joking before. 

Mat’s cheeks flush and the tips of his ears turn a little pink. He shakes his head and you can see him swallow. 

“Greedy little thing,” Mat mumbles, mostly to himself. 

“You still haven’t said no,” you point out, shifting on the couch, leaning back into the cushions. The hem of your oversized sweatshirt rides up a little on your thighs and you’re barely embarrassed by the full coverage panties you’re wearing, knowing Mat doesn’t give a shit about that. 

He laughs and strides back across the hall into the living room, dropping to his knees in front of you. He smirks at you, eyes twinkling. “No,” he says, “I didn’t.” 

A fresh rush of arousal floods between your legs and your heart kicks in your chest. Mat’s hands are warm on your legs as he tugs them off the couch, readjusting you so he can have easy access. Your clit throbs and you reach out to tangle a hand in his hair, tugging lightly. He grins at you, a wicked flash of white teeth, and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

“Mat,” you whimper his name on a breathy sigh and he kisses higher up on your thigh, nipping gently. 

“I know,” he coos, tone bordering the edge to condescending. “I have literally ten minutes before I’m going to be late. Is that going to be enough for you?” 

You nod, eyes falling shut as Mat’s fingers glide up your inner thigh and under the loose hem of your shorts. “Yes, yeah,” you groan, fingers tightening in his hair. “I’m so wet, Mat. Please.” 

His fingers find the edge of your panties and slip under the elastic, finding your soaked entrance and pressing two fingers inside of you immediately. A whine claws out of your throat, cunt clenching around the tips of his fingers. 

It takes next to nothing to get you off these days, the increased blood flow making Mat’s job incredibly easy. You’re practically always aching for him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, burying his fingers deeper and holding onto your thigh with the other hand. “Might be able to give you two with how keyed up you are.”

He thumbs at your clit and you wail, liquid heat in your veins and an electric spark coiling in your belly. The baby kicks and you hiccup, chasing his hand with your hips as best as you can. Everything is so swollen and sensitive and you’re pretty sure you’re already hovering at the edge of your release. 

Mat leans his cheek against your knee, watching his fingers work you open. His brow furrows with concentration and you squirm against the pressure of the third finger he slides inside of you, curling them against your inner walls and pressing firmly against your g-spot. 

“Mat, Mat, oh my god,” you pant. His fingers move faster and arousal drips over his wrist and down the curve of your ass, your chest heaving when your orgasm hits hard, exploding through your veins and prolonged with Mat’s fingers circling your clit. 

“There you go,” he talks you through it, “so fucking gorgeous when you come for me. Wish I had time to bury my cock in your sweet pussy like you deserve, baby. When I come home, I promise. Gonna give my girl all the attention she deserves.” 

You whine and try to press your thighs together, but Mat’s shoulders block any movement. His fingers are slick on your clit and you’re a mess between the legs, so wet there’s barely any friction from his touch. Mat keeps working at your clit and you’re not sure if it’s a second orgasm that’s bubbling in your lower stomach or the continuation of the first, but either way, you bite down on your lower lip and clench around Mat’s fingers, hiccuping a sob as he makes you come again. 

His laugh floats up from between your legs and you’re too spent to even lift your head. Your fingers are limp in his hair. 

“That might’ve been a record, Squeaks,” he teases, pulling his fingers from your cunt and holding them up for you to see the way your come drips down his palm. 

You wrinkle your nose at him and weakly tap at his side with your foot. “Unfair advantage,” you yawn, exhaustion suddenly worming its way into your limbs. “I’m always like 75% of the way to an orgasm with all the extra blood flow.” 

Mat sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean around a smirk. With a wet pop, he releases them and replies, “I’ll take any advantage I can get. I like when you’re all clingy after an orgasm.” 

“Yeah, well, now you’re leaving me and I only have my fuckass pregnancy pillow to cling to,” you reply snottily, almost immediately breaking into laughter. Mat stands up and nudges your knees with his, scowling at you. 

“As long as you remember who your original body pillow was,” he raises an eyebrow and gestures to his torso with one hand. “There was a time when you clung to me like a koala.” 

His lips fall into a pout and you mimic the expression, cooing at him, “don’t you worry, Mr. Barzal. I’ll be back clinging to you in my sleep in no time. Let’s see if you even want me, or if I’ll get turned aside for baby cuddles.” 

“There’s plenty of me to go around,” Mat jokes. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he frowns, checking his watch. “Fuck, okay, I really do have to go now. If I’m late for the bus, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Go, go,” you wave him off with a flick of your fingers, dramatically slumped against the couch, still wet and a little achy between the legs. “I’ll clean myself up.” 

Mat snorts a laugh and cups your cheek when he leans in to give you a good-bye kiss. “Trust me,” he mutters against your lips, “I wish I was the one cleaning you up. Get some rest while I’m gone, ‘cause when I come home…” He trails off with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and you beam at him. 

“I’m gonna take you up on that promise,” you lean in for one more quick kiss and then ask him to help you to your feet so you can shower and change. Mat happily obliges, following you up the stairs. 

“I thought you were going to be late,” you toss the words over your shoulder, one hand on the railing and the other holding the bottom curve of your stomach. You already feel huge at 34 weeks, you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to get anything done when you’re full term. It feels insane that your stomach is going to get even bigger and heavier. 

Mat shrugs and braces his hands on your lower back as you climb the steps. “I didn’t want you going up the stairs without help. Not after those mind blowing orgasms,” his voice lifts with the tease. 

You scoff, “hardly mind blowing. I’ll give you extremely satisfying.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I get home,” Mat replies dryly. His hands are still on your lower back, even though you’re safely off the stairs now, and you lean back into his touch. “Still sore?” 

“Mhm,” you hum and sigh when Mat digs his thumbs into the same spots as before. “I was sitting for a while though. The shower should help.” 

It already feels better with Mat’s hands working at the knots and you lean back so you’re resting against his chest. He slides his hands over your sides and brings them to rest under the bump, lifting gently until the pressure is off of your hips and you exhale loudly. 

The baby nudges against Mat’s hands and you can feel his body shift and you know he’s smiling. Every time he feels the baby move, his face predictably splits in a huge, cheesy grin. 

Mat’s lips ghost your temple in a kiss and he lets you lean on him for a few beats of comfortable silence. His phone vibrates in his pocket twice and you reluctantly push forward and away from his touch. 

“You’re really going to be late,” you murmur. “Blame the pregnant wife, I don’t mind.” 

“I mind,” Mat frowns. “I’m not going to blame you when it was my decision to hang around.” 

A rush of love for Mat makes you teary eyed and you sniffle a little. “Don’t be so sweet,” you complain, “you know I can’t handle that lately.” 

Mat smiles an apology and with one last kiss, he tells you he’ll text when they’re on the road and when they get to Jersey. You lean against the wall and listen to him thunder down the stairs and then the front door is opened and closed and you’re alone for the next two days. 

“Me and you, kiddo,” you pat the side of your stomach, getting a kick in return. “How about a little self care while Daddy’s gone?” 

The baby kicks again and you take that as agreement - not that you need much encouragement. Half the time Mat’s away, you treat it as your own personal spa time. The other half is spent with Holly or Syd and the kids, getting used to the rhythms of parenting and having a little one around. 

It’s early in the day though, so you don’t want to get too comfortable and lazy. After your shower, which involved shaving your legs before your belly gets really too big to work around and giving yourself another orgasm, you towel off, lotion up, and change into your new uniform of bike shorts and an oversized t-shirt. This one is a vintage Budweiser shirt that you’d thrifted in a men’s xl, making it your new go-to as the bump expands. It also sometimes makes you look like a drunk with a beer belly instead of a baby belly. 

But it’s comfortable and that’s all that matters. 

The shower loosened up some of the soreness in your muscles and you feel good. Loose and relaxed from the three orgasms and motivated to run some errands. 

You pick up Mat’s dry cleaning and get the car washed, ending up at the mall to check out the new arrivals at Janie and Jack. You leave with a bag full of gender neutral clothes - the only time you regret your choice not to find out the gender of the baby is when you’re confronted with the cutest little pink dresses. You spend plenty of time cooing over them though. 

By the time you get back home, your feet are starting to hurt and the baby’s kicking up a storm. You’ve done more than enough and as far as you’re concerned, you’ve earned some couch time. 

Mat’s safely in Jersey and texting to make sure you’re okay. You send back a selfie of you curled up on the couch, shooting the camera a thumbs up. 

With the TV playing a marathon of Mom, you relax into the cushions, thick knitted blanket wrapped around your body. You cricket your tube-socked feet and cradle your belly with one hand, tapping lightly in response to every little kick. A faint smile plays on your face. 

“Six weeks, bug,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the curve and stopping at the peak. “I can’t wait to find out who you are.” 

You hope the baby looks like Mat, you wouldn’t mind having a little mini version of him around when he’s on the road. A tiny replica of your favorite person in the world. 

Mat’s dark hair and hazel eyes, his smile. Maybe your nose, especially if it’s a girl. 

You can’t help but picture what the baby might look like, imagining a sweet, chunky little thing to cuddle. 

“I just hope you like terrible jokes and hockey,” you laugh quietly, “because that’s all that we talk about around here.” 

You shift when you get kicked in the ribs and prop another pillow behind your back for support. The baby stretches and you push back the blanket to watch the shape of your stomach change with the movement, endlessly fascinated and also extremely creeped out since it looks a little Alien-esque. 

The late afternoon passes in a lazy blur, you nap on and off, and by the time you get hungry, your back has stiffened up again and you’re not in the mood to move. But your stomach growls and you force yourself off the couch, grumbling as you go. 

Since Mat’s not home to make sure you eat a vegetable, or a well-balanced meal at all, you air fry a couple of chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks. The carbs sound good and they smell even better. 

You’re mid bite, melted cheese burning your tongue, when Mat FaceTimes. 

“Ah, ow, ow, hot,” you whine, tongue sticking out of your mouth as you swipe to answer your husband’s call. “Hi!” 

Mat’s face is too close to the camera and you laugh around the mouthful of hot cheese. “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows drawing together. “Are you okay?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, tongue throbbing from the minor burn. “Just eating dinner. How’s Jersey?” 

“Same as ever,” Mat rolls his eyes and the image bounces as he moves and then you can see that he’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, dressed more casually. You know the guys will probably be getting together for dinner soon. “Are you eating a vegetable at least? Getting some kind of protein?” 

“I have chicken,” you reply, a half-truth since you know Mat won’t consider the frozen Perdue strips healthy enough. “And I’ll find a carrot or something in the fridge.” 

Mat frowns at you and you smile your best charming smile at him. He shakes his head, unaffected. “Eat a variety. There’s green peppers in the drawer and leftover sweet potatoes from my meal prep that I didn’t get to.”

You pout at him, propping your phone up against a stack of cookbooks on the counter and cradle your chin in your palm. “Yes, Daddy,” you drawl, knowing exactly what you’re doing. 

“You should be spanked,” Mat barks a delighted laugh, his free hand moving enough that you know he’s adjusting himself in his pants. 

“Add it to the list of activities for when you get home,” you reply on a laugh, taking a sip from your Stanley. “Where are you guys going for dinner?” 

Mat shrugs. “I think we’re going to order in, get some rest. Big game tomorrow.” He chews on the inside of his cheek and you know he’s feeling the pressure. 

Two games left in the regular season, a few clinching opportunities over the past few games. But you know that the magic number for playoffs is two. If they beat the Devils, they’re in. 

A little nausea churns in your stomach, anxiety bubbling for the boys. But you paste a convincing smile on your face and hide your nerves. 

“Good,” you say quietly. “I know you guys are going to give it your all. Alexa’s driving over tomorrow, with Danielle and I’m not sure who else.”

The younger girls are going to drive to Jersey and watch the game live, while the moms are staying behind to watch the game at the Martins’. Syd’s hosting a watch party and you’re excited to do a get together. 

Mat nods. He looks distracted and you know he’s getting in the pre-game zone. You’re glad he called though, just so you can see his face before tomorrow. He’ll text before the game, but after that it’ll be radio silence until the game’s over. 

“Hey,” you call softly, getting his attention, “we’re good here. Don’t worry about us. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Mat replies, running his hand through his hair. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” you repeat. “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you, Mat.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Mat smiles, but it looks strained around the eyes. You blow him a final kiss and end the call, lips twisting to the side. You know Mat will get his head in the game, but playoff clinching down to the wire is always stressful. 

As you waddle - you can’t believe you’re fucking waddling, but it’s just a fact of life as of a week ago - back to the couch, you press your palms together and say a quick prayer to the hockey gods, hoping for a clinch tomorrow night and a smooth ride in the playoffs. 

“If that’s not too much to ask,” you add on out loud after your mental plea, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling and smiling faintly. 

The baby kicks in agreement and you pat at the spot, settling back onto the couch for a relaxing night. 

———

“What do you need help with?” You ask Syd, leaning your elbows on the countertop and snagging a baby carrot from the veggie tray she’s got sitting out. 

“Literally nothing,” Syd shakes her head at you, pouring pretzel sticks into a bowl. “Just relax and keep cooking that baby.” 

You roll your eyes at her and step over to the fridge, finding a couple of bowls of dip - hummus and tzatziki and the buffalo chicken dip half the girls are obsessed with from Costco. Ignoring her instructions, you take the dips out and set them on the countertop, pulling the plastic wrap off the top and swiping a celery stick through the hummus. 

“Everything looks so cute,” you compliment Syd, the sentiment echoed by Holly and Kristy, the latter of whom is slicing up chicken for Reese. 

It’s not a big group of girls that are gathering to watch the game, but Syd decorated anyway. She’s got blue and orange balloons around the den and more than enough snacks to feed everyone. Dinner is Italian ordered in and specialty cocktails, with mocktails of each drink for you and some of the other girls. You’re all in casual, comfy clothes - ready to settle in and cheer for the boys while the girls discuss the baby shower they’re throwing for you next week. 

Some of the details are a surprise, but you’d also wanted to be a little involved and it’s just nice to be able to celebrate the baby and the boys with your friends. 

For now though, the kids are all playing nicely and running in and out of the kitchen for food and you’re getting settled on the couch with an Icy Hot patch on your lower back. You rub at your back and reach for a pillow to prop behind you for support. 

“I can’t believe it’s only six weeks until we get baby Barzy joining the ranks,” Holly grins at you, tucking one leg up under her butt when she sits next to you. 

“Have you finished the nursery?” Kristy chimes in, Cole draped over her lap and quietly playing with a stuffed dog.

You shake your head. “It’s painted and the crib is in. But there are so many like finishing details to do. I’ve been too lazy to get them done and I figure we’ve got time to get that done,” you wrinkle your nose, realizing in real time that there’s not as much time as you think. Not if the guys clinch a spot in the playoffs and make a deep run. Baby’s due the first week of June, they could technically still be playing. 

“I really should get a move on with the finishing details,” you continue, a little flutter of anxiety making your stomach lurch. 

Holly reaches out to squeeze your shoulder and draw your attention. “Let me know and I’ll come over to help! The next couple of weeks will be completely crazy, but we can get it done,” she says and her tone is so reassuring. You’re beyond glad that you have her in your corner. 

The game is about to start and you get ready to lock in, nervous as hell for Mat. Your stomach jolts with movement and you wince, a cramp rippling over your skin. Frowning, you shift on the couch and move the pillow from behind your back to prop under your stomach, resting on top of your thighs. 

“You okay?” Kristy asks and you nod, eyebrows drawn together over your nose. 

“Fine, just uncomfortable. My back is killing me,” you grumble with a good natured smile. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to even move by the time I hit my due date.” 

“Barely,” Kristy laughs, running a hand over Cole’s head. “The last couple of weeks are for relaxing and fighting over names.” 

Another thing you and Mat haven’t decided on. You have a few options for a boy, but none you really love for a girl. Nothing seems right. But you figure you’ll just find the perfect name when you see the baby for the first time. 

“Do you guys have names picked?” Grace Lee pipes up, retrieving a cocktail for herself, baby August bundled against her chest in a wrap. 

“Barely,” You laugh, echoing Kristy. “We have a couple, but none are our favorites, you know?” 

You push yourself off the couch to get another drink while the girls suggest different names, some suggestions making you laugh. Your hips ache and you swing your legs to the side, one by one, to try and ease the pain. Walking around helps and you stand at the kitchen island for a bit, leaning over to let your belly hang a little and take the pressure off your pelvis. It’s frustrating that you’re trying to avoid painkillers because you definitely could fuck with an Advil right now. 

“Baby’s sitting low,” Syd comments, when you stand up straight and stretch out your back. She grins, teasing, “that means it’s a boy!” 

Your hand finds its way to the bottom curve of your stomach and you look down at the bump, not noticing anything different from your point of view. “Weird,” you comment, “I sent my mom a picture a few days ago and she said the bump looked high, so she thinks it’s a girl.” 

Something tingles in the back of your mind, a little shiver down your neck, but you disregard it as first pregnancy nerves. The baby’s constantly shifting and moving every day and you’re happy not to have them wedged up in your ribs all the time. 

“Those are old wives’ tales anyway,” Kristy chimes in. “Like if your engagement ring swings in a circle or in a line and if your cravings are sweet or salty.” 

“Fun, but not conclusive,” Holly agrees. 

You laugh and grab a bottle of water off the counter. “I’ve done all of them,” you say, settling back onto the couch. “It’s almost an even split between boy and girl, so we have no expectations.” 

“Well,” Grace lifts her glass to you in a toast, “we’re going to have a little guessing game at the shower too, so maybe that’ll be a tie-breaker.” 

“For my money,” you say, relaxing against the arm of the couch, grinning, “you know, as the kid’s mom, I think it’s a boy.” 

Over the past months, your guess has changed, but right now you’re fairly convinced the baby’s a boy. Based on literally no evidence, you’re mentally planning for a baby boy. A little mini-Mat. 

The pre-game show starts and Syd has the TV at a low volume, quiet enough so you can still talk, but loud enough that you can hear Shannon and Thomas do their analysis. They’re both discussing the clinching scenario for tonight and you rub absently at your stomach while you listen, even though you know exactly what they need to do. 

Win and in. 

About halfway through the first period, when the game is still scoreless and your thumb nail is basically permanently wedged between your teeth to nervously chew at, Jack Hughes trips over his own feet and falls to the ice, making you laugh. Along with the laugh, in an unfortunate new side effect of pregnancy, you feel your underwear get a little damp and you cringe. You wish you could say this is the first time you’ve peed your pants a little, but it’s happened too many times in the last few weeks, ever since the belly popped and you’ve been trying to stay as hydrated as possible. 

You push off the couch and another leak of liquid trickles out of you, even though you’re trying to hold it in. 

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, finally upright. It’s weird because you don’t feel like you have to pee, but you’ve also learned that it’s not necessarily a requirement these days. 

You wave off the girls when they ask if you’re okay, padding off to the bathroom awkwardly. You don’t think your pants are wet which is good, but your cheeks are heating with mild embarrassment, in any case. 

You don’t have to go to the bathroom apparently, even after carefully lowering yourself to the toilet. Nothing comes out, not when you attempt to go, so you roll your eyes at yourself and get up, washing your hands twice. 

It happens when you get back into the kitchen, a faint popping feeling between your legs and a steady rush of liquid that soaks through your panties and the crotch of your leggings. Your eyes go wide, hand to your belly, as your brain catches up to what just happened. 

“Oh,” you manage a soft gasp, the fabric of your leggings soaking up the fluid and getting wet down the inside of your thighs. A cramp, the same ones you’d been feeling yesterday, ripples through your stomach and your jaw falls open. It’s like an error screen in your brain, trying to process the fact that your water just broke. 

A cheer goes up from the den, the girls clapping and whistling. Their voices seem far away as they congratulate Camille. A goal then, for JG. Your brain briefly registers that the guys have a lead now, but you’re on autopilot as you walk into the den, both of your hands cradled under your stomach. 

“Um,” your mouth forms shapes, but no words are coming out. You blink, feeling stupid, an icy tendril of fear wrapping around your heart. It’s early. It’s too early. Your leggings are soaked because your water broke and it’s too early. Another cramp - a contraction, your brain unhelpfully supplies - and you let out an audible gasp. 

It must have been louder than your realized, because the girls turn to look at you and you realize you’re standing in the middle of the kitchen stupidly, fingers pressing tightly against the curve of your stomach. 

Slightly hysterically, you blurt, voice cracking, “I think my water broke? Oh my god, my water definitely broke.” 

Time both speeds and slows, the girls all scrambling off the couch to rush to your side. They’re asking you questions, but you can’t hear them over the pounding rush of your frantic heartbeat in your ears. Your hands scrabble over your stomach as another contraction squeezes, forcing a gasp from your lungs. It hurts. 

Holly’s hand is warm on your elbow, her fingers squeezing the joint until she gets your attention. You look at her with wide eyes and you can see her mouth form words, but you’re still not comprehending anything. 

It’s too early. Six weeks is too early. You’re not ready. The baby’s not ready. You need - 

“Mat!” You gasp, choking on a sob. “I need Mat, I want him. Oh my god!” 

Panic grips your chest and your breathing feels strange, difficult. The baby kicks and you wince, a tiny foot in your ribs. 

“We’re going to get him, I promise,” Holly reassures you, her hands squeezing your forearms now. You blink and her face swims into focus. “Just breathe, okay?” 

You manage a nod and it’s like you’re not in charge any more, the girls are talking and figuring everything out. All you have to do is breathe and stay calm. Which works for about ten seconds and then the baby kicks again, a few jabs in rapid succession, and you’re reminded that you’re in labor and Mat’s in New Jersey and your breath hitches in your chest, the prelude to a sob. 

There are comforting hands on your back and shoulders, gently pushing you towards the door and it’s overwhelming to the point of overstimulation and you’re embarrassed when the dam finally breaks and tears start falling hot and fast down your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” you stutter. “Oh my god, I can’t - I - I…” 

Holly steps in front of you and forces you to look at her. “Breathe! I’m going to take you to the hospital and we’re going to get ahold of Mat and everything is going to be okay,” she squeezes your hands, waiting until you nod a confirmation that you’ve heard her. 

Satisfied, she turns to Syd and without having to ask, Syd nods, saying, “don’t worry. We’ve got Gunnar and Tulsa here until you get back. Just look after our girl.” 

Syd wraps you up in a one-armed hug and kisses your cheek. “You’ve got this,” she reassures you. “And we’ll get Mat to you, we promise.” 

You nod and wipe at the tears on your cheeks, terrified. “I don’t even have my stupid hospital bag packed,” you wail, holding tightly to Holly’s hand like a little kid with their mom. 

Holly squeezes your hand, “don’t worry. We’re going to get you to the hospital and checked out. I’ll come back and pack your bag once Mat is here. Just breathe, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur, trying hard to regulate your breathing. Your phone is clutched tightly in your free hand, the edges digging into your palm. Mat is on the ice, skating away in New Jersey, and you have no idea how to get ahold of him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, everything was fine and normal and now it’s terrifying. 

She helps you into her car and you protest, worried about staining the seat. Holly shakes her head at you, laughing faintly even though it’s not funny, “girl, please. As long as you don’t have the baby in the car, which I don’t think you will, anything else can be cleaned. Just please stop worrying.” 

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, white knuckling the door handle when another contraction grips you. You bite down hard on your tongue, tasting blood, and that sends a wave of nausea through your body. 

You’ve never been happier that you live so close to the hospital, less than fifteen minutes and Holly’s pulling into the entrance to North Shore and throwing the car into park. She jumps out and you take a minute, breathing harshly through a contraction. 

“Don’t leave me alone, oh my god, I cannot do this alone,” you grip her forearms when she comes to help you out of the car. 

“I’m not leaving, promise,” Holly guides you into the hospital, stopping abruptly when a security guard appears, a frown on his face. 

“Can’t park there, ma’am,” he says bluntly and you want to scream. 

Holly’s eyebrows lift into her hairline and you give him the dirtiest look you can manage. Before she can say anything, you snap, “I’m in labor six weeks early and my husband is in a different state! She’s parking wherever she needs to!” Tears cover your face, you’re an ugly crier. 

The security guard’s eyebrow lifts and he steps aside, gesturing to the hospital door with one hand. “Good luck, but please come back and move your car when she’s settled,” he says to Holly and you barely hear her response as she ushers you inside. There’s a flurry of activity and at some point you wail through a contraction that you’re in labor and a nurse quickly finds a wheelchair. 

“Oh my god,” you grip the arm rests, heart pounding too fast in your chest. “Did someone get Mat? What’s happening, Holly?” 

“We’re trying,” she rubs at your shoulder, “I’m not sure what’s happening with the game, but the girls are on it. I’ve texted Bo half a dozen times so someone will get him. Just try and relax.”

“Is the baby going to be okay?” You crane your neck to look at the nurse pushing your wheelchair. “I mean, it’s six weeks early. But that’s not too bad, right?” 

She gives you a reassuring smile, “honey, you just focus on that breathing. We’ll make sure everything is okay.” 

It’s not super reassuring, but it does calm a little bit of the worst of your thoughts and you suck in a shaky breath. Your phone vibrates in your hand and you whip it up to your face, hoping it’s Mat, but it’s just the ESPN notification that the first period of the game has ended. You groan and wave your phone at Holly, “first is over, maybe we’ll get ahold of Mat now?”

She’s nodding, “we’re working on it.” 

You’re helped into a hospital gown and into bed, monitors strapped all over your stomach and an IV inserted into your hand. There’s medical jargon and nurses and all you’re trying to do is keep calm because everyone keeps mentioning your elevated heart rate. 

“We’re going to give you a magnesium drip,” one nurse says kindly, “to try and stop your contractions and delay labor for a few days, if we can.” 

“Is that safe?” You’ve calmed down a bit, your head a little fuzzy and your stomach twisting with anxiety. “It’s not…it’s not going to hurt the baby, right?” 

Holly’s at your side, holding your free hand with hers and typing rapidly on her phone with her other thumb. 

The nurse shakes her head, “it should be fine. But we do have to prepare you that it may not work since your water already broke and you’re a few centimeters dilated at this point. We’ll know more in an hour or two, but in the meantime, try and relax.”

Once the nurses all seem satisfied that you’re hooked up to enough machinery, they leave the room, the sudden silence overwhelming and deafening. You groan and rub your hand over your face, your eyes sore from crying and your cheeks itchy from the dry tears. 

“This is insane,” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. 

“Okay, so the second period started,” Holly sighs. “I haven’t heard from Bo, I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get him before the end of the game, babe.” 

“Okay,” you sigh, resigned, “not much I can do but wait, right? Hopefully the magnesium works and we just, you know, roll with it.”

Holly smiles teasingly at you, “did they put a sedative in that IV too?” 

“Honestly, they might’ve,” you laugh faintly. You do feel a little slow, your body relaxing out of the fight or flight mode. “What’s the game looking like?”

It’s an insane thing to ask, but you need to think about something else that’s not the cramping in your stomach or the steady drumbeat of worry. Maybe the contractions are slowing or maybe you’re delusional, but it’s at least been fifteen minutes since the last one. 

“Um, Jersey scored, but we’re still winning,” Holly replies, taking a seat in the visitor chair in the corner. “The girls are still trying to get to Mat, but in the meantime, do you want me to run back to your place and pack you a bag?”

The thought of Holly leaving and you being left alone is enough to spike your heart rate enough yo get the monitor beeping angrily. 

You exhale shakily and admit, “I think the only thing I could handle right now is you going to move your car and coming right back.”

“In that case, I’ll be back in five,” Holly squeezes your hand. “I would fight a ticket, but if we can avoid one…” 

She trails off and you nod, closing your eyes as she runs out of the room. You’re taking stock of your body, the pain in your back and stomach, the way your thigh muscles are twitching for some unknown reason. Everything just feels strange and wrong and scary. Even your stomach feels different, firmer to the touch, spasming with the first contraction since you’ve been hooked up to the IV and monitors. You press your hand over your stomach, unable to hold back the groan as the pain ripples through your body again. 

“I need you to stay in there, okay?” You rub at the side of your stomach, feeling the baby move around. “At least until your daddy gets here, but preferably a few more weeks.”

Nothing happens except a little kick to your side, so you pray that it’s a good sign and try to relax. The IV itches and your head is throbbing, so you rub at your temple with one hand, constantly tapping your phone screen with the other. 

No update from Mat or the girls. 

Holly comes back into the room, frowning at her phone. “There has to be a better way to get ahold of the guys,” she mutters. “We need to overhaul this system.”

“I mean, it’s been a bit since my last contraction,” you reply hopefully. “Maybe the magnesium is working?”

She crosses her fingers and retakes her seat, distracting you with whatever gossip she can think of, videos of Tulsa performing little dances, asking about baby names. A contraction grips you during the conversation and lasts for a few seconds, leaving you breathless and teary eyed. 

“Holy fuck,” you grunt. “Why did no one tell me these were that bad? I expected solidarity from the Isles sisterhood.” 

Holly laughs, “you can’t even describe it, honestly. So telling you about it wouldn’t have done much good.”

You huff an exhale and shift onto your side to relieve some of the pressure on your ass. “What’s happening in the game?” You ask, needing a distraction. 

“Second period’s over, we’re up three to one,” Holly tells you. “How are you feeling?” 

“Terrified,” you admit honestly. “I don’t know if anything that I’m feeling is normal, but I really just want Mat, no offense.”

“None taken,” Holly laughs. “Want me to braid your hair? I feel kind of useless right now.”

Before you can answer, another contraction hits, less time in between this one and the last one, stealing your breath. When you can finally get a good breath in, you grimace at Holly, “you’re not useless, I’m just glad I’m not alone. And yeah, braids would be nice.”

While Holly braids your hair, a nurse pokes her head into your room, introduces herself as Kennedy, and asks you how you’re feeling. She checks the monitors and explains that they’re stopping the magnesium drip for now, since the initial dose is done, and the hope is that your body will respond to the treatment. 

“You’ll get another dose in about an hour,” she says. “Your contractions seem to have stabilized and haven’t increased in frequency, so that’s a good sign.”

“So, labor stopped?” You ask, shifting and sitting up more. Holly ties off the end of your braid and lets your hair fall against your back. “I’m not having a baby today?”

“Well,” Kennedy hedges, “I didn’t say that. Let’s just see how things play out, okay, hon? Your water did break so we don’t want to keep that baby in there too long, it increases the risk of infection. We’ll see if we want to give you a steroid injection to help baby’s lungs develop a little more.” 

You slump back against the pillows. “Oh,” you murmur, stroking your stomach. “I just…” 

“I know,” she squeezes your fingers warmly, “it’s scary, for sure. But you’re being monitored and if anything happens, we have a really phenomenal NICU here. You’re in good hands.” 

You nod reflexively, “thanks, um, do you think my husband will have time to get here before anything happens?” 

Kennedy lifts one shoulder in a non-committal shrug. “I really don’t want to promise anything because labor is extremely unpredictable in timing, but,” she looks at the monitor screen, “you’re not likely to have a baby in the next two or three hours.”

That’s a little reassuring, but you still drop your head back against the pillow when she leaves, groaning at the situation. Holly chuckles at your reaction, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your knee. “Looks like Baby B really wanted to join the shower next week,” she tries for a light tease, but that only makes you feel worse. 

Emotion clogs up your throat and you press the heels of your palms into your eye sockets until you see starbursts. “The shower! You guys planned something so nice, I’m sure. But if I do…if baby is early…” you trail off, helpless. 

“Then we’ll cancel!” Holly says quickly and easily. “It’s not a big deal or something to worry about, we’ll reschedule for when you’re feeling up to it. Or we’ll just bring the party to you and baby.” 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” you cover your face with your hands, pressing your lips together to hold back a fresh onslaught of tears. Baby kicks and you hiccup, needing Mat more than ever. 

There’s not much Holly can say to reassure you and you fall into a semi-comfortable silence, the monitors beeping away. For now, things are calm and you close your eyes briefly, hoping you’ll be able to get in at least a few minutes worth of a nap. 

When you wake up, Holly’s phone is ringing and you snap your head in her direction. She sighs, relieved, and you know it’s Mat. She jabs at the screen, answering the call and putting him on speaker and then Mat’s voice is filling the room. 

“Holly, what the fuck is happening? Where’s Squeaks? Is she okay?” He’s speaking fast and his tone is frantic, the speaker making his voice echoey and far away. 

Tears immediately fill your eyes, falling fast as Mat’s voice washes over you. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry, Mat. I didn’t…” 

He cuts you off, “Squeaks, baby, it’s going to be okay. I’m on my way, I’ll be there in - fuck - two hours. Fucking goddamn traffic. Just stay calm and I’ll be there. I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” you reply with a wet sniffle. “Drive safe, please.” 

“I will,” he promises. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Holly, call me if anything happens.”

You’d been feeling a little calmer, but just hearing Mat’s voice has your anxiety spiking and tears refusing to stop. Now you’re worried about him driving home while he’s emotional, in addition to being nervous about the baby. You can’t stop the hiccuping sobs that are shaking your body and Mat can clearly hear them through the speaker. 

“Hey, Squeaks,” he calls, louder to get your attention. “Listen to me, everything is going to be fine. You’re strong and tough and stubborn and I’ll be there before you know it.” 

“Okay,” you mumble through a hiccup, baby kicking and rolling around. “Be careful, please, Mat. Please don’t speed, okay? I need you okay too.”

“I will be,” he assures you, letting out a string of curses. “Sorry, sorry. Leaving this fucking arena is a nightmare. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”

You nod, making a little squeaking noise when the baby’s foot lodges up in your ribs painfully. 

“I’ve got her, Mat,” Holly reassures him calmly. “I’m not leaving until you get here. She’s okay for now, nurses don’t seem too concerned, but you’ll get the full update when you’re here.” 

Mat’s sigh can be heard clear across the room and your heart squeezes. Trying for normalcy, you ask quietly, “how was the game?” 

“We won,” Mat laughs dryly, “but that wasn’t the most exciting thing happening apparently.” 

He sounds a little calmer now and you feel your own anxiety release. You really don’t want him driving when he’s worked up. 

“Win and in,” you reply. “Proud of you, baby.” 

“Thanks,” he sounds distant through the phone, a brief cut out of service that makes your heart sink. And then he’s back. “Busy times around the Islanders, huh? Okay, I’m getting onto the highway, let me know if anything happens.”

You and Holly simultaneously let him know that you will, even as you add on another “be careful!” and Mat blows you a kiss before ending the call. 

The sudden loss of his voice has you bursting out into unstoppable sobs, surprising both you and Holly. She yelps a little before folding you into a tight hug. You cry onto her shoulder, feeling awful and overwhelmed and like a burden, until the tears run dry. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, voice hoarse, when you pull back. “I know this is not what you expected or wanted when you became my friend.” 

Holly scowls at you, “babe, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say a lot of stupid shit. We’re ride or dies. I’m just glad you weren’t alone when your water broke and I’ll be here as long as you need me.” 

Baby rolls around and you nod, suddenly exhausted. “I just…I’m…” you fumble for words and can’t find them, tired of crying, tired of the anxiety that’s got your shoulders set stiffly by your ears. “Just, thank you.” 

“Literally anytime,” Holly pulls you in for another tight hug that makes you feel a little better. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep while we wait for Mat?”

You don’t think you’ll be able to relax that much again, but you’ll try, wincing your way through another contraction before slumping back in the bed. 

——-

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 15 

Mat Barzal doesn’t appear to be in the locker room after the game. We’ll ask about him to get a sense of what’s happening. 

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 15 

Barzal will not be made available to the media, but the team wouldn’t clarify as to why. His wife is pregnant, so hopefully everything is okay back on Long Island 

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 15 

When asked about Barzy, Patrick Roy had this to say: “This is his personal business, so I won’t speak to it. But Barzy knows we are supporting him and his family and if he needs anything, the team will have his back.” 

———-

The next few hours are less than restful. You get another magnesium infusion about an hour after Mat’s call, your contractions starting to pick up again. You can’t tell if they’re more painful or not, but they’re definitely more frequent. 

The baby is wiggling away inside of you, your stomach hardening with each contraction and jumping with movement. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, biting down hard on your tongue. “This is awful.”

Your skin feels hot and itchy. You can’t stop counting the minutes between contractions, worrying at your lower lip when they’re back to fifteen minutes apart. That feels like it’s the danger territory of baby coming sooner than you want. 

Another hour passes and you’re still having contractions, despite the second maintenance dose of magnesium. A nurse checks your cervix and confirms you’re about three centimeters dilated, which is apparently terrible news for actually delaying labor. 

“So you’re saying this stupid IV didn’t work?” You grumble, lifting your hand for emphasis.

“Sometimes it doesn’t,” the nurse shrugs, leaving much to be desired with her bedside manner. “Your labor is still progressing slow, so we couldn’t be sure the infusion would work.” 

Your next sentence is cut off by a contraction, a grin rumbling out of your chest as you double over, twisting the sheets in your fingers tightly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you wail, breathing hard when it passes. 

You drop your head back against the pillow, frustrated that the magnesium didn’t work, that your labor is progressing, that Mat isn’t here yet. He should’ve been here by now and you don’t want to call him and distract him, but you’re getting nervous. 

“You haven’t heard from Mat, right?” You ask Holly, even though you know she would’ve said something. 

She shakes her head. “Nothing, and his location is still not loading on Find My Friends?” 

“No,” you mutter, grabbing your phone up from where it’s lost in the sheets and thumbing over to the app, “nothing. Which is freaking me out.” 

You’re trying not to think about it, maybe his phone died, maybe it won’t connect to, like, a cell tower or whatever to give an accurate location. You just have to focus on breathing and Mat will be here soon. 

Holly leaves the room to get you some water and another contraction hits when she’s gone, leaving you dizzy and groaning through your teeth so loud you don’t hear the footsteps thundering down the hall until they skid past your room and double back. 

You look up in time to see your husband in the doorway, breathing hard and flushed, disheveled. 

“Mat?” You gasp his name and then start sobbing as the contraction fades into a dull ache. 

He’s at your side in three strides, kissing your forehead and running his hand over the back of your head. “Hey, hi, I’m here,” he mumbles into your hair, “I’m here.” 

You can answer, crying too hard, face turned to bury in his neck. He smells like sweat and locker room and Mat, and you’ve never been happier to smell him. You can feel your body relax the longer he holds you, stroking at your hair and kissing your temples. You twist your fingers into the fabric of Mat’s shirt, clinging to him desperately. 

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Mat keeps talking into your hair, fingers shaking against your skin as he cups your cheek in his palm. “I’m sorry, there was so much traffic and my fucking phone died.” 

“I don’t care,” you mumble-gasp, “I’m just glad you’re here.” 

“I’m not leaving,” he promises, pulling back and kissing you deeply. Your fingers cramp from holding onto him so tightly, but you can’t let go. 

You sigh shakily against Mat’s lips and he kisses your cheeks, your tears wet against his lips. He peels one of your hands away from his shirt to lace his fingers with yours and sits down on the edge of the bed, thumb rubbing over the backs of your knuckles. 

“How do you feel? What happened?” He asks, eyes a little wide and frantic looking. He’s in a crumpled button down and his slacks, the buttons done up wrong. 

“All the back pain I’ve been having,” you wipe at your face, voice raspy, “early labor. My water broke and they put me on a magnesium drip, but I don’t think it really worked that well because I’m three centimeters dilated and the contractions are pretty regular now.” 

Holly’s back in the room as Mat’s opening his mouth to reply and her sigh is audible, “oh thank god you’re here. We were worried!” 

She gives him a one-armed hug and settles your water on the tray table. 

“Thanks for taking care of my girl, Hol,” Mat says warmly. “I’m glad she wasn’t alone.”

You nod in agreement, still clinging to Mat. “I’m really glad you were here,” you say, breaking off into a groan when you’re hit with another contraction. Mat’s hand tightens in yours and you slump back in relief when it passes. “They’re closer together.” 

“We’re probably not leaving the hospital without a baby, right?” Mat asks, looking a little nauseous. 

“Like I said,” you exhale roughly, “I don’t think the magnesium worked.” 

Your stomach feels heavy and a little voice in the back of your mind is telling you that labor isn’t stopping. Mat’s free hand finds your stomach, rubbing gently and you can feel the baby react to his touch, jumping every time his fingers flex. 

“Okay,” Mat nods once, decisively, “okay. Everything is going to be okay, Squeaks. We just take it as it comes.” 

You’re more than happy to let Mat take control, to turn your brain off and let him handle things, but you can’t check out yet. 

Holly chimes in, “I’ll go grab a bag for you guys, a change of clothes for you, Mat. And if there’s anything else you need just let me know.”

“Thanks, Holly,” you say. “Just grab my keys from my purse and - wait, Mat, how did you get here?” 

He coughs faintly, ruffling his hand through his hair, “took Alexa’s car. Which, uh, Holly, can you move it into the parking garage? I left it in the front circle and got into a shouting match with the security guard. So it might not actually be there at all.” 

“Oh my god,” you groan a laugh. “I think I yelled at the same guard.” 

“I’ll pay the ticket,” Mat shrugs. “I wasn’t waiting any longer to come see you. If they don’t like it, fine.” 

Holly rolls her eyes and holds out her hand for Alexa’s keys. Mat fishes them out of his pocket and drops them on her palm. 

“I’ll move the car and go get a bag and bring it all back,” she says, squeezing your shoulder on her way out. You and Mat both call out your thanks and then the room is quiet and it’s just the two of you. 

Mat’s whole body slumps, his shoulders rounding forward and his face smoothing out from the concerned frown it had been stuck in. “I’m so fucking happy to be home,” he squeezes your hand. “When I saw my phone, all the notifications…” 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “Mat, I am so, so sorry.” 

Guilt settles in your stomach like a brick and Mat shakes his head at you, frowning again. 

“What are you sorry about?” He asks, eyebrows lifting into his hairline when you yelp and squeeze his hand, hard, during another contraction. “Breathe, like we did in that class. In and out.” 

He breathes with you and you focus on him, matching his speed until it passes and you can relax again. 

“Was that closer together?” Mat asks and you nod. 

“I think so? I don’t know anymore,” you shrug. “I’ve been trying to pay attention, but I couldn’t while you were driving and I don’t know. Oh my god, I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Your panic escalates into wheezy gasps and Mat has to remind you to breathe again, encouraging you to match his inhales and exhales until you’re calm again. 

“You’re okay,” Mat cups your face in his hands, nodding encouragingly at you. “That’s good, breathe, baby. You’re okay. I don’t know what I’m doing either, but we’re doing it together, right?”

“Right,” you nod minutely, exhausted and sore and scared. You wrap your fingers around Mat’s wrists for an anchor and he ducks his head to kiss you quickly. “I’m not ready for this, Mat. I thought we had time.” 

You don’t mention the fact that he’s got playoffs in literal days, that the nursery isn’t completely done, that you haven’t meal-prepped anything for after birth. 

“We don’t even have the car seats in our cars,” you huff. 

“But we bought the car seats,” Mat reminds you, scooting up so he can sit next to you and wrap his  arm around your shoulder. You tuck up against his side. “That’s a good step. I’ll install the seats before we need to use it.”

His hand is on your stomach and you lean into his touch, trying to shift away from the pain settled into your pelvis. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you repeat into his side, yawning. 

“Me either,” Mat strokes your hair. “But it’s happening and it’s really late, so why don’t you try and sleep?”

You stretch your legs out in front of you, calves twinging with stiffness, and shake your head. “I’ve been napping on and off, it’s really hard to sleep when the contractions get going,” you complain, tracing your fingers over the buttons on Mat’s shirt. 

Mat makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. “It’s only going to get worse, you need to sleep as much as you can,” he traces his fingers on your shoulder. “I’ll be here, just relax and see what happens.”

It’s well after midnight, closing in on one in the morning, and you can definitely feel the exhaustion in your bones. You know Mat’s right, that whatever happens in the next few hours is going to need all your strength, but you also know you’re going to be woken up with every contraction that hits. 

“Stop thinking,” Mat laughs. “I’ll sing you to sleep, if you want.”

You laugh, momentarily distracted, “aren’t I suffering enough?”

He hums the chorus to Cinderella Man, sounding more like a threat than anything, and you laugh again, so much love for Mat warming you from the inside. He switches to Eye of the Tiger and then the Rocky theme song and you can’t control your giggles, feeling supported and motivated and so, so loved. 

After a while, Holly’s back with Bo on her heels, carrying your Beis overnight bag and Mat’s Herschel duffle. 

“Hi,” you wave from the bed, drowsy. You’ve napped a bit, but you’re fading in and out with the frequency of your contractions, now ten minutes apart. You’re dilated six centimeters at last check and the nurses seem pretty confident that there’ll be a baby before the end of the day. Which still leaves about twenty-two hours for you to labor, so you’re hoping it’s a little sooner than that. 

“Gave everyone a scare, huh,” Bo grins at you, kissing your cheek in a hello. He claps Mat on the back and deposits your bags in the corner. “God knows what we packed for you guys, so just let us know if you need anything else.”

“I’m just glad to get into anything that’s not my suit,” Mat says excitedly, rifling around in the bag until he withdraws a pair of joggers and a henley. He disappears into the bathroom to change. 

“Thanks for bringing stuff,” you reply quietly. You’d been given a mild sedative about ten minutes ago and it’s taking the edge off if everything since you weren’t getting an epidural - not by choice, your doctor had discouraged it for now, while they monitor you and the baby. “Who’s watching the kids?”

“Dobber and Alexa,” Bo answers, dropping down into the seat Mat just left and stretching out his legs. “Hol and I figured that I would come back with her so we could swap out your car with Alexa’s.”

“But they’re asleep anyway,” Holly chimes in. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you shrug. “Another contraction should be coming any minute, they’re closer and stronger, but not much we can do at this point.” You frown, Bo’s explanation catching up to you. “Wait, you guys thought to bring Mat’s car here for us? That’s really sweet.” 

Emotion clogs your throat at their thoughtfulness and Holly squeezes your forearm. 

“It’s nothing, we’re happy to help however you need,” she says warmly. 

“Plus they gave her a sedative,” Mat says, coming out of the bathroom with his dirty suit bundled up in his arms and his henley bunched up over his stomach, having missed part of the conversation. He tugs at the fabric and tosses the suit onto the window ledge. “Doctor said there should be a baby within twenty-four hours.” 

“Hopefully,” you rub at your stomach. Anxiety bubbles up past the sedative. “We’re on a countdown because it’s apparently not safe to have my water broken too long, like, an infection risk or something.” 

Bo winces and you can’t blame him. Most men don’t like hearing about labor. You pivot the conversation to the game, dozing a little as the guys talk. It’s so late or early technically now that it’s nearing one in the morning. 

Holly and Bo head out to leave after a few minutes, wishing you luck and telling you to call them if you need anything. 

And then it’s just you and Mat again, a slightly anxious peacefulness blanketing the room. Mat’s back in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor and pushing his hand through his hair absently. He looks as exhausted as you feel and the reality of the situation really sinks in. 

There’s going to be a new baby, six weeks early, just days before your husband leaves for Carolina. 

You groan your way through another contraction, Mat jumping up to stand next to you and hold your hand through it. He strokes your hair off your face and says, “jeez, you’re so fucking tough, Squeaks,” in an awed voice that makes you giggle weakly. 

“I don’t feel tough,” you pant, breathless after the intense contraction. They’re lasting longer now and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to make it through hours more of this. Mat’s thumb rubs against the backs of your knuckles and you cling to his hand.  

“Our kid’s going to be just as tough as you are,” Mat vows, the slight shake in his voice betraying how nervous he is about the whole thing. Your lower lip wobbles and Mat swoops down to kiss your temple, the sweetness in the gesture making your tears spill again. 

You sniffle back your emotions, chest tight, and lean forward a little. Instead of repeating how scared you are for the millionth time, you ask Mat if he’ll rub your back. He nods and then his hand is warm on your back, fingers dipping under the open back of your hospital gown and working at the sore muscles. His touch feels good, like always, but everything hurts and your legs are starting to feel stiff. 

“Can you help me up?” You ask.  “I want to walk around a little, get things moving.” 

Mat nods and you use him for leverage to get out of bed, hospital gown flapping with your movement and a cool breeze ghosting over your bare skin. You reach behind you and tug the two sides of the gown closed, grumbling when you’re still exposed. “Don’t let anyone see my ass,” you mutter to Mat, bracing both hands on your lower back as you pace around the room. 

He laughs and pinches the gown closed with two fingers. “I’ll stay behind you the whole time,” he promises. “No one gets to see that gorgeous ass but me.” 

You shoot him a small smile and continue your pace, the grippy spots on your socks sticking to the floor and reminding you to lift your feet with each step and not just shuffle. A trickle of amniotic fluid snakes down your leg and soaks into the top of your sock. 

“Oh god, ow, ow,” you moan through a contraction, grabbing at Mat’s forearms and bending at the waist. You lean all of your weight on his arms and his fingers are tight around your elbows to keep you upright. The pain washes over you, your stomach tightening, Mat’s quiet encouragement background noise. It fades and you groan, dropping your chin to your chest, “my whole ass is hanging out, this is so undignified.” 

“It’s just us here,” Mat reminds you. “And we’re both familiar with your ass. I’ll cover you up when someone else comes in, but for now, just do what you’ve gotta do.” 

You nod and grip his forearms again, groaning your way through another contraction. 

——-

The sun is starting to come up, the sky fading from inky black to a washed out grey-blue, and Doctor Harmon’s delivering the bad news that despite the constant contractions, your labor has stalled and you’ve been at six centimeters for four hours now. 

“Your water broke around 7:30 last night, right?” She asks, tossing her gloves into the trash. 

“Around then, yeah,” you reply, sagging back into the pillows. Mat rubs at your shoulder. 

She clicks her tongue, thinking. “Well, the longer your water is broken without a baby, the more risk of infection there is. I don’t love that your labor stalled, but we’ll give you another hour. If there’s no progression, I’d like to start you on Pitocin to get everything moving,” she explains. 

“Can we do anything to get it going again?” Mat asks, eyebrows drawn together over his nose. You hate that you’ve been pumped full of medication already and if you can avoid more, you’d like that. 

“Walking,” Doctor Harmon answers. “Bouncing on the ball. But if you’re still at six in an hour, I would feel more comfortable with the Pitocin than with waiting. It’s better for you and baby.” 

You nod, her words sinking in and resonating even if you don’t love it. Mat nods too, saying, “we’ll walk up and down the halls. Will spicy food help?” 

You giggle. “I don’t think that’s going to do much other than give me heartburn,” you turn your head and kiss his wrist. “Just help me up so I can walk around.”

There’s an hour countdown now, for something to happen, and your anxiety is ramping back up. Mat tries to distract you by suggesting baby names, something you haven’t decided on, but that only makes you cry because what kind of shitty parents are you that you couldn’t come up with names in six months? 

Then he asks, with a sheepish frown, if you had called your parents. “I forgot to call mine and Li,” he admits, as if he hadn’t had other things on his mind. 

“I didn’t call anyone other than you,” you grit out the words through a contraction. 

“Well, shit,” Mat laughs, letting you crunch his hand. “Should I call everyone?” 

Part of you really wants your mom and the other part just wants Mat, so you shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t want everyone in here,” you say, “but if they have to get flights…” 

“Let’s see what happens in an hour and we’ll make a decision then,” he offers as an option, “sound good?” 

You nod and Mat holds your hand while you walk slowly up and down the hallways, stopping every few minutes for a contraction. 

An hour and a half passes in a blur and it’s bad news, “no movement,” Doctor Harmon informs you with a frown. 

“Are you sure?” You’re tired and hungry and scared. “I walked around forever, nothing?” 

“Nothing,” she tells you with a slight shake of her head, tone sympathetic. “I think it’s time for the Pitocin. Ideally, that’ll get you to ten in a few hours and you’ll have a baby before dinner. If we get to twenty-four hours since your water broke without a baby, we may be looking at a c-section. Normally it would be closer to forty-eight hours, but because baby will be premature, we want to get them to the NICU as soon as possible.”

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, heartbeat skipping. Mat exhales harshly. You look up at him and feel your eyes fill with tears. “I really don’t want to have a c-section.” 

He smooths a hand over the crown of your head and nods, “I know, baby, I know. Do the Pitocin and we’ll keep walking or you can bounce on the ball. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

You agree reluctantly, holding out your arm so you can have a second IV placed in the back of your hand. Mat’s sitting next to you on the bed, rubbing between your shoulder blades while you hide your face in his side, ignoring the pinch of the needle and the quick rush of heat beneath your skin from the Pitocin drip starting. Tears clump your eyelashes together and a contraction squeezes your stomach, your groan muffled by Mat’s shirt. 

Doctor Harmon leaves you and Mat with a squeeze to your forearm and a promise to have a nurse check in with you in an hour to see how everything is progressing. 

You wriggle in bed, uncomfortable and overly warm. Mat helps you adjust your hair off your neck and rubs at your shoulders, a worried frown on his face. “You look flushed,” he says, “and your neck and cheeks are hot.” 

Nausea makes your stomach lurch and you press your lips together tightly until the feeling passes. A wry smile lifts your lips, “I feel like shit.” 

Mat kisses your temple. “Still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” he says quietly, sincerely. After a beat, he continues, “I think it’s time to call in the troops. Your mom’s going to kill me when she finds out you’ve been in labor this whole time and no one told her.” 

You nod, it’ll be nice to have your mom and Nadia around after the baby’s here. You’re going to need all of the help you can get, especially with Mat heading off to Carolina in a few days. 

“Go, give them a call and get me some ice chips on your way back,” you tug at the loose neck of your hospital gown, pulling it off your skin and fanning the fabric for a breeze. 

“I gotta call Patty too, let him know I’m not coming to practice today,” Mat ruffles a hand through his hair and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, biting down on your tongue to muffle the squeak of pain from a contraction. 

——-

New York Islanders Tweet April 16

#PlayerUpdate: Mat Barzal will not practice with the team today (Personal).

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 16 

Mathew Barzal is not on the ice at a quick practice before tomorrow’s regular season finale against Pittsburgh. We’ll try and get an answer if it’s related to why he left so fast after the game last night or something else. 

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 16 

On Barzal, Patrick Roy said, “We will talk to him tomorrow, see if he is going to play. But that’s all I will say.” 

————

“Okay, Mat, I need you to hold her leg up and help,” Doctor Harmon’s voice is brusque when it floats up from between your legs and in the next second, Mat’s grip on your sweaty thigh is tightening. His fingers dig into your skin and you grimace, breathless from the constant contractions. 

“I can’t,” you gasp, squeezing his fingers and dropping your head back against the pillow. “I can’t.” 

With the Pitocin in your system, everything had progressed pretty quickly. You’d dilated the final few centimeters and now, after pushing for an hour, you’re exhausted and wrung out. Your legs are trembling and every time you push, a wave of nausea rises and threatens. 

“You’ve got this,” Mat’s voice sounds far away, muffled by the rush of blood in your ears. “Just a little bit longer, Squeaks, you’ve got this. I’m right here.” 

“Hurts, Mat,” you squeak out the words around a groan, grinding your teeth together as the pressure between your legs becomes unbearable. Something shifts and tightens and you scream, the release of noise semi-cathartic. 

“Bear down,” Doctor Harmon instructs, “this push should get the head out.” 

Mat grips your leg tighter and releases your hand so he can prop you up behind the shoulders, helping push you into a crunch so you can push. “Come on, almost there,” he says, counting down from ten in tandem with Doctor Harmon. “So proud of you!” 

“Here we go, there’s the head and oh-“ Doctor Harmon’s tone changes immediately as she orders Mat out of the way and calls for more nurses. Your heart rate kicks into overdrive and Mat’s pushed to the side, out of reach. 

“What’s -“ the question isn’t even a fully formed thought before the air is pushed from your lungs, your legs wrenched up and pressed back against your chest, a nurse standing next to the bed and pushing down, hard, on your pubic bone. There’s noise and shouting and you can’t catch a good breath. The contractions don’t stop and it feels like you’re going to be torn in half. 

Mat’s eyes are wide, scared, when you look over at him and that only makes you even more scared. 

“Okay, almost there, got it,” Doctor Harmon’s talking to the nurses and a shriek rips from your lungs at the same time the baby slips out between your legs. The nurses let your legs fall back to the mattress and you feel empty, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

She pops up, your tiny, gunk-covered baby in her arms. The baby’s not making that much noise, but you can hear the small squeaky cries and your heart gallops wildly in your chest, eyes trained on the baby. 

“It’s a girl!” Doctor Harmon grins at you and you hold out your arms for her, but the baby’s whisked off to the corner of the room. Mat wasn’t even offered the opportunity to cut the umbilical cord. 

“Mat…” you call for him in a hoarse voice and he’s at your side, brushing your hair off your face with a shaky hand. “What - is everything okay? Where is she?” 

“I think…” he trails off, craning his neck to see around the crowd of nurses. 

Your teeth start to chatter, your body shaking violently and uncontrollably. Everything is numb from the adrenaline and you nearly bite your tongue trying to stop the chattering. 

“M-m-mat,” you grab for his hand, your fingers trembling wildly. “I c-c-can’t stop.” 

He calls for a nurse and one appears at your side, a warm smile on her face when she explains, “it’s the adrenaline from labor, hon, totally normal and it’ll stop soon.” 

You nod and Mat’s still looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Your brain feels fuzzy, slow, but focused solely on the baby that you can’t hear over the noise of the nurses and machines. 

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “That was…” 

“Where’s the baby?” You cut him off. “Go check on her, I don’t hear her. Mat, oh my god, is she okay?” 

Without another word, he’s across the room, looking over the shoulders of the nurses. All you can see is his back and you tremble with the adrenaline, calling out questions that get bitten off as fresh contractions squeeze your midsection. You know that it’s the placenta, but you groan nonetheless, asking about the baby as soon as you get a breath. 

“She’s so tiny, Squeaks,” Mat says, looking back over his shoulder at you. His eyes are wide, but soft, a look of total awe on his face. “She’s also kind of yellow.” 

“Yellow?” You slur, the word coming out strange. The tremble in your fingers worsens, sweat cooling on your skin. 

“Jaundice,” a nurse explains quickly. “It happens with babies born early. We’re going to take care of that in the NICU.” 

“NICU?” You repeat, shaking harder than ever, groaning. You deliver the placenta and your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. Your brain feels slow. “Mat? She’s ok? Can I hold her?” 

A different nurse frowns sympathetically at you, “we’re bringing her up to the NICU, she just needs a little help breathing right now. And we want to get her temperature regulated, but you’ll be able to see her and hold her soon.” 

Tears are hot on your cold cheeks. This isn’t what you had planned. 

“I want to hold her, I need to hold her,” you hiccup, lightheaded. Mat’s at your side, but he keeps looking over at where the nurses are cleaning up the baby quickly and getting her settled in the plastic incubator. A chill rushes over your body, spots dancing in front of your eyes. It feels like you’re sweating all over your body, but your stomach bottoms out and your fingers get cold. Your lips start to feel numb and Mat’s face appears in your line of sight. 

“Squeaks? Hey, baby, look at me,” his voice goes up an octave, his hands burning against your cheeks. 

“I’m really cold,” you murmur, shivering. Everything in the room is starting to go hazy around the edges and your body feels strange. 

Mat’s fingers tighten on your cheeks, jolting you a little, but your eyelids are heavy and you blink them open and closed slowly. 

“Baby, look at me,” Mat orders sharply and you try, but it’s hard. Your body feels heavy and light at the same time. 

Your tongue feels too big for your mouth and you don’t think your words are coming out clearly, “cold. Check the baby, go with her.” 

“We’re going to get you warmed up,” the same nurse’s voice interrupts, firm. “Don’t you worry, we’ve got you, mama.” 

Blinking slowly, you try and nod, numb and cold and something is very, very wrong you realize with a sharp stab of fear. Mat’s face is stricken when you finally focus on him and before you can reassure him, everything fades to black. 

———

The first thing you notice, when you start to come back to yourself, is how quiet it is. Just before everything went dark, the room was full of noise and now the only sound is the quiet beep of a machine. 

The next thing you notice is the hot, heavy weight on your arm. Something tickles your skin and you manage to wrench an eyelid open, just that small movement alone painful. You blink slowly, the hospital room coming into focus along with Mat’s dark head splayed on your forearm, his fingers holding yours tightly. 

You’re disoriented for a moment before the memory of the last few hours comes back. Your breath catches in your throat and you cautiously lift your free hand to press it flat against your stomach. There’s a strange numb soreness that’s prevalent throughout your body and the cotton-ball feeling in your brain is making it hard to think. 

“Mat?” You whisper his name, your voice crackling. You’re not loud enough to wake him, so you call his name again, twitching your fingers in his. That works and his shoulders jolt, his head lifting from your arm. 

He blinks blearily at you, hair smashed down on one side and red marks on his cheek from where it was pressed to your skin. 

“Hey, shit, hi,” he sighs in relief, finally focused on your face. His eyes are red and he swipes a hand over his face, scrubbing at his cheeks. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” you repeat hoarsely. “Where’s the baby? What happened?” 

You shift and the dull ache in your lower body sharpens into a stab of pain that makes you gasp. Mat’s on his feet immediately, hands hovering over your body like there’s something he could do to help. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” you mumble. The light outside your window is different, less bright. “What time is it?” 

Mat shakes his head, “I don’t know. Close to nine, I think. I haven’t been looking.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach - it had been around 1 the last time you remember knowing the time. How the hell did you lose eight hours of your day? And why won’t Mat tell you anything about the baby? 

Tears prickle at your waterline and Mat sits gingerly on the bed next to you, leaning in and carefully wiping the tears from your eyes. 

“She’s okay,” he reassures you. “She’s in the NICU, but we almost lost you, Squeaks. Scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur reflexively, leaning into Mat’s touch. “What - I remember feeling really cold and like, floaty?”

He nods and sets his jaw, rubbing his thumbs over your cheekbones quietly before answering. He’s struggling to get the words out in a way that you’re not used to. Mat is normally a D1 yapper. The fact that he’s so quiet and serious is scaring you the most. 

“After, like a few minutes maybe, not even,” Mat stumbles over his words, “you started bleeding, a lot. The nurses and Doctor Harmon basically body slammed me out of the way to work on you. You passed out and there was just blood….everywhere.”

Oh. 

Mat’s not able to meet your eyes and you can feel his hands trembling when they brush over your temples and into your hair. He brings his forehead to rest against yours and you let him, his fear washing over you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, biting at your lower lip. Mat pulls back with a questioning noise, his hands finding yours and tangling your fingers together. 

“Why? There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he clears his throat, fidgets. “Doctor Harmon said there wasn’t anything we could’ve done, it just,” he shrugs, “happened.” 

Your nose burns with the precursor to tears and you turn your head to wipe your nose on your shoulder and to give yourself a brief moment to hide from Mat’s intense gaze. Guilt settles low in your stomach, an emotional ache to match the physical one. Maybe he’s right, but you’re the one that was supposed to keep the baby safe for nine months and you couldn’t manage that. 

“Still,” you mumble, not able to meet his eyes, “I couldn’t keep her safe and secure and now I haven’t even met her! And I scared you and I’m already failing at this whole thing.” 

Mat squeezes your fingers and chuckles without humor. “Baby, you’re not failing, there’s nothing either of us could’ve done,” he repeats. “She’s doing okay, you’re okay. We can just figure it out.” 

“She doesn’t even have a name,” your voice catches on a little sob, pain radiating from your lower body. There’s so much you have to do, the house wasn’t cleaned, the nursery isn’t completely finished, Mat has to leave for Carolina in a few days. Your heart aches to hold your daughter in your arms. Whatever medication they have you on isn’t doing much to ease your mind. “Has she been alone this whole time?” 

You can’t stop the flood of tears, thinking about your baby all alone in the NICU, and Mat pulls you into a hug, shaking his head. 

“No, I was with her,” he reassures you, stroking your hair. “I was with her and then I came back here to be with you, but the nurses are taking really good care of her. When you’re feeling up to it, we can go see her, okay?” 

“Now,” you blurt abruptly, pulling back, “now. I want to see her now.” 

Mat squints at you and shakes his head. “No way, you just woke up after a major medical event. You need to rest,” he frowns. 

“I need to see my baby,” you shoot back, even as your body is screaming in pain with your movements. “I need to hold her, Mat, I need…she needs to be with me! Help me up.” 

“No,” Mat snaps, eyes flashing, “you nearly died. You haven’t been cleared to get up, I’m not going to risk hurting you more.” 

Angry, frustrated tears blur your vision and you wipe at them harshly, pain overriding everything else. A little moan bubbles up and you can’t suppress it, Mat’s worried voice cutting through the static in your brain, asking if you’re okay. 

“No,” you grit the words out, pressing a hand to your side for support. It feels like your insides are on fire. “Everything hurts and I’m worried about my baby and you’ve held her and I haven’t even seen her up close.” 

Mat cups your cheek gently and it does nothing to comfort you, just makes you cry harder. He kisses the top of your head and shakes his head, “you need to rest. Just, please, you’re…you look grey. Let’s see if they can get you some pain meds and you can rest.”

A sob catches in your throat and makes everything hurt. It feels like a piece of your soul is misplaced and you don’t know how to explain that to Mat. So instead you just cry and he strokes your hair and whispers that it’s going to be okay. 

“I need to see her,” you hiccup, wiping your face on his shirt. “Please, Mat, I can’t - I’m sick thinking she’s all alone. I won’t be able to rest.” 

“I…yeah, okay,” Mat’s shoulders lower and he rubs a hand over his jaw. His eyes are tired. “I’ll…I get it. Okay, baby, I’ll see what we can do.” 

You twist your fingers in his shirt and Mat strokes the back of your neck. “Thank you,” you whisper, pain radiating through your entire body. 

——

In the end, it takes Mat and two nurses - both of whom object to you moving, but soften when you start to cry - to get you out of bed and into a wheelchair. Your body feels like it’s been scorched from the inside and you can’t stop the flood of tears down your cheeks. 

Mat holds your hands and his fingers are tight around yours, his jaw set in a way that you recognize as fear. You try to smile at him, to reassure him, but based on the way his face drops, you’re pretty sure your expression is only making things worse. You can feel a gush of blood and fluid between your legs and it’s like your period, but ten times worse. 

“Are you okay?” Mat asks quietly as the nurses unhook some of your IVs and tuck a blanket over your lap. You give him a tight grimace and shake your head, not in any shape to lie. 

“I just want to see her,” your reply is strained and Mat nods once, never dropping your hand for the trip to the NICU. The nurse pushing your wheelchair keeps up a steady stream of chatter, telling you about your daughter, but you can’t really focus on her words, too preoccupied with the jolting pain from being moved and the rolling nausea in your stomach. Mat’s fingers are cold in yours. 

You’re wheeled into the NICU and it’s both warmer and colder than you were expecting. There’s other families and too many plastic incubators and you almost tell Mat that you’re not ready, that you want to go back to your room, but he drops a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “I’m right here and she’s waiting for us.” 

You nod and all of a sudden, you’re staring at your daughter through the plastic wall of her incubator crib and your heart feels like it’ll burst. She’s so small, skinny little arms and legs and a head that looks a lot smaller than it felt coming out of you. Her eyes are covered with little shield-like things and there are little stickers on her chest, connected to wires. She’s kicking slightly and you feel the phantom nudge against your stomach - those same little feet that you had felt from the inside just two days ago. 

Even under the bright light, you can see a shock of dark hair on her head, the same color as Mat’s. You can’t tell who she looks like, the slope of her little nose and the point of her chin just blurry features to you. 

“Oh,” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. Mat’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, his body warm next to yours. You look up at him with wet, wide eyes. “She’s so…Mat, oh god, she’s so little.” 

He nods and swallows, looking between you and the baby. “She’s a little fighter,” he rasps and rubs his fingers against your scalp. “They, um, she had some jaundice. That’s what the light is for. And the little like -“ he waves his free hand vaguely in front of his eyes, “-plastic things. Y’know, to protect her eyes.” 

You nod without really processing what he’s saying. all you can focus on is the tiny baby that’s all yours, attached to wires and looking less like the perfectly chubby baby you’d been imagining for months and more like a plucked chicken. Your hand shakes when you lift it to press against the plastic. 

“Can I -“ your voice cracks and you try again, “can I hold her? Is that - will I hurt her?” 

You never thought that just holding your daughter might be enough to hurt her. Your arms are supposed to be her safe place. 

“Oh no, honey,” the NICU nurse, a different one, smiles gently, “we just have to be careful. A little skin to skin is great for her. I know it looks scary, but she’s super stable and doing so well.” 

Mat watches like a hawk as the baby’s lifted from her incubator and placed carefully on your bare chest. The nurse tucks your hospital gown back up over her and drapes a swaddling blanket over the baby for good measure, making sure she’s nice and warm. 

Your hands lift automatically to cradle the baby, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. She’s warm and so much lighter than you imagined and you sniffle back a sob when you brush your lips over her dark hair. 

“Hi there, baby,” you whisper, terrified to move, “I’m your mom.” 

She’s even tinier like this, curled up in a fetal position on your sternum, a perfect little hand splayed out on your chest. You stroke your thumb over her cheek, soft and warm, and cry. Mat’s fingers wipe at your tears and you lean into his touch. 

“I just…” you hiccup and he nods. 

“You’re okay,” he says, squatting down next to your wheelchair so he’s not towering over you. His free hand comes to rest over yours, both of you cradling your daughter’s back. “She’s okay. Just breathe, baby.” 

“Can - did you hold her?” You ask, suddenly desperate to see him holding the baby. He’s stronger, he’s more capable of keeping her safe. You couldn’t do what you were supposed to do and you can’t keep her safe. Mat can though, he can keep her safe like he keeps you safe. 

Mat responds, but you can’t hear him over the sudden buzzing in your ears. Your chest gets tight and you can feel your body start to tremble. Your arms don’t feel like they’re attached to your body and a spike of panic pierces your brain that you’ll drop the baby. 

“You have to take her, Mat. Oh my god, take her.” Your breathing feels funny. “Mat, please - take her. I can’t - I have - Mat. Mat.” 

His eyes go wide and your breaths grow shallow, rasping out of your throat. He and the nurse both move towards you and the warm, solid weight of your daughter is gone, replaced by Mat’s hand pressed firmly to your thigh. You can’t catch your breath, tears blurring your vision and a ringing in your ears making you dizzy. 

“Hey,” Mat snaps your name, jolting your attention to him. When he catches your gaze, you can see the concern in his eyes. “Hey, baby, breathe for me. In and out, match me, okay? Like this…” 

He takes a deep, exaggerated breath in and you shake your head, lungs tight. 

“Come on, you can do it,” Mat encourages you and breathes again, saueezing your thigh. You blink tears from your eyes, managing a shaky, shuddery breath. Mat nods and says, “one more, okay? Keep breathing.” 

After what feels like a million years, you manage to get your breathing under control. Your head feels light and a bone-deep exhaustion settles over you. 

“I…” you falter and gasp, not able to get the words out to explain what happened. Not that it makes sense to you, but you’re positive it was a panic attack and that just makes you feel worse. You’re already overwhelmed by motherhood and it’s barely been two days. 

“Don’t worry,” Mat leans up and cups your cheeks, his voice steady. “Baby girl’s okay, see she’s back in the tanning bed.” 

You look over when he jerks his chin towards the crib and sure enough, there she is, placed back into safety by a nurse. She stretches and her skinny little legs kick out, tangling slightly in the wires she’s connected to.  

It cracks what’s left of your heart. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cry, tears running over Mat’s hands. You repeat yourself, not even really sure what you’re apologizing for, just knowing that guilt is lodged in your chest like a bullet. 

“Stop apologizing,” Mat’s voice comes out strangled and he drops his forehead to rest against yours. “It’s not your fault, nothing is your fault. I think … let’s get you back to bed, okay?” 

Your head bobbles a nod and you lift your hand to brush your fingers over the plastic crib as the nurse wheels you out of the NICU, your head throbbing and the pain in your body dragging you down. Mat holds your hand again, but he’s quiet too, his steady gaze boring into you. 

There’s more pain when you’re put back into bed, your legs weak and stiff. Mat tugs the sheets and blankets up around your body and brushes a hand over your forehead, “get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

You shiver violently despite the blankets and nod, too keyed up to even close your eyes. Everything hurts though, pain breaking through the medication they’ve given you. A nurse reattaches your IV and smiles reassuringly at you, “you’ll feel better when you wake up, honey.”

“Go sit with her, please,” you whisper, yawning. It feels hot, a warm flood in your veins, and the room gives way to darkness. 

———

New York Islanders Tweet April 17 

#PlayerUpdate: Mat Barzal will not play tonight in the game versus the Pittsburgh Penguins. 

Stefen Rosner Tweet April 17

No update from the team about why Mat Barzal isn’t playing tonight. Only response was ‘no comment’ and we just hope everything is okay with him and his family. Will try to get an update about his status for the playoffs. 

——-

“No chance, tonight’s out of the question - no, I’m not leaving here until I have to. She’s - they’re both stable. But, fuck, Bo. It’s not - it’s not…it’s scary as shit.” 

Mat’s voice sounds far away and fuzzy, but it reaches your brain and fights through the darkness of sleep. Your eyes feel gritty and you whimper a little when shifting your body produces a shock of pain. 

“Ah, hang on. I think she’s waking up. Look, I gotta go - thanks for checking in. I’ll talk to you later, yeah. Thanks, thanks,” Mat’s voice is faster now and you blink slowly, his face coming into focus. 

His hand is warm, fingers laced through yours lightly. “Hi,” he says quietly, a volume level that’s so unusual for him. His eyes scan your face and his mouth is doing a weird smile-frown thing that’s making you nervous. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” you whisper. “Were you with her? Is she okay?” 

Mat nods, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. He watches the movement and says, “she’s sleeping too. They fed her and she knocked right out.” 

“They fed her?” Your voice cracks and your chest aches with the sudden awareness that you don’t even know if you can breastfeed her. Another thing you’re already failing at. Mat strokes his free hand over your forearm. His forehead is lined with new stress and his jaw is set stiffly. “You must be exhausted, baby.” 

“I’m okay,” Mat replies, but he sounds tired and unconvincing even to your fuzzy brain. “I closed my eyes a bit while you were out.”

You know that’s not enough sleep for him, even if he’s telling the truth, which you suspect he isn’t. But you don’t have the energy to argue with him, your head feels heavy and your eyelids keep closing. Mat’s hands are warm and steady on your skin and you force your eyes open again to ask, “how long have I been asleep?” 

“Couple of hours,” Mat looks sheepish, “they gave you a mild sedative, sorry. Also, the parents are here - at home, not in the hospital here. But they’re waiting for the okay to come see you.” 

Tears well up in your eyes and a pang of childish neediness hits your chest. You just want your mom. So you nod and whisper, “they can come. Whenever they want, but you have to get some rest too.” 

“I promise,” Mat nods. “Want to try some food? Sitting up, maybe?” 

You nod, wanting to feel more normal, and Mat helps you sit up. Your head swims briefly, but once you blink away the dizziness, you feel better. There’s still pain between your legs and your body just feels heavy, but you do feel marginally better. With a little effort, you push your hair back from your face, wincing at the gross feeling of your dirty strands under your fingers. 

A shower is definitely something that needs to happen as soon as possible. The shower you had taken after Met left for Jersey feels like it was a year ago. 

“Do you want to risk hospital food or should I run out and get you something?” Mat asks, reaching for the remote to lower the volume on the TV in your room. The Godfather is playing. 

You zone out for a second, focusing on Michael Corleone denouncing the devil before shaking your head at Mat. “I’m too nauseous,” you admit. “My stomach doesn’t feel right, can I just have some water?” 

Mat nods and takes the hospital-provided water bottle off the table, disappearing for a few minutes and returning with it full and rattling with the good pebble ice. He hands it over and you take a sip, the icy water instantly soothing you. It feels good going down your throat and you can feel your brain rehydrating. 

“I’m telling the parents to bring some food when they come,” Mat warns you. “You’ve gotta eat something, baby.” 

You nod and slump back against the pillows. You know he’s right, especially since you haven’t eaten anything since a little snack at the watch party. But you just don’t feel right, your stomach twisted up in a knot that’s preventing you from feeling hungry. 

“I’ll try,” you promise, picking at a piece of medical tape on your hand. “Can I see her again? I need to - we need to name her, I need to know what happened. I feel so…so useless! This isn’t what I wanted.” 

Frustrated tears blur your vision and you want to scream, you’re tired of crying and tired of hurting, and you don’t know how it’ll get better. 

Mat grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, lifting your head so he can look in your eyes. “You’re doing an amazing job, I am so proud of you,” he says firmly. “This was scary as shit, but you’re okay, baby girl is okay. We’ll take it one day at a time.” 

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” you sniffle, wiping at your nose with the back of your wrist. “I can’t even get up on my own.” 

“Good thing you have a very strong, very athletic husband that likes picking you up,” Mat jokes, making you smile faintly. “I don’t know if they’ll let me bring her here, so let’s get a nurse and get you with the baby.” 

Your second visit goes better, baby girl tucked up on your bare chest with your hands cradling her protectively. She’s got a little nasal cannula this time and the nurse explains gently that her lungs were working a little too hard, so the extra oxygen is just some temporary help. 

Mat’s next to you, running the pad of his thumb over the shell of the baby’s ear, smiling softly every time she makes a snuffling little noise. You’re glad to have him there, another hand to protect the baby. 

“Um,” your voice catches in your throat and you’re trying hard not to move so you don’t jostle her, “I know…with the bottles, will she be confused when I … I mean, I want to breastfeed her. If I can. But will it be … harder?”

“A little bit,” the NICU nurse, an older woman named Kelly, replies. She tucks the swaddle blanket tighter around the baby. “But plenty of our NICU grads go from the bottle or the gavage tube to the breast successfully. It just takes a little more work and patience. The hospital can get you set up with a lactation consultant when your milk comes in and you just take it day by day.” 

“That’s what I said,” Mat pipes up smugly. You roll your head to the side and frown at him, but it doesn’t deter him at all. To Kelly, he continues, “baby girl’s doing good, right?” 

“She is,” Kelly assures you both with a smile. “She’s just a little peach too.” 

You feel a weird sense of pride, like even with all the ways you failed your daughter already, at least she’s winning the personality contest in the NICU. 

Having the baby’s weight on your chest is soothing, regulating your emotions in a way that you desperately needed. You’re able to feed her a few ounces of formula, watching - mesmerized, really - as her tiny mouth moves, little dribbles of milk running down her cheeks. 

Mat takes her when she’s done eating, carefully burping her under the watchful eye of Nurse Kelly. She looks so tiny in your husband’s hands and it scares you, just how fragile she is, how you’ll be responsible for taking care of her by yourself in a few days. Your fingertips start to tingle and you’re grateful when Mat brings your back to your room, even though you don’t want to be apart from the baby. 

An hour later, after you’ve taken a few slow, painful steps around the room with your hands curled tightly around Mat’s forearms, you’re back in bed and waiting in visitors. 

“I look like shit,” you mumble, scraping your hair back. 

“You look beautiful,” Mat kisses your cheek and holds up his phone. “They’re down the hall, you ready?”

You nod and then suddenly your mom is poking her head into the room, a big smile on her face and you instantly feel better. 

“Oh, my baby!” She sniffles, rushing to your side and wrapping you up in a hug. 

“Hi, mommy,” you cry, burying your face into her neck and leaning into the soothing feeling of her rubbing circles over your back while you cry. All you’ve needed is just a hug from your mom. She kisses the top of your head and tells you how proud she is and you keep crying, feeling completely wrung out. You pull back slightly and give her a wobbly smile, “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

She wipes at her own cheeks, damp with tears, and sighs, “I’m really glad to get my eyes on you. Mat - when he called… well,” she sniffs again, “I’m just happy to see that beautiful face of yours.” 

“We all are,” your dad pipes up, in a gruff voice that makes you think he’s been pretty emotional the last few days. He kisses the top of your head, “hi, kiddo. How’re you feeling?” 

“Like I just had a baby,” you murmur wryly, letting yourself be folded into a hug from Nadia too, “hi, Mama B.” 

Your mother-in-law cups your cheek and studies your face with concern. “Oh, honey, we’re all so happy for you and Mat, so excited to meet her!” She says with the enthusiasm only a first-time grandmother can produce. 

Mat chuckles and you look over at him, watching him dig into one of the giant plastic Iavarone’s bag. He pulls out a few take-out containers and points a finger at you, “she’s gotta eat. Then you can all meet the baby.” 

“You haven’t eaten anything?” Your mom looks horrified and you scowl at Mat, who gives you a smug grin back. Now that he’s got the mom-backup, he’s feeling bossier. 

“I’ve been nauseous,” you sigh, sucking aggressively at the straw of your cup. Mat’s piling all the food they brought on different surfaces, the mingled scents making your stomach roll. 

“Just try,” Mat pushes a container of plain pasta at you and you frown at it, lifting the plastic fork in a shaky hand. 

The room is fully of noise and energy now and it perks you up, the comforting weight of your mom’s arm over your shoulder and her Kate Spade perfume making you relax. You poke at the pasta while everyone chats around you, asking Mat about the baby and pointedly avoiding the topic of your labor. Good - you don’t want to talk about it at all. 

“How big is she?” Mike asks, digging into a chicken parm sandwich. “You didn’t say.” 

Your heart sinks - you don’t even know how big she is, just that she had been impossibly tiny and light in your arms. Mat catches a glimpse of your face, clocks the devastation, and reaches out to squeeze your hand while he answers, “little. She’s really little.  When they first weighed her she was four pounds, fourteen ounces. About a foot and half, eighteen inches. But I don’t know … since then, what she weighs now.” 

Not even five pounds, your stomach twists, she’s lighter than a bag of flour. No wonder she’d felt so tiny and fragile in your arms. You’ve never held a baby that small before. Mat’s fingers trace absently over your palm and he continues, “she’s got a ton of hair, dark like mine. Honestly, Squeaks is lucky she looks just like me.” He shoots you a toothy grin. “Who wouldn’t want to look at two of this face all day?” 

“Our Mat,” Nadia rolls her eyes at him. “So humble.” 

You smile faintly because that’s what Mat wants out of you, he wants you to be okay, so you’ll try your best to pretend. Still poking your fork at the pasta, you reply, “as long as her nostrils are a normal size, I’m good.” 

A real laugh bursts out of Mat’s mouth and all four of your parents chuckle. A little bubble of pride sits behind your sternum, pleased that you can lighten the mood for a minute. 

Mat shrugs at you, still laughing a little as he says, “can’t even be mad at you. Not when you went all Wonder Woman and pushed out my baby.” 

You don’t feel like Wonder Woman, but you shrug nonchalantly and lean against your mom’s side. “Why don’t you take everyone to see the baby? I know that’s why they’re all here,” you say with a wry smile. “Maybe I’ll even have a couple of ideas for her name when you get back.” 

“I’ll stay here with you,” your mom strokes your hair back from your face. “And swap with Daddy when they come back, okay?” 

Mat checks to make sure you’re okay and before he leads his parents and your dad out into the hallway, nudges your uneaten container of pasta and says, “eat a couple of bites, please? Just try.” 

To prove a point, you stick a forkful of bow ties into your mouth, chewing slowly. The pasta tastes gummy and metallic in your mouth, but Mat’s shoulders drop some of their tension when you swallow. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, kissing your cheek quickly before leaving the room. The sudden quiet is unnerving and you set your fork down, pushing the container away from you, the single bite sitting in your stomach like a lead weight. 

“Don’t tell him I’m not eating the rest of this,” you murmur to your mom. 

To her credit, she doesn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes and you have to look away from her. 

“Oh, honey,” she rubs your shoulder, “this was a scary thing, huh?” 

You nod, already choked up. “I’ve barely held her,” you admit, a tiny, ashamed whisper. “And when I have, I’ve been so…just, terrified. I don’t feel like me, I don’t feel like a mom. I just … I don’t know.”

“Good thing you’ve got all of us to support you,” she replies warmly and you lean into her side despite the pain that lances through your body. “The four of us spoke before coming here. Daddy and Mike can’t stay long, but Nadia and I will be here as long as we can.” 

“Thanks,” you whisper roughly, overwhelmed already. “I don’t want to do it alone, with Mat leaving -“ 

“You’re not going to be alone, honey,” she reassures you. “We’ll be there and Liana’s coming in tonight, she’s very excited to see you, if the emojis in the group chat are to be taken at face value.” 

You laugh, excited to see Liana too. You can only imagine what your notifications look like since you haven’t even seen your phone since you were admitted. The big family group chat Mat had created is your favorite since everyone tries to update it semi-regularly with what’s happening in four different locations - you and Mat on Long Island, your parents down in North Carolina, Mat’s parents in Vancouver, and Liana from wherever work trips have taken her. She’s in London right now and you can’t wait to see her. 

“Maybe we’ll have a name for her by the time she gets here,” you huff, mentally running through the list of names you and Mat had discussed. Nothing feels right. 

You let your mom fill you in on what she and your dad have been up to and when Mat comes back with the others, they all look suspiciously red-eyed. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Your voice goes high pitched with fear, your chest tight. 

“She’s okay,” Mat assures you and Nadia chimes in with a sniffle, “she’s just so gorgeous and we’re already so in love with her.” She turns to your mom with a big smile and says, “come with me, you have to see our granddaughter.” 

“Yeah,” you smile shakily at your mom, “go see the baby, Grandma.” 

“Oh,” your mom gasps, grinning like a little kid and grabbing at Nadia’s hand, “we’re grandmas!” 

Their genuine, giddy joy makes everyone smile and you can’t help but think again how insanely lucky you are that yours and Mat’s parents get along so well and they’re so supportive. They practically skip out of the room, Nadia leading the way to the NICU. 

“How’re you feeling?” Mat asks, elbows resting on the mattress. His hair is greasy, sticking out in different directions and he looks worn out. 

“I’m okay,” you brush your fingers over his jaw. “Why don’t you have someone drive you home? Get some real sleep in a real bed? Dad?” You look over Mat’s shoulder at your dad, deep in conversation with Mike - about what? You’ll never know. 

Both of them look up at you and that warmth hits right behind your sternum again. 

“Can one of you drive Mat home?” You ask, over your husband’s objections. “I don’t - he needs to get some real sleep.” 

“I’m not going to sleep,” he protests. “Knowing you two are here and I’m home. I’ll sleep on the road.”

“You’re going to get hurt on the ice if you don’t sleep,” you snap back. 

Mat opens his mouth to argue, but Mike chimes in, “how about we go home and you can shower, change. Take a quick nap and come back. Two hours, tops.” 

Your dad agrees, “we’ll leave the ladies here to bond. It’ll be okay.” 

Mat looks skeptical, but he also looks exhausted and after a moment’s hesitation, he nods in agreement. Running a hand through his hair, he grimaces at the dirty feeling before saying, “two hours. Max. I’m not - I need…” 

It’s not usually this hard for him to find words, but he bites off the end of the sentence with a harsh exhale. He turns his head to look at you and narrows his eyes, “if something happens, you call me and I’ll be right back. Got it?” 

“Got it,” you pat his cheek. “Please, get some rest, okay? I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he flashes you a toothy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. You just focus on healing and feeling better. Eat something while I’m gone and we should probably try and pin down a name when I get back.” 

You nod and return his smile, “yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

——-

True to his word, Mat’s back within two hours, looking slightly more rested. You’re also feeling better since you got to spend time with the baby and get in the shower. Your mom and Nadia and a nurse had all helped and it was horrible and painful, but now that your hair is clean and your face is scrubbed, you feel slightly more like a human. 

Mat seems looser too and he’s lounging on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head and one foot planted on the floor as he calls out different names, “Kylie.” 

“Too Kardashian,” you reject it, poking a plastic spoon at the slightly melty vanilla soft serve from Carvel that Mat had brought back for you. Unprompted, but welcome. You’ve managed a few tiny bites and your stomach isn’t rejecting it. “Nora?” 

“Too old,” Mat wrinkles his nose. “This is really fucking hard.” 

“My mom said that they knew my name instantly, which doesn’t make me feel any better,” you huff. All four parents are back at home now. With visiting hours over, Mat’s the only one still allowed in your room. At some point in the morning, your mom will swap out with Mat when he leaves for North Carolina. It makes you feel slightly insane and like a huge burden, when they’re discussing schedules and who’s babysitting you, but you also know that when Mat leaves tomorrow, you’re going to be a wreck. 

“Squeaks Junior,” Mat grins at you, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him. 

On the TV, the end credits for The Godfather III finish and you watch as the opening credits for Rocky start up. You hum and say to the room, “is this like a Stallone marathon or something?” 

Mat squints at you, flicking his gaze to the TV and back before bursting out into loud laughter. 

“What?” You pout, offended. You point at the TV, “The station was playing The Godfather all day and now it’s Rocky - that’s Sylvester Stallone, right?” 

Around gasps of laughter, Mat shakes his head and wheezes, “baby, Stallone’s not in The Godfather. Who’d you think he was playing?” 

“I don’t know,” you whine a laugh. It feels good to be teased, almost normal. “I’ve never seen The Godfather completely, just the clips. Like you know with the horse head and the daughter’s wedding thing.” 

“Jesus Christ, I love you,” Mat gasps, still laughing. “But no, this is not a Stallone marathon. If anything, it’s a what’s-her-face marathon. The actress who plays Adrian is also the daughter in The Godfather.” 

You shrug. “I dunno. Look it up,” you suggest. 

“Too lazy,” Mat waves his hand in the direction of his phone, plugged into the wall to charge and resting on the windowsill. “Hey, why don’t we name her Adrian?” 

“From Rocky?” You lift an eyebrow. “Adrian Barzal? Meh, not my favorite.”

Mat rattles off a few more names and when he hits on ‘Natalie’ you pause, holding up a hand to stop him. 

“Hang on,” you murmur, eyebrows scrunching together. “I like the name Natalie,” you say absently, testing it out a few times under your breath, zoning out a little. You had wanted to use a name that connected to your families, somehow, so you wonder, “what if we sort of combine it with your mom’s name?” 

“Natalie and Nadia?” Mat scrunches his face at you. “How would you combine those? Half the letters are the same already.”

“I guess…maybe Natalia? Just swap out the last letter and it sounds a little more like Nadia?” You repeat the name a few times until it sounds familiar and a smile finds its way to your face. “Talia for short? Natalia Barzal - it has a nice flow to it.”

“Talia,” Mat’s lips curl in a smile instinctively and he nods, “yeah, I think I like it.” 

“Talia Barzal,” you grin at him. “She sounds so fancy.” 

Mat laughs, “she’s ours. Of course she’s going to be a fancy, bougie Long Island girl.”

You giggle and ask, “I know it’s late, but can we go see her? I want to see her.” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Mat shoots up into a sitting position, grinning. “We need to run her name by her before it’s official.” 

Half an hour and some pain later, you’re back in the NICU, watching Talia sleep through the plastic wall of her incubator, stroking her little fingers. You don’t want to wake her, knowing she’s growing and getting stronger as she sleeps. Mat leans over your shoulder and kisses your cheek. His stubble scratches against your skin and you lean into the feeling. 

“Talia,” he breathes, tone full of awe as you watch her. “Thank god she’s got a name before Liana comes to meet her. She would’ve roasted the shit out of us.”

“You maybe,” you tease lightly. “I’m her favorite sister and just brought her niece into the world. She can’t be mean to me.” 

Mat hums in agreement and slides his hand into the other opening of the incubator, tracing the sole of Talia’s foot with his index finger. Her toes wiggle and scrunch and you can feel Mat’s grin. Talia’s less yellow-y today, but not quite at the healthy color you associate with newborns. She’s still on supplemental air and apparently she’s been eating okay. 

You sit and watch her quietly, wanting more than nothing to be out of the hospital and home in your own bed. 

“For her middle name,” you blurt out into the silence, “I was thinking Leigh. L-E-I-G-H. Sort of as an homage to Liana, you know, cause it sounds like the first part of her name. And also it works as an homage to Holly too, like the second half of her name. I don’t know, it was a thought, if you hate -“ 

Mat cuts off your nervous rambling with a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I think it’s perfect, Squeaks. Natalia Leigh,” he runs his finger over Talia’s foot again and she makes a soft snuffling noise in her sleep that has you smiling, “I think she likes it too.” 

——-

You wake up already in a bad mood, knowing Mat is leaving in a few hours. He went back to the house to finish his packing and throw his bags in the car so he can leave again straight from the hospital, swapping out with your mom and Liana, who finally arrived in town late last night. 

“Bagels!” She chirps, practically running into your room, swinging a plastic bag in her hand. “And coffee, I figured the hospital stuff wasn’t cutting it for you. Also, holy shit, you had a baby!!” 

That startles a genuine laugh out of you and chases away some of the dark cloud over your head. You let Liana fold you into a hug and settle on the bed next to you. 

“I had a baby,” you reply, smiling. “Want to go meet her?” 

“Absolutely I do,” Liana gushes, pushing the iced coffee at you. “But first, how are you feeling? I haven’t really gotten a total update on the situation. It seemed, I mean - Mat made it sound pretty scary?” 

You shake your head and wrap your fingers around the plastic cup, condensation cold against your skin. Chewing at your lip, you admit, “I don’t remember too much, honestly. But, um, I just don’t feel good or right yet.” With a shrug, you continue, “I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

Liana rests her cheek on the top of your head and nods, “no worries. We definitely don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I’m here until you get sick of me.” 

“I never get sick of you,” you laugh. “Want to go meet your niece? I can’t - they don’t bring her to me, since she’s still in the NICU. We just have to swap out with my mom since it’s only two visitors at a time in the actual, like, room.” 

“I’m so down for whatever,” Liana agrees easily. “Does she have a name? No one ever said.” 

“Mhm,” you hum, pushing aside the untouched coffee. You see Liana look at it and then you, but you’re grateful that she doesn’t say anything. She’ll probably report back to your mom or Mat, but your nausea is worse today and there’s a weird metallic taste in your mouth. “I’ll tell you when we get there. But you can’t tell Mat I told you, he wanted to wait until we’re all here before he leaves.” 

Liana’s smile is wide and she climbs off the bed to help you up, “oh, you know I love not telling Mat things. Hang on, here - hold my hands.” 

You carefully move your legs off the bed and sit on the edge for a second, catching your breath and waiting for the lightheadedness to subside. Dark spots dance in front of your eyes and you try to blink them away. There’s the ever present gush of blood and gross into the giant diaper/pad contraption you’ve been wearing since giving birth and when you stand up on shaky, weak legs, your stomach swoops. 

The dark spots take over your entire field of vision and Liana’s calling your name but it sounds very far away. 

When you open your eyes, you’re looking up at the hospital room ceiling and shivering. It’s so fucking cold. 

Liana’s face comes into sight, eyes wide and her mouth set into an anxious frown. Then your mom’s face comes into focus and she’s wiping away tears. 

“What -“ you cough, “what happened?”

“Oh, honey,” your mom strokes your forehead, “you passed out. There was some extra bleeding apparently and a major clot,  but it’s fine, the doctors stopped it. Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling bad?” 

You ignore her question and lock eyes with Liana, “do not tell Mat. I don’t want him worrying about me when he’s in Carolina. Not on the ice when I need him focused on not getting hurt.” 

Liana shakes her head. “He should know - I mean, you went right down,” she frowns. “There was a lot of blood.” 

“I’m fine,” you protest, knowing it’s a lie. You feel even worse than you did earlier. “Please, don’t tell him. I just…bleeding’s normal after birth.” 

“Not like this, honey,” your mom exhales roughly. She looks like she’s aged ten years in the last day and it’s all your fault, for stressing everyone out. “You were out for two hours, they gave you an infusion.”

Which makes it four bags of blood pumped into your body in the last few days. One today and three right after giving birth. Losing that much blood so quickly can’t be good for your system. 

“And now I’m on the upswing,” you grit out. “Do not tell Mat. He’s stressed out enough. Please.” 

Your mom and Liana share a look and you scowl. Liana eventually sighs and says, “Mat’s going to ask, babe. You look like shit.” 

You feel even worse than you look probably, but that doesn’t matter. You haven’t looked good or healthy in days. 

“If he asks, fine. But do not offer up the information,” you pinch your lips together against a a wave of nausea. There’s a silent communication and neither your mom nor Liana likes it, but they agree to stay quiet. A nurse comes in to check on you, is pleased to find that the bleeding is slowing to a normal postpartum amount. 

“You’re severely anemic,” she tells you, checking your blood pressure. “And we’re going to keep you a few more days, just to monitor and make sure you’re strong enough to go home.” 

“Great,” you mutter dryly. Liana pinches your arm and you yelp, glaring at her. 

She rolls her eyes at you, “it’s better to stay in the hospital with professionals, as opposed to me and the ABBA tribute band being the ones responsible for your physical wellbeing.” 

“Liana!” Your mom yelps, laughing. “You know our rendition of ‘Waterloo’ was a hit at the party.” 

You giggle despite yourself. The video footage of your parents and in-laws drunkenly singing to ABBA at your last birthday is your favorite thing in the world. You watch it at least two or three times a month. 

“But, she does have a point, honey,” your mom says, turning back to you. “It’s better to make sure you’re healthy before they discharge you. Plus, Mat will be out of town and I’m sure he’ll want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“But remember,” you flinch away from the nurse as she adjusts your IV, “we’re not telling him.”

“Not telling who what?” Mat asks, breezing into the room with a furrowed brow and two boxes of pizza balanced on his palm. He sets them down on the rolling table and kisses your forehead. “Hi, did you get back to sleep after I left?” 

“Not really,” you reply, squinting at Liana and your mom over Mat’s shoulder. They both press their lips together - your mom in slight judgment and Liana to prevent a laugh from slipping out. “Is everyone else with you? We can tell them her name before you have to leave.”

As if it were planned, your dad and in-laws traipse into the room next, bearing smiles and a thick fleece blanket for you (“If I’m freezing in here, you must be even worse,” Nadia explained, draping it around your shoulders with a smile.) Your dad ruffles your hair and holds up a plastic container, “got you some cannolis from the bakery.” 

You really hope they’re eating all this food when they bring it home, because you’re certainly not eating it. You’ve managed some hospital mashed potatoes and a few bites of buttered toast in the last few days. Which is also probably contributing to how shitty you feel, but the thought of vomiting is so unappealing and terrifying - your midsection is so sore and painful if you vomit you’re worried about pulling a muscle. 

But still, you smile at your dad and thank him, continuing to say, “I wish we could bring the baby in here when we tell you her name.”

“I’ll go see if I can FaceTime from the NICU,” Mat offers, heading out to the nurse’s station before you can protest. You look around, but the nurse that was taking care of you earlier must have slipped out when everyone else came in. He pokes his head back in and nods, “we’re good. Li, wanna come with me? Meet her in person?”

“Oh god, yes!” She hops off the chair she’d been sitting on and follows Mat down the hallway. 

You lean back against the pillows while you wait for their call, blanket tucked around your body and the quiet chatter of your parents and in-laws serving as white noise. Your teeth chatter slightly, but you clench your jaw to stop the movement, rubbing your hands together to warm up your fingertips. 

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” Your dad asks, studying your face and frowning slightly. 

“Mhm,” you hum and then you’re saved from any further conversation by Nadia’s phone ringing with Mat’s FaceTime call. 

Liana’s voice comes through the speakers immediately, “she is so gorgeous, oh my god! I cannot believe you guys gave me the most perfect little niece.”

You grin at her, excited to spill the beans on the baby’s name, “glad you think so, especially since you’ll be spending so much time with Natalia Leigh the next few weeks.” 

“We’re calling her Talia though,” Mat chimes in and he winks at you before telling Liana, “Leigh’s for you, by the way.” 

“Wait? Really?” Liana’s eyes go wide and she promptly starts crying on screen. “Oh my god, guys! That’s - she’s so - I love her!” 

You start crying when Liana does and explain the story of Talia’s name, making Nadia and your mom cry too and Mat eventually gets kicked out of the NICU because Liana can’t stop crying. 

“I’m coming to hug you, be prepared,” she says through sniffles before Mat ends the call. 

It’s nice to have been able to tell everyone Talia’s name before Mat leaves, which happens less than an hour after he came to the hospital. You try your best not to cry when he kisses you goodbye, but you don’t really manage it. You’re just glad the parents have left the room for some fresh air - it’s always been embarrassing to cry in front of them and you just feel like a wreck right now. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, wiping at your tears with his thumbs. “I’m going to be back on the 23rd, I’ll see you at home and in the meantime, you have Liana to annoy you while I’m gone.”

He still thinks you’re getting discharged tomorrow, and you start to feel guilty that he doesn’t know. You bite your lip and whisper, “I actually, um, don’t know if I’ll be getting out tomorrow like we thought.” 

Mat leans back and shakes his head, frowning. “What are you talking about? I thought you were okay? Did something happen this morning - no one said anything,” the words spill out of his mouth rapidly. “Baby, what the fuck? I’m home in three days and you think you’re still going to be here?” 

“I’m fine,” you wrap your hand around his wrist. “I am, it’s okay. But like, there was a minor thing this morning and I just need to be monitored a bit longer.” 

“A minor thing?” Mat’s voice rises at the end of his question and he whips his head around to look at Liana, who’s suddenly very interested in her phone. “How minor, Liana, and do not lie to me.” 

Liana wrinkles her nose and you shake your head at her, tugging on Mat’s wrist to get his attention back on you. She tilts her head to the side and huffs a sigh, “I mean, it was handled. She’s okay. Just like, go play hockey and win a couple of games, don’t worry about things here.” She tugs at the end of her ponytail, “man, I really should’ve gone for the fresh air too.” 

“That’s not a fucking answer to my question,” Mat all but growls. His phone alarm goes off and he curses loudly - he has to leave or he’ll be late for the flight. “You,” he points at you with his free hand, “are going to answer some questions when I call from Raleigh. I’m going to worry every second I’m not here, but fuck, I guess I have to trust the hands I’m leaving my girls in.” 

A little thrill flips your stomach when Mat refers to you and Talia as his girls and you can’t help the faint smile on your lips. You nod, knowing you’re going to be dodging his questions when he calls later, but say, “I love you, be safe, please. And score a couple of goals for your girls?” 

Mat laughs, some of the stress melting from his body, and he kisses you one more time, “I’ll do my best. Don’t get into any trouble without me.” 

“I’m a perfect angel,” you tease, feeling a wave of sadness rise up again. You don’t want him to leave and your fingers tighten instinctively around his wrist but you force them to loosen. Shakily, you continue, “you’re the bad influence.” 

“You’re both disgusting,” Liana chirps. “And you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now.”

“I know,” Mat groans. He rubs a hand roughly over his face and squeezes your hand. “I’m calling the second we land, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree and with one last kiss for you and a quick one-armed hug for Liana, Mat is out the door and on the way to the parking lot. 

Liana looks at you and before you can really start to register the fear and panic building in your chest, she asks, “want to flip through Hinge for me?” 

It’s the perfect distraction. 

———-

The next two and a half days are a blur. Your blood pressure drops again, but there’s no new increase in your bleeding, so you’re on track to be discharged on the 23rd, the same day Mat will be home from Raleigh. 

Talia is stronger every day, still only taking a bottle since your milk hasn’t come in - the stress and trauma of her delivery, according to the nurses and lactation consultant. But it just makes you feel like an even bigger failure and it’s stressing you out even more, which doesn’t help. Your mom and Nadia do their best to keep you encouraged and keep your mood positive, but it’s hard. You spend as much time as possible in the NICU, but holding Talia still makes you nervous because she’s so small. 

Her breathing is still a little abnormal, she can’t regulate her body temperature, and she lost a few ounces of her weight, so there’s no chance she gets to be discharged with you and when you get that news, you sob for an hour. The thought of being home without her makes your chest ache. 

Mat calls every day, before and after each game, even when they lose both of them and his mood is in the toilet. He’s annoyed about the results and annoyed that he’s so far away from you, but trying hard to hide it. 

“Bo was saying,” Mat says through a yawn after the game two loss, “that Holly’s been texting but you haven’t answered? I think the girls were hoping to hear how you’re doing.” 

There’s no judgment in his tone, but you feel guilty nonetheless. You’ve been dodging calls and texts, ignoring the group chat and keeping your phone stashed away except for when Mat calls. It’s bad enough trying to appear okay for your parents and in-laws and Liana. But adding in the girls would just be impossible. They all have their shit together and you feel like a mess, plus the baby shower they had planned was obviously cancelled and that had just wasted everyone’s time. 

“I…” you hesitate, picking at the medical tape on the back of your hand, “it’s just been a lot, Mat. I’ve been with Talia and I’ve been sleeping and trying to rest. I just, I’ll reach out when I get home.” 

Mat raises an eyebrow at you, studying your face through the phone’s screen. He yawns again and sighs, “everyone just wants to be there for us, you know that, right?” 

You nod and murmur quietly, “I know.” 

After a few beats of silence, Mat manages a crooked smile. “Just glad I get to see my girls tomorrow,” his face softens. “What time are you getting discharged?”

“Not sure yet,” you reply. There’s been conflicting information, but you hope it’s a time when Mat can come get you. You know he has to lock in and focus on the two home games, but you really just want a hug. 

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Give T a kiss for me, okay? And I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I love you,” you sniffle, the dimly lit hospital room feeling scary and lonely all of a sudden. 

Mat echoes, “I love you. Get some good sleep, okay?” He winks at you and continues, “dream about me.” 

Your laugh is genuine and only tapers off after you end the call and your phone screen is dark. Mat’s always been able to lift your mood - it’s one of your favorite things about him, and you didn’t realize just how much you needed his cheeky sense of humor right now. 

Everything will be better when he’s home. 

——-

Leaving Talia in the NICU while you’re discharged is the hardest thing in the world. You can’t stop crying even though it hurts your core and gives you a headache that Advil isn’t touching. 

You’d hoped that maybe there would be a chance she could come home with you, but overnight her blood sugar dropped a little and she’d thrown up more of the formula than she had actually swallowed. There was a discussion of possible acid reflux and you’d started crying then. There’s just too much going on and your tiny baby seems to be struggling a little. 

“I don’t want to leave her,” you wail into your mom’s shoulder, her hand stroking over your back. “I’m a horrible mom, I can’t leave her.” 

“Oh, honey,” your mom sounds choked up too. “You’re not a horrible mother, Talia’s doing so well. We’ll bring you back every day to see her, but you need to be in your own space too.” 

“I can’t go home without her,” you sob harder, tears choking you and snot running down your chin. Everything feels like it’s spiralling out of control. 

“Ready to - what’s going on?” Mat’s voice, unexpected but so welcome, breaks through the pounding in your head and you turn away from your mom to fall into his arms. He’s at your side in three long strides and wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on top of your head when you tuck yourself close, crying into the hoodie that smells like airplane and stale cologne. His hands splay over your back and hold you close. 

You sniffle and choke, trying to stop the flood of tears and knowing that you’re overreacting to the situation. “I’m sorry,” you cry, your words muffled by Mat’s chest. He hasn’t even been home for an hour, arriving straight at the hospital from the airport. “I just don’t want to leave her.” 

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mat soothes. “We’ll get you home and you can shower and then we can come right back and see her, okay? How does that sound?” 

You nod against his chest and Mat squeezes you tightly, the pressure of his body working like a weighted blanket to ease some of your anxiety. You loop your arms around his waist and lean your body against his. Mat’s been shouldering your burdens all week and you’re infinitely grateful for him. 

“Car’s all pulled around,” Mat rubs his hand over the back of your head. “All you have to do is hop in that sexy-ass wheelchair and let me jail break you.” 

“Okay,” you laugh wetly, pulling back and wiping your face on the waffle kit sleeve of your shirt. “I’m sorry that you’re not getting a chance to rest.”

Mat laughs, “I’ll rest when I’m dead. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got everything under control.” 

He guides you up to your feet, kisses you sweetly, and deposits you in the wheelchair your mom brought into the room earlier. All of your bags are packed and in the car, filled with the random things everyone had brought to the hospital in the past few days and the baby-related paraphernalia that had somehow multiplied even though Talia was based in the NICU. 

“Can we see her before we leave?” You ask, sounding nasal from the crying. “I know we’ll be back, but … I just …” 

“Yeah, no, we can swing by the NICU,” Mat soothes you, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and rubbing his thumb into the stiff muscles. “She’s due for a feeding now, right? What time is it? We can get her fed and she’ll nap while we get you home.” 

You nod and let Mat wheel you to the NICU, where you promptly burst into tears again upon seeing Talia. Her eyes are slightly open today and she blinks at you, as if to say “get it together, mom.” 

Behind you, Mat laughs - a sort of helpless, hysterical sound you’ve never really heard him make before - and your heart lurches in your chest. He’s going to get sick of taking care of you, you realize with startling clarity. He didn’t sign up for this - emotionally unstable wife who couldn’t even do the one thing your body was allegedly made for right. You hiccup back a sob, trying to get it under control. He doesn’t deserve this. 

“Come on, baby,” he runs a hand over your hair. “She looks like she could use a good cuddle, right? What do you think Talia?” He grins at the baby, resting his hand on top of the plastic. “Should we try and get you fed?” 

You’ve had a lot of practice at this, so it’s not necessary for a nurse to come and help you get Talia out of the incubator and into your arms. Mat hovers, hands out, just to make sure the transfer goes smoothly. 

She settles in your arms and you can feel your shoulders relax a little, your heart squeezing as you watch her tiny face scrunch up. With a weak smile, you trace her cheek with the back of your knuckle, “hi there, baby. Want to try eating for us?” 

Mat hands you one of the teeny bottles with a few ounces of formula - you hadn’t even realized that he went to go get it - and you get a little pang of anxiety. You’re still relying on the formula until your milk comes in and trying to relax isn’t helping. Luckily, Talia’s hungry and starts eating easily, if slowly. You’re pretty sure that a struggle to feed her right now would’ve sent you over the edge. 

“She’s getting better at that,” Mat comments, watching you watch Talia. You nod and look up at him with a wry smile. 

“All we’ve been doing while you were gone is eating and sleeping,” you reply. Talia hiccups and a dribble of milk spills down her cheeks. Mat jumps in to wipe it up, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Your nose twitches, thinking of the germs that are on the fabric, but you don’t say anything. 

“Sounds like my idea of a good time,” he winks at you and you give him a tremulous smile, returning your attention to Talia. She only manages another few drops of formula and then Mat’s helping you burp her. Her little back feels so fragile and your hand shakes when you give her back to Mat. 

He holds her for a little bit before setting her back in the incubator and you watch his mouth twitch like he’s trying to keep a neutral expression. When he looks back at you, his face is soft and carefully neutral. You can’t really tell what he’s thinking and you hate it - normally all of Mat’s thoughts are written plainly on his face. 

“Want to sit with her a little longer? Or should we head home for a bit?” His hand is still resting on the plastic and you flick your gaze from his face to Talia’s skinny little legs, kicking slowly. 

“Can we sit for a bit?” You bite the inside of your cheek and Mat nods, taking a seat in the armchair you’re not using. He leans back and lets out a little groan as he stretches his legs. 

Catching you watching, he shakes his head and assures you, “I’m fine. Took a couple hits, but nothing crazy. Liana said you’ve been getting around better.”

You nod, carefully avoiding the topic of the small-ish blood clot you’d passed yesterday. “It’s been easier, still sucks. Kind of like what I imagine getting hit by, like, Tom Wilson feels like,” you joke lightly. 

“Woof,” Mat winces, reaching for your hand and playing with your fingers. “If it’s even a fraction of a Wilson hit, then you shouldn’t even be sitting up.” 

“It’s not that bad,” you promise and then you’re quiet, watching Talia fall asleep, Mat’s fingers wrapped around yours. 

You’re not sure how much time passes, but eventually Mat ushers you into the car and back home when he sees that you’re fading and listing to the side in your wheelchair. Your parents and Liana are already home and when you step inside, Mat’s arm around your waist and holding your other hand for stability, you get choked up seeing how clean the house is and the ‘welcome home’ banner that’s strung up on the wall. 

You press your lips together to prevent a sob and let your mom fold you into a hug. “Welcome home, honey,” she kisses your cheek. “Talia will be here before you know it!”

Mat’s hand never leaves your lower back and you lean into his touch, letting it ground you. This isn’t how you thought you’d be coming home and Talia’s absence feels overwhelmingly glaring. Especially when you see the huge collection of goodies on the kitchen island. 

“What’s all this?” You wander over, pressing your palm to your side when it cramps. 

There are at least four huge bouquets of flowers, an LL Bean boat and tote bag embroidered with ‘Talia’s Mom’ over the pocket, and a huge wicker picnic basket with cookies and other goodies from Youngs Farm. You tear up at the sight and look through the LL Bean bag, sniffling when you see the teeny tiny Isles jersey. 

“The girls dropped that off,” your mom says. “Nadia and I picked up one of the bouquets, but the others are from the team, at least from the one card.” 

“Bo and Hol sent this one,” Mat says, nudging the colorful blooms towards you. “Syd and Marty did that one.” 

Liana leans her head on your shoulder, sensing that you need a little stability, and you rest your cheek on top of her head. There’s a ton of baby gear that you didn’t even realize you might need and self-care supplies for you - face masks and lotion and cartoon-covered romance books that you’re particular to. 

It’s the most thoughtful thing to come home to and you feel extra awful that you’ve been dodging calls and texts. 

“We have the best friends,” you tell Mat and he laughs, already digging into the chocolate chip cookies from Youngs Farm. He holds out the bag for your dad and Mike, who happily take one each. 

“Told you,” Mat shrugs, eyes dancing, “everyone just wants to be there for us. You just have to let them.” 

Easier said than done, but for now you do the easiest thing and send pictures of everything to the group chat, along with half a dozen heart emojis and a message telling them all how much you love and appreciate them. 

After a shower, this time Mat helping you even though you protest that nothing about your body is appealing to look at - he scoffs and nudges you into the bathroom while telling you that you’re wrong and every inch of you is his favorite thing, he tucks you into bed. Even though he hates it, he wraps your pregnancy pillow around your body and sits on the edge of the mattress to lean down and kiss your cheek. 

“Get some sleep and after you eat, we’ll go back to see Talia,” he promises. 

You shake your head. “You don’t have to take me, I know you have to get ready for tomorrow and get back to the hotel,” your face is pressed into the pillow, afraid if you see Mat’s face you’ll crack. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Mat deadpans. His fingers twirl the ends of your wet hair. “Of course I’m taking you, I want to see her too. Besides, I’m staying here until we go back to Raleigh. Talked it over with Lou and Patrick and they gave me the okay.” 

“You’re staying with me?” You ask quietly, pulling your face from the pillow to look at Mat. 

He nods. “I’m not leaving, baby. I know there’s only so much of your mom you can handle at a time,” he teases. 

“She’s been really good,” you acknowledge, tugging at his hand when he goes to stand up, “can you stay? Just…lay with me?” 

“As long as you want me to,” he says, climbing carefully onto his side of the bed and letting you take the lead. You just want to be close to him, so you carefully scoot back until you can feel his chest against your back and his arm drape over your hip. 

“Comfy?” he mumbles into your ear and you nod, letting your eyes close and your body relax finally. Mat’s warmth is a balm to your frazzled nerves and his thumb strokes lazily over your hip, soothing you into sleep. 

——-

The entire family bullies you into eating a bowl of soup when you get up and you manage to choke it down under Mat’s watchful eye. He scarfs back three grilled chicken cutlets and a bowl of pasta, preparing for the game tomorrow. 

“We’ve gotta figure out a plan here,” he says, rubbing at his hair. “Still no idea when Talia’s coming home, but hopefully it’s sooner rather than later. And when that happens, I don’t want Squeaks alone, since hopefully I’ll be on the road for a minute.” 

“Nadia and I will be here as long as you want us to be here,” your mom chimes in, slicing tomatoes for a salad. 

“You’ve got me until end of May,” Liana adds, looking up from her laptop. She’s working remotely - at her insistence, even though you don’t want her to put her job in jeopardy. 

The nap did a lot in helping you feel better, but your brain is still foggy so you sit back, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants taken from Mat’s closet, listening as everyone plans around you. 

“I can be here,” your dad offers, but you can hear in his voice that he’s wary about how much help he’ll be. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“I don’t want everyone upending their lives for me,” you grumble, feeling petulant and anxious. Your fingers twist in the hem of Mat’s sweatshirt. “I’ll just…just figure it out, like every other new mom.” 

Mat rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you, speaking for the rest of your families when he says, “if you don’t have to do it alone, isn’t that better? We don’t know what we’re doing and I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

Probably because he doesn’t trust you to take care of Talia, not after the panic attacks you’ve had while holding her. A dark cloud settles over your mood and you curl up tighter on the couch, your chest aching in a way that you hope means your milk is coming in. That might be a silver lining at least. 

“Fine,” you mutter and Mat goes right back to planning. He’s taking charge and if you were feeling more like yourself you’d realize this is his way of controlling his nerves. If he can manage the situation, everything will be fine. 

Somehow, without your input, it’s decided that your dad and Mike will stay until Talia is discharged - hopefully soon - and that your mom and Nadia will stay as long as you need them. In some ways, it’s a relief that you don’t have to make any decisions, and yet it still makes you feel like a burden. You’re a mom now, you’re supposed to be the one taking care of things and handling them. 

It’s Mat and Liana who come back to the hospital with you, the three of you able to get into the NICU solely off the charm of Mat’s smile (that, and the huge gift basket of goodies Liana’s carrying). It feels like ten minutes since you’ve been here, even though it was four and a half hours, and your heart lurches when you lay eyes on Talia again. 

“Hi there, love bug,” you whisper softly, reaching into the incubator to stroke the bottom of her foot. She’s asleep again and her breathing sounds a little strange, wheezy and short, but the nurse assures you that she’s fine. It’s still terrifying to you, but Mat swoops in and gets her settled in his arms, looking down at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. 

“Fuck, I still can’t believe what a cute baby we made,” he laughs and looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “She’s going to keep us on our toes, I can tell.” 

Liana snorts, “yeah, she’s got both of your DNA. I can just see her running rampant one day with your AmEx.” 

“We’re gonna spoil the shit out of her anyway, she won’t want for anything,” Mat shrugs. Talia squirms in his arms and lets out a little cry, your nipples tightening at the sound and your tits aching. You rub at the side of one, wincing when your fingers press into the swell. 

“Ow,” you whine quietly, fingers meeting resistance. You look down, pulling at the neck of your sweatshirt to see your nipples tight and pressed against the cup of the nursing bra you’re wearing. Everything feels like it’s spilling out of the cups and you press experimentally at the top curve of one tit. It’s like a rock and you wince again. 

“What’s going on?” Mat asks, concern edging his tone. Talia squeaks in his arms and he looks down, adjusting his grip on her and avoiding the wires still attached to her chest. 

You frown and hold your hand against your chest, pressing against the sudden pins and needles tingling. It’s such a weird feeling, to - “pretty sure my milk just came in,” you wince and Mat’s eyebrows raise. Liana grimaces slightly and you can’t blame her. She knows way more than any sister-in-law should know. 

“That’s good timing,” Mat laughs. He calls over a nurse and then it’s logistics and shuffling and Talia ends up in your arms, her cheek pressed against the swell of your breast and multiple hands - none of which belong to you - guiding her to latch onto your nipple. 

It’s awkward and painful and strange and then suddenly, with a burst of hormones, you relax and Talia sucks hesitantly. Tears well in your eyes and you cradle her close, watching her eat. Mat and the nurses watch too and you’re faintly aware that they’re encouraging you and Talia on the latch. 

“Holy shit,” you look up at Mat with wide eyes. He’s grinning. “This is so weird.”

“You look damn good,” Mat says. “Like a natural.” 

For the first time in a week, you actually feel the way you expected to feel. Your heart is full and your shoulders are relaxed. Mat’s hand is warm and heavy, cradling the back of your head as he watches Talia eat. It scares you a little bit, just how hard the rush of love for Talia hits. Your body finally recognizes that this is your baby and you sniffle away a few tears. 

“Hey,” Mat cups your chin and lifts your head, “I love you.” 

You grin at him, the action finally feeling genuine and nearly giddy when he leans down and kisses you quickly. 

Breastfeeding only lasts a few minutes, Talia falling off your boob with a little wet pop, milk on her cheeks. But she’s content and the nurses are happy, so you’re happy. It’s still just as hard to leave her alone, but your mom and dad are going to come and visit and then Mike and Nadia will take a shift so she’s never alone for too long. 

You’re motivated to try and eat more now, to make sure you can make enough milk to keep Talia fed without supplemental formula and everyone’s trying not to make a big deal about you actually eating. You’re still vaguely nauseous at times and your stomach is only tolerating light things, but it’s a start. 

——

The next two days are a chaotic blur. 

You’ve added a pumping routine into the mix, attached to the breast pump whenever you’re not in the NICU with Talia. She’s inched back up to her birth weight plus a few extra ounces and that’s a good sign for her to be released, that along with her regulated breathing and stable blood sugar are all good forward progress. 

You insist on everyone going to game three and four and that you’ll be fine at home. It’s not fair that they’re all in town and wouldn’t see Mat play. Sitting in the arena for several hours isn’t your idea of fun right now, not in your currently terrible physical state. But the girls had sent over your playoff jacket and you’ll wear it at home, layered over the comfy matching sets from Aerie that are your uniform now. 

Your mom insists on staying behind with you, and visiting Talia while everyone else is at the game. She’s been helpful and understanding when half of your conversations just involve you dissolving into tears. 

The boys lose game 3 and Mat comes home in a mood, even if he’s trying to hide it. You’re curled up in bed with Liana, scrolling through the Twitter reactions on the game, and Mat rolls his eyes when he sees his sister. 

“Come on,” he groans, tossing his suit jacket to the floor, uncharacteristic of him. “Bad enough we lost, I have to come home and I can’t even get right in bed with my wife? Get the fuck out, Liana.” 

“You know,” she huffs, rolling out of bed, “I’ve been keeping her company while you’re gone. So you need to be thankful for me and not so cranky.” 

Mat flips her off and you sigh, scooting down further under the covers. He loosens his tie and continues, “Li, I love you, but I can’t put up with this tonight. I just want to fucking go to bed.” 

“Message received,” she mock salutes him and traipses out of your bedroom with a “night, guys” thrown over her shoulder. 

You feel awful, knowing Mat could just have been in the hotel with the guys and getting a good night’s sleep, instead of coming home and dealing with everything here. As it is, you don’t sleep well - tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable. He’s been careful not to let you see the cracks, but you can sense his mood shifting and deteriorating. Being in a three game hole isn’t helping. And you wonder if you’re a terrible wife for secretly hoping game four is the end of the playoffs for Mat, even if a sweep is objectively awful. 

As much as you want Mat to lift the Cup, you’re even more desperate for him to be home and handling everything. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, as Mat pulls on a pair of sweat shorts and climbs into bed. He yawns and stretches out, reaching for your hand. You let him lace your fingers together, feeling sick. “I just…everyone else was asleep. I didn’t want to …” 

“What are you apologizing for?” Mat rolls onto his side to look at you, exhaustion written clearly on his face. “I’m not, like, mad or anything. Just wanted to get in bed.” 

Your lips twitch and your nose burns, a precursor to tears. But you bite down hard on your tongue to prevent them from falling. 

“I know this isn’t - you should be -“ you’re struggling to find the words, to explain how you’re feeling. “I’m just sorry, Mat. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Mat sighs and shifts on the bed to get closer to you, knowing it’s harder for you to move without pain. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and rubs a soothing hand over your hip. You bite at your lower lip to keep your emotions at bay. 

“Doesn’t matter how it’s supposed to be,” he says into the fabric of your top. “This is how it is and we’re going to be okay. We’ve got this, right? Me and you?” 

You nod and let him fold you up in a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. 

“Me and you,” you repeat shakily. You can feel Mat’s arms tighten around you in response. 

Mat’s in and out of the house the next day, at the rink and then at the hospital with you. He keeps up a running commentary for you and Talia, holding her when you’re not. 

“You think you’re gonna come see Daddy play? Huh?” He laughs and the grin on his face is like pure sunlight when Talia blinks at him and sticks her little tongue out. “Yeah, I know we’re not doing so hot right now, but I swear we’re a good team.”

Talia gurgles and Mat immediately props her up in his arms, the way the nurses have shown you to help her reflux. She looks too small in his hands and you have to look away for a second or the way his giant palms dwarf her body is going to make you cry again. She’d lost and gained a few ounces and it’s been a struggle keeping her full and well-fed. 

He kisses the back of her head, lips brushing over the dark, downy hair and you watch him linger, holding her close. “I don’t want to fucking leave her again,” he mumbles, shoulders stiff. 

“You’ve got playoffs to conquer,” you manage a faint smile. Mat grimaces at you - you both know this round has been brutal, playing Carolina is always ugly. 

“Hmm, yeah,” Mat hums, still holding Talia as close as he can to his bare chest. Skin to skin is still the best thing for her to help regulate her temperature. 

You stretch your leg out and ignore the twinge of pain below the waist, tapping your foot against his. “I’m - she’s - we’re still proud of you, no matter what happens,” you say softly. “You’re always going to be our best guy.” 

His smile eases at the corners and he pats Talia on the butt, his eyebrows furrowed. “One game for the rest of our lives,” he chuckles, “no pressure, right?” 

“Not from me or Talia,” you promise. 

In the end, Mat scores twice in game four - the tying goal in the second and the winner in double overtime. You watch the game from bed, propped up with pillows and with the breast pump attached to your chest. Anxiety ratchets up in your body as the game goes on and there’s no one around for you to talk to - Mike, Nadia, and Liana are there, but your parents had gone to bed halfway through the first overtime. 

The puck goes in - Bortuzzo or Mat, no one’s really sure at the moment - and the guys go crazy on ice. You hiccup a happy laugh that turns into a sob. Not getting swept is a positive, but this also means that Mat will be right back on the road. There’s still no date for Talia’s discharge and you’re exhausted from going back and forth to the hospital. 

You just want everyone you love home and safe under one roof and you don’t think you’ll feel settled or calm until Mat and Talia are at your side. 

With the post-game playing quietly, you shuffle out of bed and move like a zombie down to the kitchen to stash the pumped milk and pick at the sourdough loaf your mom picked up earlier. You scoop out the inside of a slice and roll the dough into little balls, leaving the crust for last. Mat always makes fun of you for how you eat bread and you wonder if this will be a habit that Talia picks up from watching you. 

The thought makes you smile and you wander back up to bed, passing out the second your head hits the pillow. 

Mat’s already gone when you get up in the morning and you shuffle downstairs, curled over from the stiff ache in your hips and back. Mike and your dad are in the kitchen, the pair of them eating eggs and reading the paper. It’s such an out of place sight that you start giggling before you can ask where everyone else is. 

“Mat and Nadia went to the hospital,” Mike offers up as your dad pops some bread into the toaster for you. “He’s going to the rink for video review and meetings, but he wanted to see Talia.” 

“Oh,” you hum, “he didn’t want to sleep in after - I don’t even know what time you guys got home.” 

“Honey,” your dad laughs and drops a plate in front of you, “it’s nearly 10. You’re the last one up.” 

Your stomach sinks and you rub at your eyes, glancing at the clock on the microwave. Sure enough, the digital numbers blink back at you - 9:57. Guilt knots in your stomach, knowing everyone else was up before you and Mat went off to see Talia without you, even though he had a long game last night. 

“Get that look off your face, kid,” Mike smiles gently at you. “You need rest too and someone will come with you later to see the baby. Mat didn’t want to wake you, said he knows you haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“I slept last night,” you reply reflexively and your dad ruffles your hair. 

“Get a few more of those in a row and then we’ll feel better,” he tips his chin at the plate of food in front of you. “Eat.”

You take a small bite out of a piece of bacon and chew slowly. Swallowing, you ask, “where are mom and Liana?” 

“Ran out to knock a few errands off the list,” Mike replies, sipping at his coffee. You know that means going to Pottery Barn and getting more decor for the nursery - which your dad and Mike had finished while you were in the hospital. When you saw it, mostly finished and decorated in pale pinks, you’d cried for an hour and gathered your dad and father-in-law in a grateful hug that left them both patting the top of your head with reassurances that it was nothing.  “How’re you feeling?” 

You lie, “okay,” and both men lift their eyebrows at you until you amend your answer to, “overwhelmed.” And then you look down at your plate, scraping the tines of your fork through your eggs. 

“It’s an overwhelming time, honey,” your dad says gently. “You’ve got all of us to lean on while Mat’s gone and even when he’s back.” 

“You and Mat are doing a great job,” Mike adds. “We’re all so proud of you both. And Talia, of course.” 

Both men break out into wide smiles at the mention of Talia and warmth floods your chest knowing how loved your little girl is. All four grandparents have a million pictures on their phones already and you know your mom has been bragging to her sisters about how much Talia is growing and developing. It’s all you’ve ever wanted and you relax slightly. 

“She is amazing, isn’t she?” You laugh. “She was sucking her thumb yesterday, did I tell you?” 

It’s easy to talk all about Talia and even though Mike and your dad know everything already, they let you ramble on until you finally stop. You can feel your energy flag and you end up on the couch, dead to the world. Mat comes and goes while you sleep and you wake up again after lunch, sweating and slightly dizzy. Spots dance in front of your eyes and you blink against them, closing your eyes until your vision clears. 

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Liana calls from the kitchen, drawing your attention, fuzzy as it is. “You want some lunch?” The Alexa is playing a semi-familiar country song. 

“No,” you rasp through a dry mouth. Your hand shakes when you lift it to push your hair off your face and the stupid fucking diaper you have to wear is uncomfortable. “What time -“ 

“One thirty,” Liana answers, turning the volume down on the music. “You were really knocked out. Feeling okay?”

Truthfully, no. You’re feeling shaky and strange, too hot even though it’s cool in the house. Your head is pounding and nausea rolls through your stomach. But it’ll pass, you’re sure, so you just shrug at Liana and say, “I’ve been worse. Where is everyone?” 

“The dads are watching football and the moms are with Talia. Mat should be back from the rink soon, I think?” 

You rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms and nod. 

Liana continues, “Mat said to feed you lunch and he’ll go to the hospital with you when he gets back, before he leaves for Raleigh.” 

“I’m going to shower,” you sigh, pulling your shirt away from your chest. There’s milk mixed with your sweat and your chest aches from missing a pumping. You feel disgusting in a way that you haven’t felt in a few days. Standing up from the couch makes your head swim and you make your way to your bathroom on shaky legs that don’t feel like they’re attached to your body. 

Somehow you manage to make it through the shower and stay upright, but it drains you of whatever little energy the nap had given you. You’re slumped over on the edge of the bed when Liana pokes her head into your room. 

“Hey?” Her voice is concerned. “You okay? It’s been a minute.” 

“Just…” you wave your hand in the air vaguely, “kind of wiped. Maybe I’m dehydrated. I’ll have some water and we can go.”

Liana squints at you and you know she’s going to blab to someone - your mom or Mat - but you’re honestly feeling shitty enough that you don’t care. She holds her hands out and pulls you to your feet, “you’re eating the entire sandwich I made too, just so you know.” 

“I….yeah, okay,” you concede sheepishly. “Eating’s probably good.” 

“Glad you see it my way,” Liana bumps your elbow with hers. “Mat’s been texting like a lunatic, asking if you were awake and if you’d eaten. So I’m glad to get him off my back for now.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “He shouldn’t…I’m not…ugh, god, I feel so bad that everyone is being inconvenienced by me.”

Liana scoffs and wraps you in an unexpected hug, “you’re not a burden and we’re not inconvenienced. We love you and Mat and honestly, I love Talia more than I love both of you combined. So of course I’m going to do everything I can to help my favorite people in the world get adjusted. Stop being a brat.” 

A laugh startles out of you at Liana’s proclamation and you feel lighter. Returning her hug and holding on tight, you say, “I don’t mean to be a brat. I’m trying to be normal, but everything’s so hard.”

“So lean on us,” Liana squeezes your hand. “Let us all be there for you guys.” 

You nod and wipe your sleeve over your eyes, stemming the tears before they can fall. Dropping your head to rest against her shoulder, you giggle wetly, “we’re going to have to get you an amazing birthday present.” 

——-

In the end, the boys lose game five in Raleigh and the season is over. The house is quiet and Mike flips the TV to a different station, no one really wanting to watch the postgame. 

“Well,” your dad says, trying for upbeat, “they put up a helluva fight.” 

You hum tiredly in response, pulling your hands into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. Any playoff loss stings and you know Mat and the guys are going to come home dejected. You can’t wait to see Mat lift the Cup, but that dream will have to wait at least another year. For now, you’re just glad that he’ll be home tomorrow. 

“Why don’t you head to bed?” Nadia suggests. “We’ll get everything cleaned up and before you know it, Mat will be home.” 

“And then the real adulting can begin,” you laugh faintly. “T will finally have both her parents in the same state for an extended period of time.” 

Your tone sounds bitter even to your own ears and you know it’s time to turn in - what’s the saying? When you start to hate everything around you, go to bed? That’s how you’re feeling anyway. So, with a wave to the room, you shuffle off to bed, crawling under the covers in your perpetual pajamas and curling up around Mat’s pillows. They’ve long since lost his scent, washed and washed again since he’s been gone, but it still comforts you to have them pressed against your chest as you slip off into sleep. 

The dip of the mattress startles you a little and you crack one eye open, Mat’s hazels meeting your gaze as he climbs under the covers next to you. 

“Hi,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. His thumb rubs against your cheekbone and you lean into his touch. 

“Hi,” you murmur sleepily, blinking. “What time’s it?” 

It feels early, too early for Mat to be home. Unless you slept the day away. But you don’t feel like you’ve slept very long at all. 

Mat’s hair is damp from the shower and he pulls you  close, until you’re tucked against his chest, his chin resting on your head. He rubs his palm in circles between your shoulder blades and his breath ruffles your hair when he replies, “caught a commercial flight out of Raleigh so I could get home earlier. Wanted to be back with you.”

“I missed you,” you bury your nose against the notch of his collarbone, inhaling the scent of his skin. “I’m sorry about the loss.” 

“It sucks,” Mat admits. His chest rises and falls, warmth radiating off his body. “Guess this year just wasn’t our year. Part of it’s my fault, I couldn’t focus on the game knowing you and Talia were here and she’s still in the NICU.” 

“She’s doing so good,” you pull back to look at him, his face blurry from your tears. “I think she should be coming home soon.” 

He laughs and kisses your forehead. “Waited for her dad, huh? I get to do the hot dad walk out of the hospital after all,” his grin is crooked, eyes dancing with delight. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “you do.” 

Mat’s arms tighten around you and you melt into him, his body relaxing as he falls asleep. It’s been a long few days for him and you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you back to sleep too. 

By the time you both wake up again, the house is noisy and smells like pancakes and bacon. Mat guides you downstairs with a hand in your lower back and doesn’t stray too far from your side. Your parents are at the hospital with Talia and your phone has half a dozen messages with pictures of your mom cuddling her. It makes your heart twinge and you speed through breakfast so you can swap out with them. 

It’s also a two week check-up for you, so you have to detour before you can see Talia. Mat trails along behind you, holding a Stanley rattling with ice and white peach Liquid IV mixed into the forty ounces of water. Liana had snitched on your difficulty in staying hydrated, so in the twelve hours he’s been home, Mat is making it his personal mission to keep you hydrated. He keeps rattling it at you, passing it over for you to drink from the straw. 

“I’m going to have to pee,” you whine, pushing at his wrist. “Let me get through this appointment and I’ll drink some more.” 

“And you’re getting a snack,” Mat crosses his arms. “You’ve lost weight.” 

“I’ve been pumping and breastfeeding,” you roll your eyes, avoiding looking Mat in the eye because you know you’ve also been avoiding eating too much. He seems right through you though and scoffs. 

“Which means you’re supposed to increase your calorie intake,” he points out. Off your raised eyebrow, he raises his own back and retorts, “I can Google shit, Squeaks. There’s a lot of downtime between games.”

You sigh and wrap your arms around your stomach, but say nothing. Mat’s stubborn, as stubborn as you are, so when he makes up his mind there’s no changing it. Your appointment goes about as well as it can - the bleeding is normal for this time of postpartum, no additional clots or things that shouldn’t be happening. Your iron levels are dangerously low though, which explains most of your symptoms and prompts Mat to scowl at you when you list them out in a quiet voice. 

“Why didn’t you -“ Mat starts, but you cut him off. 

“I wasn’t adding to your stress. I’m fine,” you huff. 

Mat rolls his eyes and drawls, with a sarcastic wave of his hand in your direction, “oh yeah, this is what fine looks like. Just a quick hydration IV and heavy duty prescription iron supplements. Babe, you’re the picture of health.” 

The IV tugs at your arm when you lift your hand to wipe at the tears pooling in your eyes, Mat’s words hitting deep. You sniffle, “you don’t have to be mean.” 

His face falls immediately, lips curled down in a frown, eyebrows drawn together over his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing both hands over his face and groaning. His words are muffled by his hands, “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to - god, fuck, Squeaks. I’m sorry. Just…I’m so fucking sorry. I know this is hard and you don’t have any control.” 

Feelings still hurt, you shrug and curl back up against the infusion chair - the detour preventing you from seeing Talia and making you cranky. You know Mat’s under a lot of stress too and you’re trying to not feel so out of control. The IV itches and you’re too hot though and that’s making you bitchy. 

“Whatever,” you mumble, tracing your nails over the etching of your name on the Stanley. “Just, can you go see Talia? Make sure she’s okay? I’ll come up when I’m done.” 

Mat frowns at you again and adjusts the baseball hat on his head, dark hair slightly greasy under the fabric. He’s been running his hands through it a lot, spreading the oil and making it messy. It’s a nervous tic, you know that, and the constant repetition makes it hard to make eye contact. All of his stress is your fault. These are supposed to be happy days and here he is, fresh off a playoff elimination standing around watching you get an IV before visiting your daughter in the NICU. 

“T’s not going anywhere,” Mat says, his tone softer. “I’m going to wait with you and you can fill me in on everything that’s been happening because I missed you. Okay?” 

“Not much to fill in,” you mumble, bitchier than you need to be. “Been here and been at home. That’s it.”

Mat’s jaw clenches and you feel bad. You’re doing everything wrong. 

He shrugs and shakes his head, “okay. Well, I’m home now. We can start doing some other things too.” 

“I don’t know how,” you shoot back. “Talia’s still here and it’s bad enough that you were just on a plane and our families have been to the stores. She was probably exposed to so many germs.” 

“I was on a fucking plane to come home to you,” Mat snaps back and then visibly reels himself in when he sees your eyes well up. “Fuck. I’m going for a lap. I’ll get you more water.” 

You scowl and practically shove the Stanley at his chest. “I don’t want any more fucking water, Mathew,” you snap and Mat waves a hand over his shoulder as he walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until you can’t hear him anymore. Then, and only then, you let yourself cry. Tears spill down your cheeks and your body shudders with the effort. You’re not sure how the day spiralled out of control so fast. 

Your chest feels tight and achy, guilt knotted behind your sternum. You feel crazy, unable to regulate yourself, and now Mat’s angry with you. Every single thing you touch seems to be breaking and you don’t know how to fix it. 

——-

The only bright spot of the next two days is that Talia is finally going to be discharged. Two and a half full weeks after birth, the two longest weeks of your life, you get to bring your baby girl home. 

Of course, literally everything else feels like it’s falling apart. You and Mat are tiptoeing around each other, polite in a way that scares you. The last time you’d been this polite with each other was around the time of your breakup a million years ago. It feels like everything is going to crash down around you. 

And having so many extra people in the house doesn’t help either. Your mom and Nadia are helpful in cooking and cleaning and staying out of your way as much as they can, but they can also sense the tension between you and Mat. No one wants to say anything to you and you hate that because it means you’ve given off the impression that you’re unstable. Which you are, but it still hurts. 

Liana’s the only one that’s treating everything normally, ignoring the tension and hanging out with you when Mat has to go to the rink for exit interviews and locker clean out. 

She holds Talia while you pump and watch the video of Mat’s exit interview that the team posted. 

He looks awful in the preview - pale and exhausted. Neither of you have been sleeping well the last few nights and neither of you want to admit that maybe you need to be in separate locations for a few days just to get a full night’s rest. Sleeping in separate beds feels like a big scary omen of something and you’d rather be exhausted, but with Mat at your side. 

When you hit Play on the video, Mat’s voice comes through scratchy and rough. 

“It sucks,” he shrugs. “They always have our number and it sucks.”

Your heart twists at the defeated expression on Mat’s face. He’s desperate to get back to the ECF and play in a Cup Final. Someone off screen asks a muffled question and Mat’s expression shifts. His shoulders loosen and his face gets lighter, a faint smile plays on his lips and you can see the sparkle in his eyes. You just know he’s about to mention Talia. 

“Hah, yeah,” tiny, on screen Mat laughs. “I definitely wasn’t at my best this series. Half my focus was on the ice, the other half at home with my family. Yeah, definitely not an easy thing to leave in the middle of everything, but you know, and just to kind of ask for a little privacy, my wife did have our first kid and we’re really obsessed with, you know, the baby. They’re both doing okay and that’s all I’m going to say on that.” 

Your heart skips a beat at the smile on his face and the way it totally transforms his features. Keeping your lives private is something that’s important to you and giving out information on your own terms is a skill that you’ve learned over the years with Mat. Eventually, people will see Talia and you’ll post about it, but for now, she’s just yours. 

“That was diplomatic of my big brother,” Liana laughs, grinning down at Talia and repeating in a baby voice, “your dad is usually a big mouth, Baby T.” 

“I didn’t realize he would even say something,” you murmur, wincing at the mechanical pull on your nipple. “We haven’t, um, really talked too much about it. Haven’t really talked about much of anything these past few days.”

Liana looks up at you with sympathy, Talia dozing off in her arms. The baby looks so much more substantial in Liana’s arms than she does in Mat’s - she’s still less than six and a half pounds and scrawny, but filling out the more of your breast milk she drinks. 

“You guys are doing a really good job in a totally new situation, you know,” she says kindly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself or Mat.”

“I’m trying,” you sigh. And you are. It’s just so fucking hard. “I just can’t wait until she’s home and we won’t have to keep coming back here.”

Mat’s voice echoes from your phone’s speakers, “no, my goal is still to bring a Cup to Long Island. Having a kid is just extra motivation, someone new to make proud.” 

——-

“Hey,” Mat rubs your arm, gently shaking you awake. You roll over and blink at him until his face comes into focus. 

“Hi,” you whisper, yawning. 

His smile is a flash of white in the dimness of your bedroom, excitement palpable, “Talia comes home today.” 

“She does,” you grin reflexively, your entire body lighting up with excited nerves. “Mat…” 

You trail off, but he kisses your forehead and brushes his thumb over your cheek. You haven’t really talked, or apologized which is what he deserves. 

“I know, baby,” he pulls you close and brushes a kiss over your lips. “Anything you say postpartum won’t be held against you.”

He’s too good to you and you don’t deserve him, guilt making you nauseous. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth, stubble scraping at your skin, “so much.” 

“I love you back,” Mat laughs. “Now let’s go bring our girl home.” 

The morning is a blur - your parents and Mat’s are beside themselves with excitement, cleaning everything last minute and stopping intermittently to gush about how happy they are that Talia’s finally going to be home. It’s slightly cool outside, considering it’s May 4th, so you dig through all the tiny baby clothes filling the dresser for something warm. It’s all too big for Talia, but you figure layers are probably good and settle on a couple of knit long sleeved onesies that should be warm enough.

You nearly vibrate out of your seat as Mat drives to the hospital, his Defender cutting through the afternoon traffic easily. Fleetwood Mac is playing and you roll down the window slightly as Stevie hits the chorus of Dreams. 

“It feels like it’s been a million years since she was born,” you murmur and Mat nods. 

“We’ve lived a couple of lives since April sixteenth, huh?” He reaches out for your hand and you lace your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over a cut on the side of his hand. He’d accidentally knicked himself slicing up an apple for you last night. 

“I’m really scared, Mat,” you admit quietly. He turns into the drive for the hospital, easing up the road. 

“I probably shouldn’t admit it,” he says carefully, “but I am too. She’s all our responsibility now.”

“What if we fuck her up?” You have no idea how to raise a baby, your own relationship with your parents was combative when you were a teen. Mat’s on the road half the year and you’ll be alone with her. Anxiety and panic settle in your stomach and your breathing starts to get wheezy. 

Mat squeezes your thigh and you look at him with wide eyes. He shakes his head and nudges your chin with his other hand, “we’re not going to fuck up our kids, Squeaks. You’re going to be the best mom they could ask for and I’m your loyal second in command. We’re the best team I know - remember kicking Beau’s ass at Leesy’s Kan Jam two years ago? We’ve got this.” 

His confidence calms you and you nod, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his mouth for reassurance. 

You walk into the hospital with just Mat and two hours later, after a feeding and a diaper change and passing the car seat test, you walk out as a family of three. 

Mat has the biggest, stupidest grin on his face as he carries Talia in her car seat. His Girl Dad baseball hat is on backwards and you take a picture of him and video, smiling while you cry. 

“Hot dad walk,” he laughs, grinning at you over his shoulder. 

“Hot dad walk,” you agree, eyes laser focused on Talia, sleeping away in the car seat. She’s tiny and curled up, tucked under the iconic hospital blanket and an Islanders themed fleece blanket the girls had given you. 

Mat holds his free hand out for you, wiggling his fingers until you fall into step next to him and take his hand. He kisses your temple, mumbling against your skin, “hot mom walk too. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You lean into his touch, the iron grip of your anxiety easing so you can enjoy this moment with your husband and daughter. Finally, everything feels right and when you climb into the backseat of Mat’s car, buckling in next to Talia’s car seat, she wakes up briefly and blinks sleepily and unfocused at you. You rest your hand on her belly and she sighs, closing her eyes and falling back asleep as Mat pulls the car carefully from the parking spot. 

The radio is low and Mat drives slower than he’s ever driven in the entire time you’ve known him. The drive home takes twice as long as it usually does and every time the car bumps over a rock in the road you wince - both from the jarring pain to your body and from the little shake of Talia’s head. 

Your heart beats too fast, nervous about every turn and shift of the car, your eyes laser focused on Talia for any signs of distress. But of course, she sleeps happily through the entire drive, snuggled up all cozy when Mat finally pulls into the driveway and gets her car seat out of the car. 

She sleeps through the initial rush of getting her inside, your mom and Nadia looking at her with tears in their eyes and their hands covering their mouths. She sleeps through Liana’s squeal when Talia yawns in her sleep. She sleeps through your dad and Mike debating, loudly, over what to grill for dinner. 

Mat lifts her out of the car seat and settles her against his shoulder, one hand under her butt and one on her back. You can see his entire body physically relax with her in his arms and his face transforms with a mushy smile. Talia wiggles in his grip and he adjusts, looking so natural holding her. He presses a whisper of a kiss to the top of her head, ruffling her dark hair, and you catch the way his eyes gloss over. 

You couldn’t have picked a better man to be the father to your baby girl. 

And that’s just reinforced in your mind over the next two weeks, as your dad and Mike head back to North Carolina and Vancouver respectively, and you settle into a routine. 

Talia’s struggling with sleep and that means you and Mat are struggling with sleep. For as much as she was sleeping in the NICU and in the first few days at home, she’s doing the exact opposite now and crying more often. Your stomach sinks every time she cries, wheezing a little with the effort, making you think there’s something seriously wrong with her. 

“She just won’t stop,” you hiccup a cry to Mat in the middle of the night, leaking milk all over the place and trying to calm Talia down. She’s not hungry and her diaper’s freshly changed. Maybe she just hates you. 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Mat says through a yawn, plucking Talia from your arms and cradling her to his chest.

You wrinkle your nose - you hadn’t realized that you said it out loud. 

Mat paces around your room, bouncing his knees to try and get into a rhythm that’ll soothe Talia while you grab at one of the dozens of burp cloths hanging around every surface of the house and use it to clean up your chest. You’ve never felt less like a person than in this moment. With a pathetic little wail, you drop back against the pillows, tits out until you can find the faded and oversized Islanders shirt that had fallen into your lap years ago during the t-shirt toss and pull it over your head. 

“She was so good, are we - am I doing something wrong?” You whisper, watching Mat struggle to clam Talia down too. A mean, selfish little part of your brain is happy to see him struggle too. 

He shrugs and Talia wails, her little face bright red. You’re surprised that no one’s come in to see what’s happening, but at the same time you don’t want witnesses to your complete ineptitude as parents. You’ve been relying a lot on your mom and Nadia for silly questions and their help cooking and cleaning. Liana’s been your distraction, keeping you from spiralling out daily. They’re a safety net for you. 

“Maybe, I don’t know, she’s sick of the house?” Mat tries shifting Talia in his arms, laying her stomach on his forearm and cradling her head in the palm of his hand. All that does is make her choke a little and your heart lurches out of your chest until Mat props her upright again. Not quick enough though, she gags and spits up on his arm, his sweats, the floor, and Mat groans, muttering a curse under his breath. 

“Shit,” he steps over the spot and grabs a burp cloth to drop onto the carpet. Stepping on it with his bare foot to soak up some of the liquid, he continues, “remind me to clean that up in the morning.” Huffing a little laugh, he jokes, “not the first time one of my girls has thrown up on me.” 

The joke makes you smile and you reach your hands out for Talia, “let me take her, see if I can…” You trail off, Mat shaking his head at you. 

“Get some shoes on, we’re going to try going for a drive,” he says, propping Talia against his shoulder and rubbing her back. “She fell asleep yesterday on the way to the pediatrician, so it’s worth a shot.”

“We can’t just drive around whenever she cries,” you protest, even as you’re swinging your legs out of bed. “And it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Great,” Mat shoots back, grabbing up a few blankets and the pre-made bottle Talia had been refusing before you tried to get her to latch. “There won’t be anyone on the road. Just a few quick loops around the block, Squeaks. We all need some sleep.”

You can’t argue with him on that and so you go along with his plan, quietly gathering up a little hat for Talia in case it’s cold outside and following Mat down the stairs and out to the garage. He gets Talia buckled into her car seat and you tuck more blankets than necessary around her - it is cool out, Long Island still weeks away from the typical summer humidity - and climb into the back seat next to her. She wails and you wince, rubbing at her belly with a gentle hand. 

“Mat…” His name drags out on a plaintive whine and he nods. 

“I know, I’m starting the car,” as soon as the car turns on, he flips the heat setting up and pulls out of the garage and down the driveway. “Hopefully this works.”

Talia cries and you feel your own chest getting tight with the urge to cry, until Mat takes his third left of the night and her cries taper off a little. You’ve only been driving for a few minutes, but you can see Talia relax, her blinks getting longer. The car is toasty warm and even you can feel your body relaxing into the leather seats. 

“She asleep?” Mat whispers, looking over his shoulder as he eases to a stop at a red light. 

“Not yet,” you murmur back, stroking the soft skin of Talia’s cheek with the back of your finger. Her eyes flutter shut. “Just a little bit longer, I think.” 

Mat reaches back and squeezes your knee gently, “I’ll drive as long as my girls need me to.” 

on the morning of november 1st, mat comes into the house after practice and says, “we’re doing no nut november.”

you lift your eyebrows and point between your chest and mat’s with the spatula you’re using to scramble some eggs. “who? me and you? because i don’t remember signing up for that,” you say, accepting the kiss he plants on your lips

“me and the guys,” mat says, lifting talia out of her high chair and hugging her close. she squishes his face with jam covered hands and he laughs, kissing her cheeks. “talked about it after practice, leesy doesn’t think we can do it.”

“it’s supposed to be team bonding, mrs. b,” schaefs says, coming into the kitchen with his backpack slung on one shoulder. he gives talia a high five over mat’s shoulder

you shake your head at your husband and adopted son. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard,” you snort. “and i’m not participating in that, so,” you wave your hand in mat’s general direction, “you’re on your own, buddy.”

schaefs grins wickedly, his eyes twinkling, “that’s kinda the point! plus, everyone thinks barzy’s gonna be the first man out”

knowing your husband, you tend to agree with his teammates. “what does he have to do when he loses?” you ask, plating up brunch for the boys

“wow,” mat deadpans, holding talia on his lap and feeding her pieces of toast, “i feel the love and support, squeaks. loser, which won’t be me, has to perform a song of the winner’s choice at karaoke at borrelli’s.”

“oh god,” you laugh, “that’s amazing and i really hope you lose now”

schaefs cheers, “woohoo! mrs. b’s gonna sabotage from the inside, i love it”

mat tosses a piece of crust at the rookie and talia shouts, “no, daddy! bad!” making you all laugh

-

in bed later, you lay out the rules on mat’s no nut november challenge. he’s not allowed to come, but you can and a quick text to the group chat clarifies that mat’s not allowed to make you come either, which he protests as being unfair

“shouldn’t have agreed to it,” you reply primly when he whines about not being able to eat you out for a whole month - “or less if you decide to lose”

“no way,” mat shakes his head. “i just have to hold out longer than at least one other guy. shouldn’t be hard.”

you bite your tongue against the quip that something else will be hard all month with no relief, but you figure he’s suffering enough.

besides, the guys are going on a seven game road trip, it should be easy for mat to resist.

and then on november 2nd? they beat columbus in a 3-2 thriller and mat comes home amped the fuck up. he can’t help but kiss you in the way that you always know will lead to fun in bed, his cock hard and thick against your thigh when he crushes you to his chest.

honestly, you’re surprised that he has enough willpower to pull away after grinding into you through your clothes. he whines and flops into his side of the bed, his cock clearly tenting his pants, and mutters, “stupid fucking shit. should’ve pushed for no shave november”

“oh that would’ve been nice,” you grin, pulse racing. unfortunately for you, he’s worked you up into a state of arousal. “i always like the feeling of your stubble on my thighs”

“fuck, squeaks,” he groans. “can’t say shit like that to me when i’m this hard up”

“what if you just come in your pants like a teenager?” you giggle, tracing your fingers over the veins on the back of his hand. “ does that count?”

per the group chat - yes, it counts, and jesus fuck, barzy, you’re that weak? it’s only the 2nd!

they lose to the bruins and the wild on the 4th and 7th and despite mat’s assists in both games, he comes home cranky and grumpy and you’re pretty sure part of his mood has to do with the blue balls in addition to the losses. as far as you know, none of the other guys have quit or lost or whatever, so mat’s still pretty invested in not being the one to lose

he’s also annoyed because he came home after the bruins game to find you mid-orgasm, vibrator in hand and sheepish grin on your face when he rolled his eyes at you and grumbled, “who’s too horny to last a month now?”

that all goes by the wayside after the 5-0 drubbing of the rangers on the 8th. you’re at the game, screaming and cheering and just generally losing your mind as the clock ticks down and sorokin posts a shutout. mat finds you in the stands and grins at you and you know, he’s not going to win the challenge

and what a way he goes out - he’s on you the second he gets home, claiming every inch of your skin with his mouth, licking and sucking marks that will last for a few days

“fuck, been too goddamn long,” he groans into the valley between your tits, dragging his mouth over to suck at your nipples. his fingers are between your legs, thumb at your clit and middle and ring fingers making a home in your cunt. his hips work and he’s grinding into the mattress, his bare ass bouncing deliciously

you whine and tug at his hair, hooking a leg over his side to open up for him. “it’s been a - ah, oh god, there there please mat more - week. it’s only been a week!” you laugh and it breaks off into a wail that you have to muffle into your palm when mat makes you come on his fingers. you drip down his wrist and he looks up with wild eyes and a wicked grin

“never felt so good to be a loser, squeaks,” he laughs, a rough, delighted sound and then disappears between your legs again

he makes you come on his tongue, fingers pressed against your g-spot so you’ll squirt all over his face and be nice and wet for him to slam his cock into you. the stretch of his cock feels good, amazing after the always disappointing use of your vibrator. you’ve been spoiled by mat in all your years together and orgasms are the most satisfying when he gives them to you

mat fits inside of you like he was made for you and he tosses your legs over his shoulders to stroke even deeper and sweat pools at your lower back, drips down the side of his face, his skin slick against yours

“come on, baby,” he croons, “give me one more, make it really worth losing the challenge”

you nod, feeling untethered from your body, and mat pulls out a few inches before slamming into you again, the final thrust and clench of your cunt around his cock dragging him over the edge

he fills you and fills you, coming for longer than he usually does, built up over eight days. mat drops his weight on top of you, cock twitching and releasing into your cunt until his come spills out around him. the bed is a mess, you’re a mess. mat’s breathing hard into your neck and you’ve never felt more satisfied

you go another round before climbing into the shower and then back into bed, mat’s completely spent from the game and the sex and you card your fingers through his hair, kissing his shoulder softly

“what song do you think they’ll make you sing at karaoke?” you giggle

“who gives a fuck?” mat laughs, rubbing his palm over your side and up to cover your breast. “whatever it is, it was so fucking worth it. no chance i was gonna go on a seven game roadie before getting some love from my wife”

“it’s a road trip, not a deployment,” you tease, secretly pleased that mat can barely keep his hands off of you, even after having a baby. he yawns and tucks closer to you, falling asleep quickly

-

the next morning, you’ve got talia on your hip while you cook breakfast and schaefs pops up in his game day clothes, shaking his head at you

“what?” you ask, handing talia over when she lunges for him.

“is it true barzy is a big bieber fan?” he asks, making faces at talia to get her to laugh.

you cock your head at him and nod. “he’s been known to pop the biebs onto a playlist, yeah. why?”

your eighteen year old adopted son grins and says, “just brainstorming songs for him to sing at karaoke”

“i have no regrets,” mat announces, rubbing his hands through his hair as he comes into the kitchen. “and if you checked your phone ever, you’d know that i already self reported”

“Did you know,” Talia sing-songs her way into the kitchen, scrambling to climb onto one of the bar stools, “that I get to spend the whooooole day with Daddy? Just me ‘n him, no one else!”

You slide a plate of pancakes in front of her on the counter and grin, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet so Max will stay chill where he’s strapped to your chest. He’s asleep, for now, one chunky hand holding your t-shirt in a vise grip.

“The whole day, huh? I bet you’re really excited,” you hand her a Disney Princess fork and point at the pancakes. “Better eat up so you have plenty of energy.”

She digs into the pile of strawberries and makes work of the pancakes while talking with her mouth full. “Yeah, I’m so excited, Mommy! ‘Cause remember when Max was born and Nana and Pop came? And you were soooo tired? Daddy and I went to the park so much.”

“You guys did go to the park a lot,” you agree. Your labor and postpartum with Max had been a thousand times easier than with Talia, but you were still exhausted so Mat, despite coming off a second Cup win, took on a lot of Talia-duties on his own for June and early-July. Now that you’re feeling more normal and in a routine, you keep telling him how grateful you are for him. Which he waves off and tells you to stop doing, because he’s just being a dad. Thank god you married him. Thank god he’s your kids’ dad.

“And I wore my playoff jacket and we saw Jack and Reese and Cole and Gunnar and Tulsa,” she rattles off the names of the Cizikas and Horvat kids, ticking them off on her fingers, sticky with syrup. She’d name her whole friend roster if you let her. Mat’s yapper genes were definitely dominant in Talia.

“What do you think you and Daddy are going to do today?” You’re curious because Mat hasn’t told you a thing about his plans and that makes you a little nervous. He’s about to go rogue.

Talia shrugs and folds a pancake into a taco with a piece of strawberry in the middle. “I dunno. Daddy said we could do whatever I want, but that we’re also doing something he thinks I’ll like,” she says, biting into the pancake taco halfway through her sentence.

“Ready for Daddy and T’s Adventure Day?” Mat breezes into the kitchen, hair damp from his shower. He kisses you on the cheek and swipes a pancake from the plate with the extras, folding it in half like a taco and shoving it into his mouth. You barely manage to stifle a smile - like father, like daughter. He winks at you and says, “I was going to get shirts made, but didn’t have enough time.”

“YES!” Talia shrieks, nearly falling off the bar stool in her excitement. Mat catches her with one hand, lifting her under the armpits and setting her down on her feet. She does a little dance in place, the skirt of her Little Mermaid dress swishing around.

“Go clean up, love bug,” you sweep her plate up into the sink. “Then you guys can head out.”

You hope she’ll change into real clothes, but honestly, you’re not too confident that she will. Talia’s in her creative artist phase and that usually means she dresses in a different princess costume and sings along to the music all day. You’re all for creative expression, but a woman can only listen to the Frozen soundtrack for so long before losing her mind. You’re just grateful that she’s moved onto the classics now.

“Take a change of clothes in the car,” you tell Mat while he makes quick work of a cup of coffee - you squint at him and realize it’s your cup of coffee he’s polishing off. “Hey! Go get your own.”

He holds the cup out of your reach, shaking his head. “No, come on. You make it perfectly and I need to start my day right since there was no time for a quickie,” he teases, draining the last cold drops.

“Horrible man,” you grumble, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing him, licking into his mouth so you can taste the last of your coffee. Mat’s lips curl against yours in a grin and he squeezes your hip in lieu of pulling you close, mindful of Max strapped to your chest.

He laughs when you step back, “if I get kissed like that for stealing your coffee, I’m not going to stop.”

You shrug, bracing your forearm under Max’s butt and leaning your ass against the counter. “It’s not like I’m going to stop kissing you,” you reply. “But I do expect a little treat when you get back.”

“On it,” Mat salutes you, waggling his eyebrows and dropping his gaze to the front of his jeans. “Not little, but it’s a treat.”

“No,” you deadpan, glancing quickly to see if Talia’s going to reappear. “Your dick doesn’t count as my treat. That’s my property.”

Mat cackles his laugh and Max startles awake against your chest, letting out a cry that draws both yours and Mat’s attention. He mutters a curse and an apology under his breath, but you wave him off. Max will go back to sleep with a quick feed and a lap or two around the house. You’re not worried.

“I’m ready,” Talia reappears in the kitchen, hair brushed back with a headband and her little crossbody purse over her shoulder. She looks adorable and your heart squeezes because she also looks so grownup. You cup a hand around Max’s head, reminding yourself that it’s good she’s growing up, this is what’s supposed to happen.

You glance at Mat and his eyes are suspiciously glassy. Looks like you’re not the only one feeling the growing pains.

“You look ready to have the best day ever with Daddy,” you say, clearing your throat. Mat squeezes your hip as he scoots around you.

“Race you to the car?” He winks at Talia and she screams her countdown from three, running off before she can make it to one. Mat’s laughter echoes behind him as he follows her, the front door slamming shut behind him.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, Maxy,” you kiss the top of the baby’s head and start cleaning up the kitchen. It’ll be nice to have some uninterrupted peace and quiet, maybe you’ll even catch a nap.

The possibilities are endless, as is the pile of laundry gathering in the basement.

——-

“Hi, Mr. Rob,” Talia chirps, hands pressed flat to the display case in My Three Sons. Her breath fogs the glass and Mat pulls her face back slightly. He’s always just a little bit worried about her immune system.

“Hi there, Talia,” Rob, the owner of the bagel shop grins down at her from behind the counter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He winks at Mat, who’s grateful for the focus on Talia and subtle acknowledgement of himself. He loves living on Long Island for the anonymity and the grace the fans afford him. Especially when he’s a local and a regular, like in the bagel shop. You and Talia are here probably a little bit too often, but the seven months when she was four and would only eat bagels did the heavy lifting on Rob recognizing her by the sound of her footsteps.

Talia also makes friends everywhere she goes, so that doesn’t hurt either.

“Me and my dad are spending the whoooole day together,” she explains, spreading her arms wide. “And we have to do every single thing I say.”

“Ah, a yes day,” Rob nods. “That sounds like it’s going to be a great day. Your usual, Miss B?”

“Yes!” Talia chirps and then adds a “please” a moment later. Mat’s both proud of her manners and amused that his six-year-old has a “usual” at the bagel shop.

She dances over to the cooler, at Mat’s prompting, selecting a chocolate milk to go with her second breakfast and while they wait for the food to cook, Mat comes and helps her pour his iced coffee and doctor it up.

“More milk, Dad?” Talia asks, barely waiting for an answer before she’s adding more 2% to the already tool-light coffee.

Mat ruffles her hair and plucks the milk dispenser from her hands, “yeah, that’s good, TB. Thanks for helping me.”

He pops the top on and Talia snatches it for a sip before Mat can move. Her lips curl in a smile around the straw and Mat squints at her, shaking his head and prying her fingers off the plastic cup. “Dude, you know you’re not supposed to have coffee,” he reminds her, cracking open the chocolate milk and plunking a straw inside. “Mommy’s gonna flip if she finds out.”

“But it’s my yes day!” She pouts, looking exactly like Mat. He laughs at seeing his own expression on his daughter’s face. “Mommy lets me have a sip sometimes.”

“Then this was your sometimes sip,” Mat counters just as Rob’s calling his name. “Come on, time for second breakfast.”

In the car, Mat lets Talia sit in the front seat of the car so they can eat together. Her chocolate milk is next to his coffee in the Defender’s cup holders and she’s cross legged on the seat, grinning as she peels back the tinfoil on the bacon, egg, and cheese. Mat watches as she licks the cheese that’s melted onto the inner paper and winces when she hands him the half of the sandwich from that side.

The perks of being a dad, he guesses.

“Thanks, T. Cheers,” he holds his half up and knocks it against the corner of Talia’s half, grinning when she bounces in the seat.

“Cheers, daddy!” She echoes and Mat’s heart squeezes a bit. She’s been calling him ‘daddy’ as opposed to ‘dad’ more since Max was born and it was something you both had discussed. It’s a normal thing, the other moms had reassured you, and Mat doesn’t mind it so much because he misses when Talia was younger. She’s growing up so fast.

The car’s off, but he has it so the air conditioning and the radio still work and bouncy pop music from the 80s fills the car. Talia bops her head as she eats, digging into the bagel as if she hadn’t just had breakfast. The kid is a bottomless pit, which is a nice change of pace from when she was a newborn and barely ate anything.

Mat watches her quietly, thinking about those scary days, and has to clear his throat before he asks, “so what’s on the agenda for today, TB?”

Talia uses a napkin to wipe ketchup off her hands and she takes a sip of her chocolate milk while she thinks, her little nose scrunched up. The backseat of the car is littered with her “guys” - the toys and stuffed animals that had to come along today - but she’s got a vintage Meg from Hercules Barbie doll on her lap in the front seat that Mat recognizes as one that you’d squealed over when your mom brought a storage tub of Barbies to the house a few months ago. The carnage in the playroom after you and Talia had gone through everything had been epic.

“I wanna go to The Paper Store,” Talia grins at Mat, cheeky, “and mini golf and also Chip City and also Starbucks.”

Mat laughs and nods, “I think your dear old dad can make that happen.”

“You’re not old, daddy,” Talia scrunches her nose at him. “Pop and Grandpa are old!”

“Tell them that when they come for the start of the season, okay?” Mat reaches out to tug on a strand of Talia’s hair. She nods and returns to her second breakfast, managing to polish off 3/4 of the half before giving the last few bites to Mat. He’s been good about his diet and training this off-season, so he’ll splurge a little today, for Talia.

—-

They go to The Paper Store, Mat carrying the lightweight basket for Talia to drop her stuff into. There’s the Swedish candy (paid for by the ounce and Mat’s convinced it’s a scam - even if he does fuck with the Bubs), a notebook with Snoopy and Woodstock on the cover, a Taylor Swift themed car freshener (“That’s going in Mommy’s car even though your car smells worse, because this is a girl smell.”), and enough Jellycats to open their own store.

He chuckles as she tosses another one - a treasure chest this time - into the basket. “T,” he laughs, plucking a ginger root Jellycat out of the basket, “do you even know what this is?”

Talia regards the ginger root with a cocked head and a mildly dismissive expression. And then she breaks out into a gap-toothed grin, “no! But it doesn’t matter cause you said it’s a yes day and Mommy can have that one.”

“I’m really in trouble with this yes day stuff, huh?” Mat asks rhetorically.

“Yes!” Talia chirps, giggling as she skips off to the jewelry section of the store. She leaves with a wrist full of beaded bracelets to match the amateur ones she and the other kids had made, along with the ones from fans at games last season.

You and Mat also have a ton of beaded bracelets from the fans - they’re in a bag in your closet right now, but with the most recent Cup win, you’d been floating the idea of making some kind of shadow box situation. Mat’s still just riding the one-two punch high of a Cup win and Max’s birth. He feels dazed in the best possible way and spending the one-on-one time with Talia today is really good way for him to get back to more of an equilibrium.

The start of the season is looming in his mind, the pressure of repeating the two-peat both exhilarating and suffocating. The first win had been unexpected, a scrappy team clawing their way to the top, but the second win had been calculated and executed to perfection.

He’s not sure what it’ll take to win a third time, to bring the 80s glory back to the Island, but Mat wants to do everything he can to cement his place in the annals of Islander history. The A on his chest is a responsibility he doesn’t take lightly and he wants to justice to the team.

You’ve been a rock and being in the newborn bubble has helped him tune out the noise - the podcasts and the articles discussing their team and their changes for a third cup, the construction of the roster and injuries that some of the guys are dealing with post-playoffs are all factors that have been analyzed ad nauseum and Mat’s just trying to focus on making sure you and the kids are all happy and healthy.

It’s easier to think about how Talia’s adjusting ti her baby brother than it is to think about the eighty-two plus games that they’re hoping to play this year.

——

After Carvel soft serve (a late addition to the day) shared in the front seat of the car, Talia’s fingers streaked with chocolate and sprinkles, Mat checks his watch. It’s about time for his surprise for the day.

“Talia, baby, we’re going to make a quick stop, okay?” Mat reaches his hand into the backseat to tickle at her knee. She laughs and slaps his hand in a high-five. “It’s a surprise, but I think you’re going to like it.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, swinging her legs. “But we’re playing mini golf next, right?”

He laughs and confirms that’s the plan, turning up the radio so Talia can sing along to Taylor Swift. Mat bops his head along to the music too, drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

It’s a short drive to UBS and Talia squeaks when she spots the familiar facade, pressing her face to the car window.

“Hey! It’s not hockey time,” she says, muffled with her mouth against the glass. “Are we skatin’? How come we’re not at the tiny rink?”

“Tiny rink’s closed today,” Mat says. navigating his way to the player parking lot and sliding into his usual spot. Talia’s unbuckled and standing when he pulls open the back door. She grins and flings herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms around his neck. The Jellycat in her hands whacks him in the head and Mat braces his forearm under her butt.

“How come?” She asks right in his ear as they head inside. “You practice on the tiny rink and play games on the big ice! If it’s closed, you can’t practice and then you won’t win!”

Mat doesn’t get a chance to answer because she’s wiggling out of his arms the second they get inside, running around like she owns the place. In a way, she kind of does - it’s been her second home since birth and she knows all the workers and all the ins and outs of the arena. Mat loves that Talia and now Max will be rink babies, will know UBS as the place where their dad won multiple Cups. He loves that they’re comfortable and that Talia’s so personable.

You think that’s Mat’s influence on her personality, but he knows that you’re the one that makes friends everywhere you go, chatting with strangers in line and exchanging Instagram handles with women in a new Pilates class. He loves seeing facets of your personality coming out in Talia and will encourage it as much as possible.

“Hey! Daddy,” Talia stops abruptly in the middle of the concourse and spins to face him, hands on her hips and headband slipping off her hair, “there’s lots of people here! You said there was no hockey!”

He laughs and reaches for Talia’s hand when a crowd passes, he can hear them murmur his name, but they don’t bother him which he appreciates. As happy as he is to meet fans, when he’s with Talia he’s more hesitant. She has almost zero concept of stranger danger, especially since people know his name and your name and even Talia’s name when they come up for a chat or a photo or autograph, more often than not she’ll jump into the interaction. His favorite was when she got bored of the group of teenagers talking hockey and stuck her foot into the middle of the group, demanding that everyone pay attention to her new rain boots printed with ducks all over them.

“I’m not playing hockey,” he pulls her along. “But I thought you might want to see the cool girls play hockey.”

The PWHL is having a meet and greet/scrimmage event in a few cities this weekend to expand its reach. The league is up to 16 teams and this weekend the New York Sirens are hosting the Pittsburgh Tempests at UBS and Talia’s been jonesing for more hockey the last few weeks, so he figured it would be fun for her to experience.

Talia’s eyes go wide and she nods, clutching her Jellycat cow to her chest. “Are they as good as you and Uncle Bo?”

“Better,” Mat leans down to her level and whispers, eyes going wide for dramatic effect. Talia giggles and bounces in place and Mat lets her run loose to the concession stand. She’s chatting with the woman behind the counter when he catches up, the cardboard container of chicken tenders and fries nestled in her hands as she talks. Mat leans against the wall and listens as Talia talks all about her new baby brother, interrupting when a line starts to form so he can usher Talia off to the suite. He gets the privilege of holding her food, passing her a fry when she holds her hand out for one, dancing off to the elevator.

She allows him to share too, telling him he can have the crunchy, overly-cooked smaller fries since she doesn’t like them. And Mat pops the pieces in his mouth, knowing that these are the days he’ll miss when she’s older.

“Here, Daddy, hold this please,” she passes him her little crossbody purse and he loops it over his shoulder without hesitation.

“You’re just like Mommy,” he teases, “making me carry your purse when it gets too heavy.”

Talia looks delighted at the comparison. “Mommy’s the best! She’s so pretty and fancy and gives the best snuggles. Plus she’s always got snacks in her purse so I wanna be Mommy when I grow up.”

Mat makes a mental note to tell you later about Talia’s praise, grateful that you’re the best mom in the world.

Lunch gets polished off and she grabs a soft pretzel from the buffet, dipping it in honey mustard before proclaiming that she doesn’t like honey mustard. Mat holds out his hand and he gets the discarded pretzel while Talia gets a new one. Once she’s had her fill of snacks, it’s time for the player meet and greet and they head back down to the concourse.

Mat keeps his baseball hat pulled low, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and Talia has the time of her life getting autographs on the Sirens jersey Mat bought and had stashed in his trunk.

“Hey!” The goalie for the Sirens - Mat thinks the team calls her Twitch - beams when Talia bounces up to the table. “I love your stuffed cow!”

The bright exclamation has Talia going a little shy and she backs up a step, pressing up against Mat’s side and holding onto the hem of his shirt. He taps her on the top of the head and when she looks up at him, he smiles encouragingly.

“Go ahead, say thank you,” he prompts.

Talia smiles shyly and whispers a “thanks.”

“My daughters,” Twitch is saying as she signs Talia’s jersey, “were dressed as cows for Halloween, because I love them. They’re my favorite animal.”

“My cow’s named Zeeky,” Talia offers, shuffling forward and propping her arms on the edge of the table. “After my Uncle Casey.”

Casey had loved that one, but it was a natural connection after Kristy had included the Jellycat in the Easter gift basket she’d made up for Talia.

“That’s a good name,” the goalie grins. “My daughters aren’t named after your Uncle Casey.”

Talia laughs at the terrible joke and asks, “are you as good a goalie as my Uncle Ilya? ‘Cause he’s the best goalie in the whole world. Even though everybody says it’s not him and it’s Shister, I think Uncle Ilya’s the best.”

Twitch bursts out with a delighted laugh and leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Talia, “I’ll let you in on a secret, Ilya Sorokin is my favorite goalie in the world too! I think he’s definitely better than Igor, but maybe not as good as I am.” She winks and Mat snorts a laugh.

Mat snaps a picture of Talia and Twitch and hops in for a selfie, thanking her for her time. She waves him off, grinning, “best part of the job, right? Meeting the littlest fans?”

“For sure,” Mat agrees, Talia’s hand in his. She dances at his side and waves as they walk away, shouting, “bye, Twitch!”

“Daddy, this is so fun,” she beams up at him, Sirens jersey hanging to her knees. Zeeky the cow is tucked in Mat’s jacket pocket for safe-keeping. The scrimmage is underway, the familiar sounds of skates on ice and pucks on sticks filling the arena.

“Looks like your new best friend is on fire,” Mat laughs, pointing as Twitch makes a windmill save on one of the Pittsburgh players. Talia cheers and clambers up to stand on her seat for a better view. Mat holds onto the back of her jersey and snaps a picture to send to you.

——

Talia’s still buzzing and going strong after the scrimmage ends, making sure Mat knows that mini golf is still on the agenda. They stop at Starbucks on the way - iced coffee for Mat and a peach lemonade for Talia. Plus a cake pop.

She kicks his ass on the course, doing a little victory dance every time she gets the ball in the hole.

“Daddy, you should be better at this,” she says, matter-of-fact.

“You’re just cheating,” Mat teases her, scooping her up under his arm while she shrieks with laughter. He carries her to the next hole and pretends to use her as the putter. Her laughter fills the air and Mat’s glad for it. It’s been such a whirlwind summer, it’s nice to stop and take the day slowly.

“Am not,” Talia pouts, the skirt of her princess dress crunched up in Mat’s arms. “My dress is getting wrinkled!”

“Sorry, Princess T,” Mat kisses the top of her head and sets her down on her feet, watching as she smooths down the skirt in a way that she’s definitely seen you do to your own dresses. “Finish up the round and we’ll head to Chip City?”

It’s getting later now and Mat knows you’ll want to have dinner together and hear all about the day.

By the end of the round, Talia’s starting to drag. She lifts her arms for Mat to carry her back to the car and he’s rewarded with a kiss on the cheek and Talia’s arms nearly strangling him around the neck.

She dozes off on the drive back into town, perks up just enough to pick out the cookies - one of each except blueberry cheesecake because she doesn’t like that one and two confetti because those are “Mommy’s favorite.”

From the backseat, she asks if he wants a piece of a cookie and Mat shrugs, holding his hand back for her to drop a piece into his cupped palm. “Small piece okay? Mommy’s not going to be happy if you don’t eat dinner,” he says, catching her eye in the rear view mirror. The pizza they’d picked up is making the car smell amazing and Mat’s stomach grumbles a bit.

Talia nods and props Zeeky the cow under her cheek so she can rest her head on him, chewing on a small piece of a chocolate chip cookie. Mat can see that her eyes are starting to glaze over and he shoots you a text that they’re ten minutes from home. You send back a thumbs up and heart eyes emoji and Mat smiles at your message. He can’t wait to get home and kiss you.

—-

“Mommy!” Talia, arms full of her guys, runs from the car into your arms.

“Talia B!” You squat down as best as you can to catch her in a hug. She presses close, her cheek smushed to yours. You inhale deeply - she smells like sugar and chicken tenders and the Sol de Janiero body wash she insists on stealing from your shower. “How was your day with Daddy?”

“The best ever!” She squeals, clinging to your waist and pressing her face against your hip. “We got bagels and saw Mr. Rob and then we went to The Paper Store and we got you a Jellycat and also one for Maxy and then we saw hockey and played mini golf and look-“ she flings her hand back in the direction of the car, “we got Chip City too!”

Mat waves from the car, Chip City box balanced on top of the pizza box balanced on his palm and Paper Store bag hanging from his fingers. “Hi, babe,” he calls with a grin, “missed you!”

“Missed you too, Barz,” you tease, laughing when he shoots you a scowl. You stand up and wind Talia’s curls around your hand. “Come on, baby, let’s get cleaned up for dinner and you can tell me more.”

You can hear Mat bound up the stairs to the porch and you’re already giggling when he captures your wrist in one warm hand, tugging you back and around so he can kiss you hello. The pizza box bumps your arm and the shopping bag bangs against your hip with surprising heft, but you melt into the kiss, grinning when Mat slips his tongue past your lips. He squeezes your wrist slightly and nips at your lower lip before pulling back.

“Now that’s a hello,” Mat teases, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Mommyyyyy,” Talia whines from your side, tugging at your hand. “Stop kissing Daddy, I wanna show you my Jellycats.”

Your laugh ghosts over Mat’s cheek. “Sorry,” you tilt your lips in a wry smile, “duty calls.”

You follow Talia into the house and Mat follows you, saying under his breath, “next up is a date with Mommy where I do whatever she says.”

The shopping bag hits your ass playfully and you shoot him a sly grin over your shoulder. “Oh, you’re not ready for what I want you to do,” you tease, enjoying the look on Mat’s face. He groans and you swish your hips playfully, just to torture him.

It’s one of your favorite pastimes, after all.

——

After dinner, where Talia shows Max her toys and beams when Max gives her a gummy smile, she clings to Mat’s leg and asks him to do her bedtime routine. He’s all too happy to get her bathed and pajamaed, tucked into bed with her stuffed toys in a halo around her head.

“Daddy,” Talia yawns, face against his side while his hand strokes over her head, “this was my best day ever.”

An unexpected lump of emotion blocks Mat’s throat and he has to clear it before he can reply, “this was my best day ever too, TB.”

“Maybe next time,” her sentence splits in half on another yawn, her voice fading as she falls asleep, “we can bring Mommy and Max.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Mat kisses the top of her head, curls already starting to spring free of her braid. “Sleep tight, baby girl.”

You’re finishing feeding Max when Mat appears in your bedroom and you pass him off so Mat can burp him while you readjust your top.

“We made the best kids,” Mat says, sitting on the edge of the bed and propping Max up in his thigh so he can pat his back. You roll onto your side and watch, making little faces at Max until he lets out a burp disproportionately large for his size.

“Yeah,” you agree, reaching out to wipe up the dribble of spit up on his chin, “we really did. And they’re cute, too.”

Max’s eyelids are drooping and Mat tucks him against his chest, leaning back against the headboard and stroking the baby’s back. He grins down at you, “thank you.”

“For what?” You scoot over and settle yourself against Mat’s side, nose pressed to his chest, tangling your legs with his.

“This guy,” Mat pats Max’s back, “and his big sister. And being the rock of the family.”

Emotion wells up in your chest and you bury your face in Mat’s shirt, voice muffled when you laugh faintly and say, “don’t say things like that to me, I’m postpartum and emotional.”

When your coworkers suggest using the firm’s Islanders’ season tickets as a “team-building” outing, you keep your mouth shut. Your relationship with Mat isn’t a secret, even if you are private about it. It’s been less than a year since you got back together and the fans aren’t shy about talking about you on social media so even though you don’t go out of your way to post pictures of Mat, that doesn’t mean you have total control over the narrative.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been spotted in the background of a picture of Mat and a fan that’s posted to Twitter or Instagram. You don’t hide when Syd posts a picture from the games, but you also don’t actively seek out photo ops to put yourself in the public eye.

The fact that random people in the arena know your name though, that’s always a little jarring.

It was a lot to get used to at first - all that attention - but now you’re in a better place with it. You still don’t like talking about Mat with anyone other than your closest friends and especially not with the men in your office that would happily label you a puck bunny with insincere laughter and smirky smiles. They all know you’re seeing Mat, no matter how quiet you keep your private life.

“Come on, how many of us would go?” Tim asks, pointing at each person around the conference table. “We’ve got half a dozen seats.”

You could text Mat right now and get yourself into the arena if you wanted, comped work-perk ticket be dammed. Spending more time with your coworkers outside of the office isn’t something that’s really appealing to you. Little do they know, you’re actively on the hunt for a new job. So, you slouch down in your seat a bit, hoping Tim will just skip you completely.

No dice.

“I’m adding you,” Tim says, calling your name so he can get your attention. “Otherwise, we’ll just have empty seats and that’s not fun.”

“Oh, I don’t need to -“ you start to say, ready to make an excuse. You hadn’t been planning on going to the game anyway, wanting to get in some quiet time at the end of a long week. Of course, Mat’s leaving for a road trip on Saturday afternoon, so you would like to see him for a little bit too. But going to the game doesn’t really count as seeing him since he’s obviously busy.

Andrea chimes in from the other end of the table, “oh, please come! I can’t be the only girl going,” she pouts dramatically and you sigh. She’s probably your closest friend at work and you know she’ll make the game fun.

You find yourself nodding, “okay, yeah. I guess I’ll come.”

There’s a general commotion of planning and you take the opportunity to slide your phone onto your lap and pull up your messages with Mat. The last one in the thread is an extreme close-up of his face, giving you his best puppy eyes, along with a plea for you to come to the game. You huff a little laugh under your breath, amazed that he’s getting his way after all.

You: I better see some really amazing skills on that ice tonight 😉

It doesn’t take long for his reply to vibrate your phone.

Mat: FUCK YES you’re coming? knew you’d cave and want to see me in my gear 🤣

You press your lips together to muffle your laughter and tap out your reply with your index finger.

You: I’d rather see you out of it? Orgasm per point? 🤔

Mat: you know it babe 🫡 gonna have a career game so i can leave town knowing you’re satisfied

You: Can’t wait ☺️ Also, I made cilantro lime grilled chicken, if you want to go to my place and eat/nap before the game

Mat shoots you back a thumbs up and a ‘thanks, babe’ and you smile, knowing your sheets will smell like him for a day or two until you wash them. His place is probably closer to the new arena, but he’s also really lazy about cooking sometimes. Since you like trying new recipes a few times a week, Mat is a good human garbage disposal for your leftovers.

He’s gone before you get home from work, but your sheets are all messed up and your pillows are bunched in half, forming a little well that Mat’s body was curled up in. You roll your eyes at the left behind mess, including a cheeky note left on your dresser in Mat’s chicken scratch: don’t wear anything under your jeans tonight, i want to get the fun started right away ;)

You ignore his request, going commando under jeans for a full hockey game is just not happening, but shimmy into a thong as a compromise. He won’t have any problems snapping the thin strings and discarding the fabric to the floor later anyway.

Everyone from work will be wearing a jersey, but you don’t usually, taking your cues from Sydney, Kristy, and the other girls to dress up a little more with orange and blue accents as opposed to full on Isles gear.

Jeans and plain white t-shirt are the base for your blue baseball hat and the orange purse you bought specifically because it was in the team colors and in an arena-approved size. You’re comfortable and the outfit is appropriate for what’s technically a work outing too. It’s a sort of boring outfit, but it’ll help you blend into the background a little and you just want to enjoy a soft pretzel and some hockey, while ignoring the worst of your co-workers.

Andrea texts you to see if you need a ride, but you’re definitely going to take advantage of the family and friends parking perks, choosing to drive yourself to the arena and park in the players’ garage. You wave at the security guard, Paul, and he greets you with a big smile, saying, “think that man of yours is going to have a good night?”

“I hope so,” you laugh, “otherwise I came all this way for nothing.”

The energy in UBS is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, even a handful of months after its initial opening. The fans love the space and they’re so excited to have a new home, even if it’s not the same as the Coliseum. You’d brought your dad and a few cousins to the arena’s opening and they couldn’t shut up about it. You just like the people watching and the different food options.

Admittedly, the games are more fun now that you actually know the more detailed ins and outs of hockey - except what qualifies as goalie interference, but no one knows what qualifies as goalie interference, so that’s fine - and you like getting into the action. The fans’ ‘yes, yes, yes’ chant is also one of your favorite things.

Of course, the guys you work with don’t think you or Andrea know anything about hockey, so they spend the first period and a half mansplaining the rules. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek so you don’t say anything obnoxious.

“See, it’s an offensive zone face off,” Tim points to the ice, “because the play was blown dead in our o-zone.”

“Mhm,” you him politely, watching Brock skate to the dot and lean down to take the faceoff against Jake Guentzel. The whistle blows and Brock wins the puck cleanly, tossing it back to Adam who skates it around and up the ice. There’s an attempt on DeSmith that goes wide and you join the crowd when they groan in disappointment.

The boys are winning, 3-2, but there’s still a whole period and a half left. You twist your fingers together and lean forward in your seat, watching Mat fly up the ice and shoot a puck that hits DeSmith right in the center of his jersey.

“Ugh, fuck that,” you mumble, frowning.

Tim and Chris shake their heads and Chris pipes up, “Barzy’s aim sucks this year. He either hits the goalie right in the pads or it goes wide. Wonder what he’s doing differently, or who.” His gaze cuts to you and you blink placidly at the ice, making sure you give him no reaction whatsoever.

You’re no stranger to that line of thinking and in fact, that had been part of the reason behind your breakup with Mat in the firsts place. The constant flood of commentary from fans about a downturn in Mat’s production on ice being linked to his relationship with you. It’s the tried and true abuse of an athlete’s girlfriend - just ask Jessica Simpson. At first, it was hurtful and when it led to the breakup, you’d been pissed.

Now it just makes you laugh because it’s so stupid. You have no impact on Mat’s production, you barely even talk hockey with him unless he’s trying to explain something to you. That’s the way you like it - being a fan of your boyfriend and not necessarily the sport he plays. Although, you are a fan of hockey now.

Andrea leans over from your other side and rolls her eyes at Chris, snapping, “I’d like to see you try and aim straight with Sidney Crosby on your ass. You sound so stupid.”

She taps your thigh subtly and you smirk at her, mouthing a ‘thank you.’ Her retort has Chris spluttering nonsense for a minute before he shuts up and returns his attention to the ice.

You lean back in your seat and sip at your water, texting the group chat with the other Isles ladies - wishing you were sitting with them, instead of with your coworkers. Syd invites you to meet up with them after the game and Emma, Tito’s girlfriend, seconds the request. You suggest brunch for tomorrow because you know you’re going to want to spend time with Mat and get those promised orgasms. Right now, you’re just at one - a primary assist on Zach Parise’s power play goal in the first - but you’re hoping for more.

“Oh, shit, Kiss Cam,” Andrea mutters at your side. “This is always so cringey.”

You laugh and look up at the Jumbotron where a middle aged couple is going at it - tongues and all. It’s always the older couples that get gross about it. A red faced couple is next, they look like they’re on a first date, and their kiss is short and adorable.

The couple on screen changes and it takes a minute to process the fact that you’re looking at your own shocked face, amplified to larger than life proportions.

You watch your eyes go wide and Tim lean in on your left, grinning. What the fuck?

“Oh my god, no!” You say loudly, knowing the video doesn’t have audio, but hoping that the camera guy can read your lips.

Tim keeps leaning in and he says, “aw, come on. One quick kiss isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

You scowl at him and shake your head again, the camera still on you as you say, “no, no. I’m with Mat,” pointing down at the ice, in Mat’s general direction. “I’m with Mat!”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest, slightly hysterical because this is such a stupid thing to happen when you’re with your coworkers. You cover your face with one hand and shake your head.

You turn to Tim, ready to say, “can you believe this?” but he takes it as an invitation and leans in. Reflexes kick in and you turn away quickly, but not quick enough and his lips catch the corner of your mouth, making you frown. To your horror, tears well up at your lash line, an instinctive response to being kissed by someone who isn’t Mat.

It’s over before you realize, but the smug look on Tim’s face is more than enough to get nausea churning in your stomach.

“Asshole,” you hiss, jumping to your feet and pushing past Andrea and the other people in your row, stumbling over the stairs as you run up to the concourse. Your head is pounding and your hand trembles around the handle of your bag. The HVAC system pumps cold air into the arena and it feels even colder in the concourse, away from the body heat of the fans in their seats. You skid to a stop and stand still in the middle of the floor, your brain catching up to your body.

“You okay, honey?” A security guard asks, looking at you with concern. You nod and manage a shaky smile, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“Yes, hi, I’m fine. Just, um, just got overwhelmed,” you murmur. You jerk your thumb to the side and continue, “thank you for asking.”

She looks at you skeptically, but takes you at your word, reminding you that Guest Services is at Section 106.

“I know, thank you,” you smile again, rubbing your hand on the outside of your thigh. You head off towards Isles Lab, winding your way through the merchandise until you feel calm again. The blue and orange is surprisingly soothing. To you, at least.

You’re definitely not going back to your seat, instead you carefully pick your way to the section you know the girls are sitting in. Some of them are probably in the family room with their kids, but hopefully Emma is sitting in the seats.

“This seat taken?” You ask quietly when you slide into the open one next to her.

“Babe!” Emma’s eyes go wide and she reaches for your hand, tugging you down and then into a hug that you gratefully accept. “Are you okay? We saw - who was that? What was that?”

You rest your head on her shoulder and rub a hand over your thigh. “My co-worker, Tim. He’s a jackass, but like, I didn’t - that was -“ your voice wavers and Emma tightens the arm she has around your shoulders. “Do you know if Mat was watching?”

“Probably not? I couldn’t really see them, but don’t worry about him, he won’t be mad at all! You were basically assaulted,” Emma’s voice rises with anger and you sit up to shake your head at her.

“I know Mat won’t be mad. I’m mad! I just, ugh,” you groan. “I didn’t even want to come tonight! And now I have to go back to work on Monday and see that jackass.”

“Take a sick day,” Emma replies immediately and it’s an idea. Right now, you want to put the whole thing out of your mind and just enjoy the rest of the game. At some point, Kristy comes back out to the seats and Jack is bouncing around, shouting his little head off. You get to cuddle two-year-old Reese and she’s so sweet it takes your mind off the whole thing.

The game ends in a shootout win and you’re just ready to get home and see Mat. Of course, your appearance on the Kiss Cam is on social media and you sigh, scrolling through the Tweets and replies about it. It starts out funny, with you clearly mouthing that you’re with Mat - more confirmation the fans don’t even really need or deserve - and then you can see Tim kiss you, your face go from amusement to disgust instantly. Just watching the replay makes your stomach churn.

To show you’re a good sport, you retweet one of the clips with a shrug emoji, hopefully leaving the whole thing behind.

You beat Mat back to your place, but he’s not far behind, unlocking your front door while you’re pulling a tray of stress-baked cookies out of the oven. You bump the oven door closed and grin at him, “hey there, superstar. Good game tonight, I’m ready for that orgasm.”

Mat’s face is stony and it takes you aback for a moment, before you remember the Kiss Cam.

“Babe,” his voice is tight, “who’s the dick I have to punch? That was beyond fucked up.”

You turn the oven off and let Mat stride across the kitchen to tug you into his chest. Your face twitches with the effort of keeping a neutral expression, but Mat’s eyes are dark as he studies you. There’s anger in his hazel eyes, but also concern for you and it makes your heart skip a beat. You tug gently at one of the belt loops on his dress pants and he cups your cheek in a big palm, tilting your face from side to side as if he’s looking for marks.

“I’m fine, Mat,” you promise. “I’ll deal with it at work.”

“That’s your fucking co-worker?” Mat’s eyebrows lift into his hairline. “Quit your job, Squeaks. Send the email right now. If he’s gonna kiss you in front of a whole arena after you’ve made it clear that you’re mine, what’s he going to do in a private office?”

A spike of anger flares up at Mat’s insistence you quit your job. Not everyone is a professional hockey player making millions of dollars a year.

“I’m not quitting,” you frown. “I have a rent and bills to pay. He won’t do anything at work, I’ll talk to HR.”

Mat rolls his eyes at you. “I’ll float your rent until you find a new job,” he says, dismissive. “I don’t want you working in the same county as him, let alone the same office.”

“I’m not letting you pay my rent,” you wiggle out of his grip, annoyed that the evening is taking a turn. You don’t want to fight with him. You want to fuck him.

Mat growls in the back of his throat and shoves his hands through his hair. “Sue me, for not wanting you around some douchebag that doesn’t respect you or the fact that you’re in a relationship,” he snaps, looking surprised, like he too can’t figure out how you got into a fight.

You start scraping the cookies off the tray with aggressive jerks of the spatula, tossing them onto a plate. “I’ll deal with it,” you insist. “It happened and it was stupid and frustrating, but I don’t want it to ruin our night. I just wanted you to come home and be with me.”

“I… fuck,” Mat sags against the counter, picking at his cuticles, “I’m sorry. I saw it happen and I just, you know, lost it.”

“I know,” you give him a tiny smile, “you were like a lunatic on the ice. I promise, I’m fine and I just want to enjoy the win with you.”

Mat steps towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing the nape of your neck and making you shiver. “I love you,” he says into your skin. Your heart misses a beat at the declaration, it never gets old hearing it. His fingers trace over the waistband of your jeans, goosebumps lifting on your skin. “I saw him kiss you and I … I couldn’t stop thinking about the breakup and how fucking stupid I was. How you could’ve been on that Kiss Cam with some guy you wanted to kiss, some guy that’s not me. I saw red, baby.”

“Lucky for you,” you whisper, pressing your ass back against his hardening cock, “you’re the only one I want to kiss.”

Mat’s mouth curls into a grin against the back of your neck and his fingers deftly undo the button and zipper of your jeans, his hand dipping below the fabric to find the thin cotton of your thong. He groans and complains, “I told you to go bare, baby. But fuck, you’re so wet already.”

You giggle. “Just take it off me like a normal person, you caveman. I wasn’t sitting in the arena with nothing between me and my Calvins,” you tease, breaking off in a gasp when his fingers brush against your clit. “Oh! Mat -“

“I’ll show you caveman,” he mutters into the crook of your neck. His fingers press hard against the wet spot of your panties and you gasp, whining his name. His fingers are gone in the next second and he’s spinning you by the waist, kissing you hard and fast before wrapping his hand around your wrist and dragging you back to your bedroom. You stumble over your feet with his insistence and laugh when he stops short and doubles back for a cookie, shoving it in his mouth with a grin and a harsh exhale when he realizes that they’re still hot.

“Toddler,” you tease, craning your neck up to kiss a smudge of chocolate off the corner of his mouth. He laughs and licks at your lips while pushing you back to your room. His hands are warm on your waist and you can’t wait to get him in bed.

“Can’t help the sweet tooth, baby,” he replies hoarsely with a shrug. “It’s why I can’t keep my mouth off of you.”

His eyes twinkle and you laugh at the tease, grabbing at the collar of his shirt and pulling him down for a deep kiss that tastes like chocolate and makes your knees weak. Mat’s arms are solid around your waist and he walks you backwards until the backs of your legs hit your mattress and you fall, bouncing slightly before his weight nearly smothers you.

You hook your legs around his waist and rock your hips up, pressing against the growing bulge behind the zipper of his slacks. He grunts and buries his face in your neck, nipping at your skin.

“Better make my one orgasm count,” you laugh, dragging your hands through his hair and tugging until he hisses. “Only one point for my man tonight, what a shame.”

“You’re such a fucking terror,” Mat laughs, pulling back so he can hook his fingers in the band of your jeans and drag them down your legs. “I shouldn’t even let you have one.”

You wiggle on your bed, kicking your socks off too and nudging at Mat’s thigh with a bare foot and a cheeky grin, “a promise is a promise!”

He shakes his head and squeezes your ankle, yanking you further down the bed, making you squeal with laughter. Mat pounces on you again, smothering your body with his, kissing your neck and jaw and letting his hands wander up under the hem of your shirt until he can knead at your tits, pinching your nipples through the lace of your bra. You whine and squirm under him, the pleasure bordering on pain. His cock is hard against your inner thigh and you try and rub against him for friction.

“Needy,” Mat teases you, biting at your collarbone. You know he’s trying to mark you up more than usual and you don’t mind. It’s his way of staking his claim - after you’d gotten back together he left a hickey on your ribcage that lasted for two weeks because he kept mouthing at the same spot.

You force your hands between your bodies and work at the buttons of his shirt, managing to get two undone before you can’t reach down anymore. “Mat,” you pout, kicking at the back of his thigh, “get up and get naked. Wanna feel you.”

“I love when you get bossy,” Mat smirks, but he listens and shifts to his knees so he can finish unbuttoning his shirt and toss it to the floor, giving you full visual access to his chest. You grin stupidly at the sight and Mat doesn’t miss your reaction, his chest puffing up slightly under your perusal. “Your turn.”

You do a half-crunch, pulling your shirt over your head while Mat makes quick work of his pants and then you’re both left in your underwear, panting slightly. You press your thighs together and Mat reaches for your knee, pulling your legs apart so he can see the thin strip of fabric between your legs. His eyes darken as the wet spot grows, your arousal increasing the longer he looks at you.

“Take a picture,” your tease is breathy, your own fingers playing with your nipples through the lace cups of your bra. “It’ll last longer.”

Mat cackles and rubs at the bulge of his cock, pressing the heel of his palm to the base of it harshly. The front of his briefs are damp with precome and your clit throbs with desire.

“Hey, if you let me, I’ll take a picture and carry it around when I’m out of town,” Mat smirks. He ghosts his hands up the inside of your thighs and presses his thumbs against your clit, making your vision white out briefly and your hips buck up off the bed.

“Oh fuck - whatever, Mat, oh my god,” you whine, his fingers working at you over your thong before dipping under the cotton and pressing against the soaked entrance of your cunt. “Whatever you wa-a-ant, right there, please - more. Need more. Oh -“

Mat’s fingers dip lazily in and out of you, your chest heaving as the coil of pleasure builds low in your stomach. Your toes curl and Mat watches your fingers scrabble for purchase in your sheets. His laugh is low and rumbling, his fingers crooking to press against your inner walls.

“There you go, baby,” he mumbles. “Tight little pussy belongs to me, right? Only I know how to make her feel good.”

You nod and gasp, “yes, oh god - all yours. Mat, only yours.”

Pleasure builds hot and fast and you push at his shoulders, “wait, wait - I’m gonna, want your cock if - if I only get one.”

Mat snorts and presses his thumb to your clit, making you whine, “would you shut up? I’m gonna make you come as many times as I can. Now stop being a little brat and come on my fingers.”

“Oh,” you whimper and Mat presses his fingers harder against your g-spot, your cunt clenching around his fingers and your orgasm hitting like a freight train. He rubs your hip as you spasm around him, thumbing at your clit while it twitches. Your mind goes blank save for the feeling of Mat’s fingers inside of you.

“Good girl,” Mat leans down to kiss you, licking his tongue into your mouth. His fingers are gone from your cunt and you pout against his mouth, but in the next second there’s a snap of elastic on your hip and you feel him pull your thong away from your soaked cunt. Another pair of panties lost to Mat’s grip strength, you’ll just add it to his tab. “Arms up, I want to lick your tits too.”

“Mat…” you hiccup his name, still coming down from your first orgasm. He unhooks your bra with precision and tosses it to a corner, head ducked down to pay attention to your pebbled nipples. He licks and sucks at them, alternating until your chest is covered in spit and the red marks from his teeth. Your nails claw at his back, spine arched to push your chest into his mouth.

With his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, Mat ruts his hips into yours, his teeth tugging at your nipples until you’re sobbing. It’s too much sensation and still, somehow, not enough.

He bites down a little too hard on your nipple and “ow,” you wince, the sharp sting of his teeth clearing some of the haze from your brain.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flattening his tongue over the bite, “but this is mine.” He alternates to your other tit and bites that nipple too, “mine.”

You arch off the bed as he makes his way lower, biting at your ribs and stomach, muttering, “mine” after each nip. He sucks a mark over your hip bone and the spot is already purpling when you crane your neck to look down.

“Animal,” you accuse, wailing when his lips wrap around your clit and suck hard.

“This is mine too,” he mumbles against your inner thigh, rubbing his nose against your clit until tears roll down your temples and you twist your fingers in his hair and pull. He bites down on your inner thigh and you instinctively snap your legs shut around his head, Mat’s teeth releasing you and his loud laughter muffled by your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you groan, his laughter vibrating through your body. “Stop biting me.” You’re going to have an impression of his teeth in your skin for days.

“I’m marking my territory,” Mat’s chin rests on your hipbone. “I need everyone to know you’re mine.”

There’s a weird glint in his eyes and you think about the months you were broken up and his apology when you got back together. You ruffle your hand through his hair and smile softly at him, “I am yours, baby. Only yours, forever.”

“Fuck, good,” he kisses just below your belly button and your stomach flutters.

“Can you fuck me now?” You giggle. “I’ve been waiting for it all day.”

Mat laughs and nods against your stomach, “yeah, I think I can make that happen. You’re so nice and wet for me, going to be so easy to fill you with my cock.”

He rolls over and reaches for your nightstand and the box of condoms you keep in the drawer. You tug on his arm and roll him back, biting your lip tentatively. Mat lifts an eyebrow at you and cocks his head in a silent question.

You nod slightly, telling him, “let’s go without. You know - I mean, I have the IUD. I like feeling all of you.”

You’ve had sex without a condom a few times and it always makes everything feel extra heightened and a little dangerous. There’s nothing like the feeling of Mat’s cock buried deep inside of you with no barriers, but it still makes you a little nervous, so you don’t always give him the go ahead at first. It’s usually when things are in the heat of the moment and you’re too blissed out to remember the condom.

Mat grins and rolls onto his back, lifting his hips and ass off the bed so he can yank his briefs off. His cock springs free and bounces up against his stomach, leaving a wet smudge of precome. He groans and strokes himself, your eyes wide and hungry as you watch.

“You sure?” He asks, rolling back on top of you, all hot and sweaty and heavy. His hair flops over his forehead and you nod, cradling his jaw to bring him in for another kiss.

“Yeah,” you’re breathless. Mat’s cock is hard and hot and throbbing against your inner thigh and all you can think about is getting it inside of you. His hips roll and the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, your nerve endings lighting up from the feel of his bare skin on yours.

Mat kisses the side of your mouth and mumbles, “gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He lifts up on one palm, guiding his other hand between your bodies so he can stroke at your clit until you’re trembling. You whine his name and he shushes you with a smirk, pressing the head of his cock against your clit with a little slap.

“Oh - fuck!” A gasp punches from your lungs and you lift your hips, chasing your pleasure. Your stomach twists and he repeats the movement, slapping your clit with his cock again and again until you’re crying his name, begging, “please, fuck -oh god, Mat! I need -“

“What do you need, baby?” Mat’s voice is slightly strangled as he drags his cock through your folds, both of you slick with your arousal. His knuckles bump your clit and you cry out again, clenching around nothing. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple and jaw. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling his back muscles bunch and jump under your grip. “Need me to fill this tight, little pussy with my cock, huh? Make sure she knows she’s mine.”

You nod wildly, blinking away tears from the overstimulation, “need it, please, god - Mat. Need you to fuck me - hard, fast.”

Without warning, Mat grins and pushes his hips forward, sinking his cock into you halfway. Your eyes go wide and you’re breathless, stretched around him in the way that you love. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

“So good for me,” Mat leans down, covering your body with his and pushing in another inch or two. He kisses the groan from your mouth, biting gently at your lower lip. He pushes in the last few inches, balls slapping against your ass once he’s fully seated inside of you and you clench around him, wriggling under his body at the stretch.

Your legs are spread wide to accommodate Mat’s body and you hook one foot around the back of his thigh, breathing hard when he starts moving inside of you.

“So big - fuck, M-mat, love you, love you,” you babble, feeling every hot inch of him throbbing inside of you. The head of his cock hits deep and you see stars, not a single thought in your mind as Mat fucks you into the mattress.

“Love you,” Mat grunts, pressing down on your stomach for a tighter fit. You kick a foot out and moan, his hips working at the speed you love. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build again, your entire body going taut before Mat rotates his hips, grinding your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.

“Come on, baby,” Mat kisses you again. “Let go and come for me. Tell me who you belong to, shout my name.”

He pumps into you once, twice, and you moan his name, digging your nails into his skin as you come, cunt spasming around his cock. Mat drops his face to your neck and practically whines, hips bucking into yours until he’s spilling inside of you in hot, thick spurts.

You shiver at the feeling of being filled, head fuzzy and vision blurry. It’s still relatively new, Mat coming inside of you bare, and you shift under him, acutely aware of the come that’s spilling out around his cock and dripping down the curve of your ass.

“God, fuck, I love you,” Mat’s breath is hot on your skin, his body heavy over yours. “I love your face and your smart-ass mouth and watching you take my cock bare. Fuck, just, fuck. Prettiest girl in the world, my favorite girl, I love you so goddamn much.”

Your laugh ruffles his hair - he’s always chatty, but you love it when he’s like this after sex, loose and affectionate and without a filter. You hook your ankles together at his lower back and wrap your arms around his shoulders, keeping him in place as his cock softens inside of you.

“Maybe I should get caught on the Kiss Cam more often,” you tease lightly, stroking your fingertips over the nape of his neck and down the line of his spine.

Mat shoots up onto his knees, his cock sliding out of you so suddenly it makes you gasp, looking down at you with a deep and offended scowl. It has you pressing your lips together so you won’t giggle. He shakes his head, “no, fuck no. You’re sitting with the girls for every other game you come to. They never get shown on screen and I’m not letting some random asshole think he has a chance with you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him playfully and he swats at your hip, pinching your ass.

“I only want to kiss you, I thought I made that abundantly clear when we got back together?” You reply, trying to press your legs closed, even with Mat in between them. He loops his fingers around your ankles and opens your legs again, setting your knees on either side of his waist. Cool air ghosts over your cunt and the steady trickle of come leaking out of you makes you shiver.

Mat watches for a moment and you feel heat rise on your chest and face, vulnerable to his gaze and feeling a little cracked open. He bends and kisses your knee, smiling almost shyly at you, “just wanted to make sure you didn’t change your mind, I guess?”

“You’re safe,” you yawn, suddenly exhausted. It has to be after midnight by now. “I’m not changing my mind about you, Mat. I’m all settled and decided.”

You yawn again and Mat’s hands find yours, tugging you into a sitting position. You whine and complain, but he rolls you off the bed and towards your bathroom, saying, “you’ll be mad at me in the morning if I don’t make you shower now.”

His hands are warm on your waist and you stop short, making his chest bump into your back, leaning your head back so you can look at him. You reach your hand back and curl it around his jaw, “hey, you know you’re mine too, right? All mine.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Mat grins and kisses your forehead sweetly, a direct contrast to the way his hands slide up your sides and grope at your tits. You squirm against him with each pull of his fingers at your nipples and little squeaking noises slip past your lips, making Mat laugh.

His cock twitches against your ass and you wiggle harder, forcing Mat to lock his arms around your waist and across your sternum to keep you in place. He sucks a spot behind your ear and mutters, “keep moving like that and I’m gonna have to fuck you in the shower.”

“these nobody assholes keep running into him,” you scowl, angrily shaking out a t-shirt and folding it into a neat square. “they’re going to hurt him and it’s not going to impact those talentless hacks, but schaefs is special and he’s just a kid!”

“scotty’s stepping up,” mat replies, gathering an armful of his clothes from the closet. “we’re all going to make sure nothing happens to the kid”

you frown at your husband, watching him fold his clothes and settle them in his suitcase. “i think i should be allowed out there to hit people with the zamboni when they even think about hitting him,” you huff, rolling up a pair of sweatpants

mat laughs at you, a grin stretching his face. “you’re cute when you go all mama bear. do you get like this when i’m on the ice?”

“no,” you deadpan. “i just love when giant, inconsequential idiots ram you into the boards. of course i freak out when you get hit! what kind of stupid question is that?”

“sorry, baby,” mat keeps grinning, skirting around the bed to kiss your cheek and palm your ass in a move that he’s basically patented. “i’ll make sure we both stay upright and unhurt”

“you can’t promise that,” you grumble, leaning back against mat’s chest. “but you have to make sure schaefs isn’t hurt. i couldn’t stand seeing him injured and missing time.”

you’re always worried about mat getting hurt on the ice, but the addition of matthew schaefer to your household and your lives just makes that worry even more amplified. he’s just a kid and he’s already dealt with a season ending injury and more. you just want him to be able to enjoy his first nhl season, happy and healthy

“i’ll step up,” mat promises you, kissing the back of your neck. “anyone touches schaef, i’ll make them regret it”

mat’s voice is deep and rumbly and you press your thighs together, turned on. after your finish packing, you’re definitely jumping his bones

the kids (talia and schaef) are in the basement, the 18 year old being a real angel and playing with talia’s new toys from christmas to keep her distracted and entertained. he’s such a good kid.

“good,” you murmur. “talia and i would both be upset if he got hurt. and,” you giggle lightly, mat’s fingers trailing up your spine, “you’re really hot when you fight. so, it’s a win win”

“yeah?” mat lets his teeth scrape over your shoulder, making you shiver. “do i get rewarded for every fight im in?”

you hum. “extra rewards for the fights you win, too”

“i like that deal,” mat turns your chin so he can kiss you soundly on the lips, your body melting into him and a whine working its way out of your throat when he pulls away. “gotta finish packing and then we can have some fun”

“family friendly,” you huff, breathlessly. “schaefs promised talia we would all watch frozen together before you guys leave”

mat groans slightly - frozen has been on a a major rotation in the house, thanks to the martin girls introducing talia to the disney princesses - but shakes it off and grimaces. “it’s fine, it’s cool. any way to spend time with my girls before a week away”

they’re playing at home tomorrow - the 27th - and then will be away in columbus and chicago until the 30th. back just in time for new year’s eve.

you reach for a sweatshirt and nestle it on top of the clothes you’ve already packed, catching mat’s eye.

“hey,” his eyebrows draw together, “is that my stuff? i’m already packing a bag?”

you grin widely, unashamed, “it’s schaefs’ bag. he likes your style for some reason so i figured i’d pack some of your stuff for him to borrow”

mat rolls his eyes at you and you giggle when he mutters something about little brothers

you resist the urge to remind him that he was once the team’s little brother too. you know mat doesn’t mean it and he’ll protect matt on and off the ice

you grew up with a dad who had clients who had tickets to the garden for knicks games so you’ve been to a bunch of games over the years and definitely enjoy basketball and rooting for the knicks. you and mat had been to games as dates too when you started dating and over the years

it’s a great way to repurpose all of your blue and orange gear and break out the vintage knicks merch your dad kept in storage, including some pretty iconic windbreakers and crewnecks

and the vibe in the city during this magical run is immaculate. you can feel the excitement and the energy and it’s so beyond fun to be a part of. you’ve exclusively bought blue and orange bagels for breakfast and mat’s switched his standard order to jalen brunson’s order (egg and cheese with a hash brown and chipotle mayo)

there’s a knicks flag hanging from your flagpole outside the house and your dad calls mat after every game to dissect what happened.

you and mat have been to at least one home game each round of the playoffs and you’ll be at game four of the finals because you thought ahead and bought tickets in advance. you’re glad you didn’t have tickets to game 3 what with all the chaos and stupid distractions. doesn’t stop you from ranting and raving about bad vibes and jinxes when the knicks lose. mat’s equally annoyed but he watches you pace the living room with an amused smile on his face before he pulls you into his lap and squeezes you in a hug, muttering, “gonna kill them in game 4. knicks in five, baby.”

you treat them like date nights, talia stays with a babysitter or the martins or the horvats and you and mat skip off into the city, holding hands and acting like giddy teenagers

of course for game 4 you end up bringing schaef with you somehow. you’re honestly not even sure how it happens but he’s been back and forth between the island and canada and he got back into town a few days ago. when you’re waiting at the door for mat so you can head to the train, schaef pops up with his knicks hat and a big grin, “ready to go?”

you laugh, “i thought you were staying here, going to a watch party?”

“nah, mat included me on the family plan,” schaef teases. “i get to crash mom and dad’s date night”

your husband appears and points at the kid, wearing a teasing scowl, “no more throwing popcorn at us every time we kiss. that shit was only funny the first time”

“i would argue that it’s funny every time,” schaef counters, following you and mat out of the house, “but i guess when you’re old you lose your sense of humor”

and then when the knicks pull off the literal last second win in game four and the garden erupts, you’re not sure who grabs you up in a hug first - mat or schaef - but all you know is that the three of your are jumping and screaming and generally going crazy. you’re crying and chanting “knicks in five! knicks in five!”

(later, somehow, you manage to get a picture with mariska hargitay who looks like she just went ten rounds with muhammad ali but is so sweet and excited. you also wave at kylie jenner and get a smile in return which feels very cool. celebrity row is so exciting to watch and even if you didn’t get to meet taylor swift, you did get to see her jump and scream and enjoy the game, so that feels like a win too)

obviously watching the knicks win is the superior experience and seeing all the chaos and joy happening on the plaza during the watch parties is insane. the multiple “knicks in 4” and “go new york go new york go” chants on the lirr back home keep adrenaline high for hours

you’ve had watch parties for a couple of the away games but mostly you just watch them on the couch with mat while he’s in a brunson jersey and you’re in a hart one, screaming at the tv and laughing when talia gets all excited too

even if it’s just you and mat watching, you make sure to get blue and orange dessert - the seven layer cookies from buttercooky bakery are your favorite and mat’s definitely done a ralph’s run for the brunson blend (vanilla dyed blue and orange creamsicle) which talia’s a fan of too and they both end up with their lips dyed blue like little hypothermia victims

and then when they win in five, you’re screaming and jumping around the house, throwing yourself in mat’s arms and shrieking. he’s bouncing you in his arms and then you’re crying, overwhelmed, feeling all the love and joy and excitement of being a new yorker

liana’s going to be back on the island in mid april for talia’s second birthday and the end of the season but you still miss her a lot - you’d seen her at christmas and you facetime daily so talia can get auntie lee time but it’s not the same

so, with mat on his mini west coast swing and busy with the steady march to the playoffs, you decide to take talia to london for a long weekend (five days) and have some girly time with liana. mat is beyond jealous, not necessarily because he wants to see his sister 😂, but because he’s going to miss you and talia and wants to be on vacation too

talia’s a pretty good traveler and you book a night flight so she’ll sleep in the seat and be rested when you land in london

liana takes a few days of vacation so she can spend all her time with you guys right from the time she picks you up from the airport. it’s a lot of screaming and hugging and excited jumping when you’re finally reunited and liana immediately snatches talia to carry her around, leaving you to joke that you’re “chopped liver”

you book a nice room in a fancy hotel and liana decamps to stay with you, optimizing girl time - ordering late night room service and snuggling up in the king sized bed with talia in the middle in her little robe and clutching her jellycat bunny. you and liana have catch up chats when talia’s asleep, getting all the gossip on her social life and the roster of men she’s juggling. she gets to hear all about the stuff you’ve been up to on the island, graciously being a good sport when you tell her that you and mat have started trying for a second baby

(“god, i really want to gag about how gross hearing that is but i really can’t wait for a second niece or nephew to love on so ill allow it. but PLEASE do not give me any details, if you care about my sanity at all”

“so i shouldn’t tell you about the position that tik tok said will help?” 😇

“NO!”)

she takes you all around london to her favorite spots - touristy ones and local haunts. talia is obsessed with hamley’s toy shop and you have to physically snatch liana’s phone so she can’t tap to pay on every toy talia looks at for more than ten seconds

there’s an afternoon tea that’s so fun, the three of your giggling through it, dressed up a little fancy and putting on faux english accents.

you stock up at marks and spencer and kill several hours wandering through harrods

talia loves the parks and toddling through them, waving at birds and squatting down to pick flowers from the grass. she plucks up rocks for you to hold and holds liana’s hand while you stroll

you send mat pictures from the london eye and in front of big ben, talia’s face scrunched up in a wide smile behind her little sunglasses.

at the end of the trip, it’s hard to go back home because even though you’ve got the girls on the island, liana really is your best friend and you’ve missed seeing her in person and getting to hug her. talia is borderline inconsolable to be separated from her aunt and she cries herself into exhaustion before the flight takes off. luckily it’s only a month before you’ll see her again, but it’s still hard

mat picks you up from jfk and asks, “miss me?”

“not as much as we miss liana,” you tease, leaning over the center console to give him a sweet kiss. talia chants “lee lee” in the backseat and mat rolls his eyes, pulling away from the curb.