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princessphilly · 4 years ago

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Word Count: 1975 (you know I start small then build up)

Tag list: @newlibrary , @luvsherleafs @spine-buster , @m00nlightdelights @lovethepreds @myhockeyworld87 @Defiant-mouse, @callllumhood @yzas-stuff , @stars-canucks @laurenairay @cutiesara23, @besthockeyfics @hockeyallthetime @tazerass , @markymarkstrom @letsgobaby, @himbos-on-ice @hockeywocs @bloodthedevil @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @whatishockey @dreamer1430 @shelbsatans

CW: people failing to be mean, some angst. We are still rated pg-13 but we will be hitting NC-17 soon.

Add me to the tag list!

It’s okay to admit that you are enough. It’s also okay to struggle with admitting that to yourself. At least, that’s what I learned when Meghan Markle still had her old blog, The Tig, up online before she became the Duchess of Sussex. Honestly, she’s one of my goals; her father is a trip and she’s managed to live well despite his issues. I’d like to be able to do whatever she did with my mom. - journal 9/2

“The man over there says thanks.”

Jamila looked at the waiter, confused. “Um, okay,” she questioned as she looked where the waiter was discreetly pointing. A tall, brown haired guy raised a whiskey neat in salute. Jamila gave him a tentative grin. After the waiter left, she hissed, “I didn’t send him a drink, Lisa! What the hell?”

Jamila had to admit he was attractive but not her usual type. Her type was the outdoorsy type, the kind who could fish, hunt, and actually be able to live off the land if society collapsed overnight. This guy… he looked like money and power, the kind to hire someone to take care of him.

After a moment, it became obvious what happened as Alyssa and Frances came back over. Jamila put on her best movie-star fake smile as those two came by. They were the worst kind of people; backstabbers who even when they got caught, still got away with it because they knew how to suck up to the people in power. Jamila knew exactly why they didn’t like her: she had enough fame left over that she didn’t need to be their friend to earn a good reputation in their phD program.

“Meet any nice guys,” Frances asked with a sly smirk on her face.

Jamila gave Lisa a sideways look as Alyssa said, “I mean, there’s Jonathan Toews, he’s single. I bet he’d be interested in a washed-up actress.”

“Hmmm, I have no idea who you are talking about,” Jamila honestly said.

Alyssa smirked as she replied, “He plays for the Blackhawks, Meena.”

Jamila grit her teeth as Alyssa used her first name. She hated when people used her first name, it brought up too many bad memories. Before she could reply, the attractive brown-haired guy was standing next to her with a faint grin on his face. “Um, hi,” Jamila said as Lisa, Alyssa, and Frances stared at him.

“I figured I’d say hi after you sent me that drink. I would have bought you one but I don’t know what you’re drinking and it wouldn’t be nice to assume. My name is Jonathan,” he said with a flirtatious wink.

Jamila hesitantly replied, “My name is Jamila and I’m just drinking merlot tonight.”

“Another glass,” Jonathan asked, his deep voice doing things to Jamila’s insides. She bit her lip as she looked at him, trying to decide if she wanted to encourage him or not.

“Sure.”

As he found a waiter, Jamila looked at Lisa. Lisa motioned to her phone and Jamila checked her screen. That’s jonathan toews, the guy those bitches were talking about. He plays hockey and is the captain of the blackhawks

Jamila texted back, what is hockey n y should i care

Then the waiter came with a fresh glass of merlot and Jonathan passed it to her. Jamila took a deep sip, loving the taste. Merlot was truly her favorite and they had a good house vintage. Jonathan asked, “Are you new to Chicago?”

“I’ve been here for a year. It’s alright,” Jamila replied. “This is my first time going out on the North Side though.”

Jonathan gave Jamila a slow smile and her breath caught. He definitely was attractive but not her usual type. He said, “Then that’s why we’ve never met til now. I would have definitely remembered such a beautiful woman if I saw you before.”

Jamila giggled. “That’s a good one. You get one point for that.”

“Just one point? Is it an assist or a goal?”

“Um,” Jamila stalled. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The sly smile on Jonathan’s face turned into a wide smile. This girl was not only hot but he could tell that she was truly clueless about hockey. Tonight was a win-win for him. “I’m going to assume it’s a goal then.”

“Okay.” Jamila shrugged as she took another sip of her wine. “I’m still not completely impressed so you still need to work on it.”

Jonathan laughed, causing some people to turn towards them. Jamila caught Alyssa and Frances giving her the evil eye and she smirked. Reaching out a hand, she touched Jonathan’s upper arm. Jamila had no idea what hockey was but whatever it was, he definitely was built. Jamila turned slightly as she rubbed his arm, making sure that those two bitches could see that she was touching him.

“You like what you feel,” Jonathan asked, his voice slightly deeper with a sultry tone.

Unable to resist the bait, Jamila replied, “Of course,” licking her lips. There was no problem in flirting with him, she thought to herself as he smirked at her.

Jonathan’s eyes were on her lips. She had full lips, made for kissing. Jamila wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan didn’t have a problem with that. “There’s more that you can-,” he started before someone bellowed, “TAZER!”

Jamila whipped around towards the sound, annoyed to have been interrupted before her attention was caught by the kind of guy of her dreams. He was tall, auburn haired, and looked like a lumberjack. He was perfection and he came over to them.

“Duncs,” Jonathan called.

The lumberjack said, “Heyy Tazer.”

Jamila smiled. Maybe this whole drink mix-up thing was working out for her, she thought until she saw her LA friend, Shan, come up behind this Duncs guy. Shan’s brother Alex was with them, his ever present backwards cap covering his hair.

Jonathan loved Duncs as a brother but right now, he was annoyed and pissed. He had been close to sealing the deal but Jamila was now looking at Duncs like he was the last man on earth. Then Jamila gave him a brilliant smile and Jonathan suddenly realized that he was totally fucked.

“Hi,” Jamila purred, forgetting that her hand was still on Jonathan’s bicep. Duncan looked at that and raised an eyebrow at his captain. Jonathan gave him a glare and Duncan made a motion with his hands.

Before Duncan could reply, Shan yelled, “Jamillllaaa!! Long time no see!”

“Hi Shan,” Jamila drily replied, glad she used her preferred name instead of her first name. Shan was a fellow child actress, a Canadian who managed to get supporting roles at Disney over the years before transitioning to a character actress when she became an adult. Shan was the only one whose parents were actually on-set all of the time and paid attention to what was going on. Consequently, Shan was the only one who didn’t have substance abuse problems, etc. and the only one from her former shows that Jamila kept in contact with.

Jonathan looked at Shan and Jamila. “You two know each other?”

Shan drunkenly giggled as Alex closed his eyes. “We were both Disney kids back in the day.”

Jamila sardonically smiled. “Those were fun days.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex replied. “Shan’s got a role in one of the next Marvel movies so she decided to celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” Jamila sincerely stated. Getting a role in the MCU was a steady check and something to celebrate. Then Jonathan took a double take and looked at her and Jamila groaned. He bit one of his thin lips and then he smirked before putting a finger to his mouth. Jamila exhaled and gave him her biggest smile. He recognized her but he didn’t say anything. Jamila leaned over and whispered into Jonathan’s ear, “You just got a second point.”

“Then maybe you should let me have your number,” Jonathan purred into Jamila’s ear.

Jamila smirked, rolling her eyes but before she could respond, Shan slurred, “Wow, Jamila, you waste no time. You were just telling me yesterday that you didn’t know a damn thing about hockey and tonight, you’re talking with Captain Serious.”

Jonathan wanted to shake his teammate’s sister because Jamila shut down, pursing her lips.

Oblivious, Shan continued, “Now, you don’t have an excuse not to go with my brother to the bowling thing.”

Alex face-palmed as Jamila pinched the bridge of her nose. She had totally forgotten about that and of course, when Shan was drunk, she was loud and obnoxious.

Pasting her best fake smile on her face, Jamila said, “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“So soon,” Duncan teased.

Jamila smirked at him, looking him up and down. “I need my beauty rest and to not strangle my friend.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth as he watched Jamila eye his friend. Then she turned to him and blew him a kiss. “It was nice to meet you, Jonathan,” Jamila said, giving him a wink.

Jonathan smiled back and Jamila was taken aback for a moment. There was a promise in those dark brown eyes and she felt her body begin to respond. Then he licked his lips and for a moment, all Jamila could think about was maybe those lips on her body. Slightly shaking her head, Jamila waved her fingers before going to call an Uber. This was a night.

After getting home, Jamila tossed her bag onto her front table. She suddenly felt exhausted even though it was barely after 11:30pm. Walking into her living room, Jamila saw her other cell phone glowing. Picking it up, she cursed. There were fifteen messages and ten missed calls, all from Janine. The messages started off nice, asking how Jamila was doing to nasty, calling her all kinds of names for not picking up and giving her “mother” money.

Tossing the phone back onto the table, Jamila sighed. Getting a separate cell phone just for her mother’s calls was the best but it was draining just to look at it.

Janine Brown was a bit actress, stage-mother, and now two-bit manager. Janine had always wanted to be an actress, even when she was attending grad school at MIT for physics. There, she met Jayesh Vyas, a student earning a PhD in computer engineering. Within six months, they were married and expecting a child; after two years, they were divorced after pressure from Jayesh’s parents. Jayesh returned to India and Janine was stuck with an 11 month old baby with dimples made of gold.

By the time that Jamila could remember, she was in front of a camera. Her life as a child was in front of a camera; first as the adorable adopted child in Granger vs Granger, then the youngest kid in The Elliot Show as a young child. Then from age 12 to 17, Jamila starred as Jane Lee in the Disney show, Plain Jane. School was on set. Birthdays were celebrated on set. Everything revolved around a set year round until right after Jamila’s 17th birthday.

The aftermath of that birthday was a stay in rehab, a cancelled show, and living with her dad and stepmom full time in Atlanta.

Jamila promptly deleted all the messages and voicemails before going on online banking. After authorizing a transfer to Janine’s account, Jamila showered, put on pajamas, and grabbed her pink Lepidolite and pink quartz crystals. Sitting cross legged, Jamila worked to calm her anxiety so that she could have a restful night sleep.

But in her dreams, she tried to focus on a pair of blue eyes and a lumberjack look. However, she kept dreaming of a pair of deep obsidian brown eyes, a crooked smile, and a deep voice telling her everything he was going to do to her

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professionalpuckbunny · 3 years ago

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what is going on here🤨?

#hockey tea #professionalpuckbunny #snowmarti #martivsnow #j. toews #hockey gossip

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puckngrind · 4 years ago

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What's In a Name: Easter 2023 - J. Toews

Where we left off: Jon and Bekah welcomed Lincoln into the world in 2020. Scarlett was born in February. This is BEFORE the epilogue

Warnings: smut, language, postpartum, babies, Easter

Word Count: 2,500

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

2023.

“Maybe hosting the team less than 2 months after giving birth was a bad iiiiiidddee... uh.” Jon rounds the corner to see Bekah bopping around the kitchen with Lincoln water coloring an Easter bunny at the table and the swishy almost 2 month old, Scarlett, wrapped up on her chest.

"Quit playing games with my heart... with my heart..." Bekah sings out as Jon closes the distance between them with a laugh. He reaches into her hair and pulls out her air pods. "Holy... Tae!" Bekah jumped while clutching the slightly asleep newborn.

"Hi Momma. Whatcha makin' here?" Jon popped a marshmallow from the bowl in front of them into his mouth.

"Peep cars. I don't know Tae. I saw it and thought the kids would like it. I'm nervous about this egg hunt tomorrow and I shouldn't be since this isn't our first rodeo." Jon wraps his wife up from behind and kisses her ear to whisper.

"It maybe wasn't the best idea but you are doing amazing, also what do you need me to do?" Jon kisses the shell of Bekah's ear again and she leans into him with a hum escaping from her lips. "I can take care of that later..." Bekah elbows him and he laughs out. "Seriously Beks, do you want me to take Scar? Assemble these Bunny mobiles? Paint with Linc? Use me. Well, in a way the kids can see." Jon clears his throat.

"Jonathan Bryan, you are pushing the line there." Bekah turns around to give him the mom look he's become accustom to since Lincoln started having an opinion that wasn't the same as hers.

"Okay, okay. I'm just glad you got the all clear at your appointment this week." Jon runs his fingers down Bekah's sides to hold her hips. "Let me take Scar and we will check out Lincoln's creations and let you do this." Jon reaches into the wrap and freeing his daughter. Her arms and legs stretch instinctually and whimpers before landing on her daddy's chest with a coo of approval.

"Are we really calling her Scar?" Bekah questions while taking off the baby wearing wrap. "Like..." Bekah runs her finger over Jon's scar from work. "Scars? Injuries? Not great memories?"

"I mean we don't have to but I don't think if it as being scars Beks. Plus not all my scars are bad memories. Some really good ones too." Jon winks, kisses Scarlett's head and then Bekah's lips. "Get back to creating, we will be water coloring over here." Jon sits next to Lincoln and gets lost in the Easter activities while stealing looks towards the kitchen to watch Bekah float around working on creating the most perfect Easter party.

"Well, it's 10pm and she should sleep for about two hours." Bekah shuts their bedroom door after feeding Scarlett.

"I'll take the 6am feeding since we have morning skate before everyone comes over." Jon comes out of the bathroom in just his boxer briefs. "Does that work, Momma?" Jon pulls Bekah's body flush with his and ghosts her lips.

"Yes." Bekah whispers kissing his lips gently.

"Was that to the feeding or what I was talking about earlier, because I'm fine waiting, you know that. I..."

"Both, Tae. Both. Maybe let me go freshen up, 'kay?" She stands on her toes to kiss his forehead and Jon just shakes his head and starts to argue but let’s her retreat to the bathroom.

Bekah emerges a few moments later to find her husband naked and hard as a rock with his hands behind his head, staring at the doorway to the bath. "Well, Mr. Toews, you are clearly ready." Bekah dims the lights almost to dark and tugs at her husband's shirt covering all her insecurities.

"I have been patiently waiting to let you heal and rest but I've missed this." Jon stands and takes no time to remove his shirt from Bekah's body. Kissing down her jawline then to her collar bone.

"Slow, Tae, take it slow, please." Bekah's breath catches in her throat as Jon pulls her leg up and his length presses into her skin.

"I remember and I got you, Beks." Jon gracefully moves both of their bodies to the bed and hovers over his beautiful wife. Kissing between her breasts she goes to stop him and Jon catches Bekah’s wrists with a single hand but releases them to kiss down her stomach. Bekah flinches and moves her hands again to stop him. "Rebekah, we are good. I love you. All of you. Forever and ever. Doesn't matter what's different from bringing our children into the world. Could you please let me show you. Okay?" Jon looks deep into his wife's eyes and she nods in agreement. Jon continues making his way to her core. His tongue is intentional and gentle. Bekah's body breaks out in goosebumps with the sensation.

"Oh, Tae." Bekah's body jolts in response to his increased movement. Jon continues until Bekah pulls his hair hard making him look up. "I'm fine. Sorry. It feels amazing." Bekah loosens her grip and Jon's fingers slide into her core and curl while he sucks on her clit. It doesn't take much to make her orgasm crash over her. "Fuck. Tae. Here. Please.” Bekah pants out. Jon recognizes her commands and moves up her body. He kisses her lips intently and moves to her neck. Bekah’s body arches into him as Jon’s fingers run down one side of her body.

"Ready Mon Amour?" Jon pushes Bekah's hair off of her face, tucking it behind one ear. Kissing her lips with so much desire she feels her body react again. Without say anything Bekah moves her legs to his ass and presses him towards her. Jon takes her cue to slide deep in and holds. Focusing on kissing Bekah’s ear, neck, shoulder.

"Tae, move. I'm ready." Bekah rolls her hips up and Jon starts a rhythm. Worshiping her body as he thrusts in and out. "Jon, you can let your's go. I feel you holding back." Bekah whispers into his ear as he presses his lips to her shoulder once again. Jon's hand slips down under Bekah's leg and pulls it up further to press his length deep inside and releases. French laced expletives fill her ears. Jon shifts and Bekah's feet press into the back of his legs and a loud moan slips out of her mouth. The orgasm surprised her and she covers her mouth to suppress the involuntary sounds escaping her which makes Jon quake with laughter.

"Babe, did you not realize you were going to so soon?" Jon kisses the sweat off Bekah's hairline and then stares into her eyes.

"It's been awhile, okay?" Bekah covers her eyes from the lust filled stare of her husband. "How are you still hard?" She wiggles from overstimulation with Jon still fully in her.

"It's been awhile, okay?" Jon thrusts into Bekah while her whole body shudders under him. "You are so damn sexy I could do this all night BUT I know we need sleep." Jon moves off of her and pulls Bekah's body into his side. "Wanna shower together then sleep?" The two move off the bed and into the shower. Jon wasn’t done once they got in the shower but curled Bekah into him to sleep before she had to get up for the next feeding. The one thing about post pregnancy Bekah was she was a light sleeper but could fall asleep in moments. Jon loved watching his wife sleep in those few months. Admiring how equally strong and gentle she was. How she just sort of knew how to do things and handled life of a hockey wife with ease.

"Babe, Baby, Beks?" Jon shakes Bekah lightly as the sunrise broke through the window. He was trying not to startle her but it didn't work.

"WHAT? Is the baby okay? Did I forget to feed her?" Bekah shoots up out of bed and Jon picks her up bridal style and lays Bekah back in bed.

"No Sweetheart, I just changed, fed, and put her back to bed. I just need to leave for the rink and Linc will be up here in about 30 minutes." Jon kissed Bekah sweetly.

"Oh, thank you Tae. Zack, Kelly and the kids are coming soon to help hid eggs and distract Lincoln from peeking. We cannot have the team thinking the Cap's toddler has the edge." Bekah laughs.

"Je t'aime Beks."

"I love you too but what's that about?" She looks up puzzled "That you have thought of everything, but you know it isn't necessary and I do always love you." Jon sits at the foot of the bed to put his shoes on. Bekah climbs over and sits on his lap.

"Yeah, a bunch of overly competitive professional athletes won't make a kid's egg hunt some sort of competition. Riiiigggghhhttt?" Bekah cannot control the laughter and Jon tries to deny it. "Will you promise no blood at least?"

"Beks, we will not be overly competitive. Most of the kids are younger than Lincoln. Colton is about the only older kid. We will be civil." Jon kisses his unconvinced wife again and heads to the rink.

The team slowly entered the Toews home and most headed directly to the kitchen for food. Bekah set up stations through the first floor with crafts and activities for the kids before the egg hunt started.

"Ms. Bekah." A low voice came from behind Bekah as she checked the food and chatted with a few of the girls. Bekah turned to see Colton Keith behind her.

"Hey Colt!"

"My dad said you had special directions for me?" He looked back at Duncan who was holding Scarlett and talking to Jon.

Bekah bent down slightly to be eye level with the now 9 year old. "Yes, I was wondering if you wanted to hunt for yours AND Scarlett's eggs? Since she cannot find her own. What do you say?" The boy's eyes light up and nods his head violently then heads back to his dad. Duncan listens intently to his son's mission and mouths a thank you to Bekah from across the room.

"Okay team, egg hunt happening in five minutes in the backyard. We will start on the patio if you would like to head there. Beks has a basket with each kid's name on it sitting on the table out back." Jon claps like he just gave a pep talk and the team moves to the back.

Bekah had sections set up. The toddlers such as Weslie, Trey, Stephanie and Lincoln had one section. All of their dad's behind them. Patrick elbowing Dylan and Jon jokingly.

"This will end badly." Bekah whispers to herself before raising her voice. "Okay, please only find 10 eggs. There are 3 golden eggs, one in each section that not only has candy for the littles but a prize for the family." Bekah pulls the bridge of her nose realizing what she said. "Boys, NO blood! You hear me?" Staring at the grown men standing ready to go. "Seriously! Okay, on your mark, get set... GO!" As Bekah expected, the men instantly turned on their game faces making the spectators laugh.

The egg hunt was adorable. The social media team sent someone to take some pictures and videos to post online. Bekah was sure the team rep was hoping for some interference from the dads. Bekah could tell how respected Jon was by his team in situations like this off the ice. As soon as the kids were done collecting eggs and dumping the candy out the social media person thanked Bekah and left.

"Okay boys..." Bekah raises her voice and feels the heat on her cheeks when every eye looks up and over to her. "I may have hidden tickets for you all to find. Coach gave me permission to give out certificates for you."

"Certificates Beks?" Jon pipes up.

"Yes, get out of a run, late to practice, dinner on the team... those type of rewar..." A barbaric sound cuts her off as the guys stand from their dad roles of going through the eggs. "This one is for everyone, even the non-dads." Bekah looks behind her as the young ones realize they get to play too.

"Us too?" Kirby chimes in.

"Yes, all Hawks players are allowed to do this hunt. There is one for each of you. The reward is hidden inside the egg shaped envelope. You won't find out if you get a bag of candy, beverage, JT Foundation swag, or one of the team rewards until after everyone is done." Bekah's laugh is slightly evil in nature. "Okay, seriously, this will be the first and last year for this if any of you land on the IR. Please don't. And, go!"

The men took off running! Even more so than the kids did. The chirping happened immediately too.

"Watch out old man!"

"Kaner is going to end up with foundation gear."

"Is one of the awards the A?"

"Need your glasses?"

"Are you tall enough to get that egg in the tree eh?"

Bekah was thankful that the pushing and shoving was held to a minimum and laughter filled their backyard. The team had gone through so much in the last few seasons, even with a cup win, that seeing them laughing and acting like young boys was exactly the reaction Bekah was looking for when she bounced this idea off Brynn a few weeks ago.

The chirping continued when the boys opened their envelops. Cheers and jeers with each opening. Jon wrapped his arms around his wife taking in his team. Everyone thanked the Toews as they headed out the door.

"Tae?" Bekah crashed on the couch with Scarlett on her chest and Lincoln sitting on the floor playing with the soft puck that was in one of his eggs. "Jon?" Bekah leans up when Jon didn't answer.

"Here Baby!" Jon appears behind the couch. "I was just putting the cold back in the fridge for you." He leans over and kisses her forehead and pats Scarlett's bum.

"You didn't have to I was going to get up as soon as I feed her." Bekah goes to sit up.

"I know, and you put on the best Easter party for the team ever. It's the least I can do. Plus, the boys cleaned up the backyard so there really isn't much for us to do beyond taking down the tables which I'll do now." Bekah reaches up and pulls on her husband's shirt.

"I don't deserve you, Tae." Bekah leans her head on the back of the couch and stares up at him.

"No, Beks. I don't deserve you." Jon leans down and kisses his wife's lips. "Now, Linc, wanna help me?"

"Yeah. Yeah Dada!" Lincoln popped up and followed his Dad.

Bekah took in this life her and Jon created and smiled.

#What's in a name fic #WIAN epilogue 2 #WIAN Easter 2023 #J. Toews #tazer me 19

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musiclove-12 · 4 years ago

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Aww this is so cute

Always Be My Baby

a/n: finally! this dad Jon piece has been a long time coming. (it’s been more than a month since my last fic, but who’s counting!) so excited to share this with y’all in honor of reaching the 700 follower mark. this is a collection of scenes from Jon’s daughter’s life, from before she’s born until she’s a teenager. jumps in time are denoted by the age headers at the top of each new section. (also Chaunette appears in here and minutes after typing this a/n, I got the notification that Shawzy is retiring! 😭 but that’s for another post.)

warnings: mentions of/allusions to sex, mentions of pregnancy/labor/childbirth, mentions of seizures. nothing graphic. mostly just complete and total cotton candy fluff.

word count: 7.3k+

(source: the post/photo that started it all)

_____

sixteen weeks…

“Be honest with me,” you implored from your reclined position on the examination table. “What do you want?” you asked with a smile.

“All I want is a healthy baby,” Jon insisted, kissing your hand which he held reverently between both of his, his chair pulled as close as possible to where you lay waiting for the doctor.

“Me too,” you agreed. “Although it would be really fun to see you with a boy, a little mini you in hockey skates.”

“Well, if I’m being totally honest...” As Jon trailed off with a hint of a smirk, you fully expected him to divulge that he, too, was hoping for a son. But instead, he broke into a full grin and admitted, “I would love a baby girl, one who looks just like her mama.”

Thanks to the rush of hormones constantly swirling within you, happy tears immediately blurred your vision and soon dripped down your temples and onto the table beneath you.

“Really?” you whispered.

Jon nodded. “Of course,” he replied, wiping your tears away with his knuckles, by now used to your ever-changing emotions. “How could I not?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door and your doctor poked her head in. “You ready in here?” she asked.

You nodded, sniffling. “So ready,” you responded. She chuckled and crossed the room toward you, taking up residence next to the ultrasound machine.

Since your very first appointment at eight weeks pregnant, Jon had made it a point to be at your side for each doctor’s visit, full of not only a thousand questions about your health and habits and the baby’s progress, but mostly full of complete wonder at the little life you were carrying. He was already the perfect dad, which was to no one’s surprise, especially yours. Jon was incredible with kids, a natural, and you had dreamt of seeing him with a baby of your own since the first family skate he had brought you to after you began dating five years ago, where all of his teammates’ children fought to be near him, to be the center of his attention if only for a moment.

Now, you were merely weeks away from watching Jon do the one thing you were convinced that he was born to do, even more so than being a hockey player or a husband — and that was being a father. And despite being completely terrified at the idea of giving birth and bringing an actual human being into this world, the knowledge that Jon would remain beside you through it all gave you a distinct sense of confidence and peace, the kind that only he and his steadfast, dependable nature could provide.

Within a few minutes, the doctor had ensured that all was well with the baby’s anatomy and development, and all that was left was the reveal of the sex.

“Okay, Mom and Dad,” your doctor said, gliding the wand across your belly, eyes intently watching the monitor. “Your little one’s being very cooperative today, so we’re good to go here… you sure you still want to find out?” she asked, glancing back at you.

“Yes!” you and Jon stressed simultaneously, giggling at your shared impatience and gazing expectantly at the screen.

Your doctor nodded, and after one final pause that felt like a lifetime, she turned to face you with a smile.

“It’s a girl!”

After simultaneous gasps and a long and incredulous stare between the two of you, Jon cupped your face in his big hand, his fingers combing through your hair as you covered your mouth and promptly burst into tears.

“It’s a girl,” Jon repeated warmly with a breathless laugh, his own eyes shining with tears. “We’re having a girl, babe,” he whispered, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, sniffling, and squeezed his arm.

“We’re having a girl.”

_____

twenty weeks…

“Should I be worried that you always watch shit like this?” Jon garbled through a mouthful of Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked, glancing at the true crime documentary onscreen. “Are you gonna kill me in my sleep?”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb.

“No, I’m gonna need help with these 2 a.m. diaper changes pretty soon, so you’re safe, at least for now,” you replied with a wink, digging your spoon into the carton for another bite.

As you swallowed the ice cream, you felt a bizarre sensation in your side and pressed your hand to your belly with a quiet “woah.”

That got Jon’s attention in the worst way. He pushed himself up in a flash and reached for you in alarm.

“What’s going on, babe? Talk to me,” Jon said worriedly.

With Jon gently guiding you upward by his hold on your elbow, you slowly sat straighter in bed. You shook your head.

“I dunno... I’ve just, I’ve never had that feeling before. It feels like- oh, my god! It happened again. Jon, she’s moving!”

Jon’s expression transformed from panicked to joyful as he studied you cautiously.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

You nodded and pulled his hands to your stomach, placing them flush against the bare skin beneath your sleep shirt.

“Just wait for it,” you whispered.

Jon’s expectant gaze traveled from your eyes to your belly and back again, and after a minute or two of not feeling movements, you got an idea.

“Try talking to her,” you suggested. “Or poking my stomach or something. I’ve read that she can hear and feel us by now.”

Jon smiled and repositioned himself, lowering his head closer to your stomach and pushing up your shirt as his fingers smoothed across your abdomen. He placed a warm kiss to the side of your belly where you had felt the movement and tapped the taut skin playfully.

“Hellooo, little girl,” he spoke. “It’s your daddy. Mama said you came out to play. You wanna come say hi to me? Hmm? Come say hi to Daddy.”

It took another thirty seconds or so of spoken encouragement and soft kisses from Jon, but sure enough, your little one made her presence known with the most noticeable kick yet, right against Jon’s open palm. He immediately stared up at you wide-eyed and chuckled in disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “That’s incredible!”

You nodded, dabbing at a few stray tears and raking your nails through Jon’s soft, short hair as he felt for the baby’s continued movements. After another kick, followed by another round of amazed laughter from Jon, he sat up and cradled the back of your head in his hand.

“God, I love you,” he whispered before crashing his lips against yours. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he murmured against your mouth, fully in awe of the tiny person the two of you had created together, who suddenly seemed just as real to him as you did sitting there beside him.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. When you giggled then, Jon searched your face once more.

“What?” he asked, snickering. “What are you laughing at?”

You ran a hand over your belly and, with the other, lifted the small tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Girl must like her ice cream. She really is ours,” you reasoned.

_____

41 weeks…

“Everything looks great, Mrs. Toews,” the doctor smiled as you lay uncomfortably on your back on the examination table. “Little girl is showing no signs of distress at all, and she’s perfectly sized — not too big or too small,” she added as she wiped the cool blue gel from your belly.

You sighed, relieved that all was well with you and the baby but frustrated that you were now a full week overdue with seemingly no end in sight.

“Is this honestly, like, normal though?” you inquired, sitting up only with the help of Jon on one side and your doctor on the other, each lifting you carefully upright.

Your doctor nodded. “First babies are usually late,” she replied. “And it’s not uncommon for them to be a week or even two weeks late.”

Before you could let out a whimper at the prospect of being this hugely pregnant for a whole week longer, Jon squeezed at the base of your neck soothingly, prompting you to meet his eyes.

“She’s stubborn,” he mused fondly about your little girl, the sound of his deep voice alone calming you. “Like you,” he added with a wink, earning an eye roll from you and a chuckle from your doctor.

“Listen, since you and baby are perfectly healthy, there are plenty of things you can do to induce your labor naturally,” the doctor explained.

“I’m all ears,” you encouraged desperately.

“Well, firstly, long walks have proven most successful in my patients, personally,” she began, as Jon stood next to you, dutifully tapping into his Notes app to record the doctor’s suggestions. “You can also try eating spicy foods, bouncing on a birthing ball, drinking red raspberry leaf tea, and, a couple of fan favorites, nipple stimulation and sex.”

Jon snorted next to you. “You are speakin’ my language, Doc,” he murmured, unable to resist waggling his brows at you.

You shoved at his chest. “Jonathan!” you whined in embarrassment.

_____

41 weeks + 2 days…

It could’ve been the tea. Or the walk. Or the ball. Or the Mexican takeout Jon brought back the following night for dinner. Or it could’ve been just nature taking its course.

Or it could have been the doctor’s last two more physical suggestions which you had also tried out — multiple, multiple times, to both Jon’s and your delight.

Whatever the case, something had worked, and two nights after your appointment, after waking up to a distinct wetness covering your sheets, Jon had rushed you to the hospital where, only four hours after arriving, you gave birth to the most perfect little girl you had ever laid eyes on. And your lives were changed forevermore.

Margaret Andrée Toews, long ago nicknamed Maggie by her dad, measured in at 7 pounds, 12 ounces, 19 inches long (and as her Uncle Sharpie would say later that day in a text, 19, huh? you gotta be f-ing kidding me!). She was immediately placed on your chest and you and Jon both cried at how immensely beautiful she was, whispering your love for her and for each other as she rested on your skin. She was soon scooped up by the nurses who cleaned her up and swaddled her, all under the watchful eye of her lovesick father as your doctor tended to your needs.

Finally, one of the nurses turned to Jon, Maggie already sleeping peacefully in her arms.

“Here you go, Dad,” the nurse said softly. “She’s all yours.”

Jon turned to you, eyes wide, as if he were asking permission to retrieve his own child from the medical staff. You suppressed a laugh and smiled instead, nodding gently. Jon opened his arms and the nurse carefully tucked the baby into his hold. He stood firmly in place for a moment, without even a sway to rock the girl back and forth. When he looked back to you, his eyes were glassy once more, and red at the corners.

“She’s so perfect, babe,” he finally spoke, throwing only quick, half-glances your way as he stared down at his baby girl. “God, she’s so little. I don’t wanna break her.”

You couldn’t help but breathe a chuckle then.

“You’re not gonna break her, J,” you insisted. “Come on, bring her over here.”

Jon nodded, walking to your hospital bed slowly, then gingerly taking a seat on its edge. You patted the mattress, encouraging him to relax next to you. He followed your cues, and Maggie gurgled softly in her sleep as he settled in, eliciting cheek-aching grins from you both. You smoothed a finger across her chin and tugged her soft little cap, adorned with a huge bow, further over her tiny head, admiring her perfectly pouted lips and soft, dark hair.

“You’re right, love,” you whispered, leaning your head on Jon’s shoulder. “She’s perfect.”

Jon hummed appreciatively, and you felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“My girls,” he said — two words he had been saying for months that now took on a whole new, and very real, meaning.

_____

one year old...

You had always sworn to yourself that you would never use bribery as a parenting tactic.

Until the only word that your sweet, angelic, Pebbles Flinstone-ponytailed baby would say was “dada.” Which, of course, made Jon adorably proud but also annoyingly arrogant.

And now it was too late, and you’d broken your own word, as you sat in front of Maggie’s highchair in the kitchen holding a spoonful of mashed bananas — her favorite — just out of her reach, pleading with her to speak the one word you were desperate to hear from her lips.

“Say Mama. Ma-ma. Maaaa-maaaaa,” you guided, your lips exaggerating the motions creating the sounds of the letters.

“Da da da da! Da da!” your daughter babbled, clapping and smiling, incredibly pleased with herself.

“Nooo, no, baby,” you argued with a shake of your head. “Ma-ma! Say Ma-ma!”

“Da-da!”

“I’ll give you a cookie! You want a cookie?! Just say Ma-ma! Ma ma ma m-“

“Da da da da!”

Just then, of course, Jon emerged from around the corner.

“That’s my girl!” he cooed, covering Maggie’s face in featherlight kisses as she giggled with glee and repeated “dada” again... and again... and again, much to Jon’s enjoyment.

You huffed.

“I see how it is, Maggie, you ignore the parent who carried you in her body for forty-one weeks. That’s fine,” you pouted, dropping the spoon on the tray in front of her and folding your arms indignantly.

Jon snickered, retrieving the spoon to feed the girl himself.

“Ignore her, Maggie girl,” Jon insisted, pushing back locks of Maggie’s hair from her face as he spooned more banana into her mouth. “She’s just jealous.”

_____

three years old...

You hadn’t called Jon off the bench during a game in your entire relationship — not when you passed out at a friend’s house due to low iron, nor when you got in a serious car accident that left you with a concussion and a broken arm, nor when you were 36 weeks pregnant and having intense Braxton Hicks contractions that your sister was certain were the real thing (thankfully, they were not).

But today, when your little girl suddenly and abruptly quieted and began mildly convulsing in the seat next to yours in the family suite at the United Center, surrounded by many Hawks’ significant others and children, you knew you had to.

You remembered yelling for someone to go tell Jon, but past that, you remained eerily calm as you took action. Lyndsey was way ahead of you anyway, already running out the door and down the hallway, flagging down the nearest security guard with the intent to alert your husband. Chaunette hurriedly implored the suite attendant to send up an EMT from the tunnel where they resided during games. The others in the box watched on tensely, distracting their little ones from the frightening moment as best they could.

You and Tayler carefully placed little Maggie on the floor in front of her seat and knelt on either side of her. Tayler grasped her tiny hand as you helplessly cupped her cheek, knowing it was best to give her space even though all you truly wanted to do was cradle her against your body and never let go. You tried to maintain your composure as you watched your daughter still and then suddenly come to, her eyes blinking repeatedly as her breathing fell back into its normal rhythm, her movements now intentional. The whole ordeal had probably only lasted thirty seconds or so, though those seconds had dragged on like hours.

Meanwhile, word traveled quickly through the United Center, from security to the trainer to Jon’s ear. He leapt from the bench immediately, weaving around his teammates who looked on in confusion and concern. On the broadcast, the announcers speculated about what might be happening, replaying the clip of Jon’s exit, followed by Colliton’s ashen face upon the trainer discretely informing him of the situation.

In the tunnel, Jon threw off his skates, then rid himself of his helmet, jersey, and shoulder pads as he ran, discarding the items in a trail behind him, only one thing on his mind — getting to his baby girl.

Security escorted him to the suite, where he bounded down the few stairs and found two paramedics kneeling beside Maggie, who was now alert and obviously wondering what all the fuss was about. His eyes traveled from Maggie, to the medics, and finally to where you stood a few feet away, sandwiched between Tayler and Chaunette, a sobbing mess as you finally let your emotions get the best of you.

“They-they told me she had a seizure. I-is she okay?” Jon choked out, eyes wild as he struggled to catch his breath.

You tried to answer him but began to hyperventilate instead, Tayler rubbing your back to soothe you as much as possible at such an alarming time.

“They think so,” Chaunette answered for you. “She’s stable.”

More sobs wracked your body, and Jon instinctively reached out for your arm, pulling you to his chest.

“Shh, babe, c’mere. It’s okay,” he assured, though in his heart he had no idea whether or not it truly was okay.

“I’m s-so s-s-sorry,” you cried out, burying your face in his chest despite the damp spandex he wore.

Jon’s heart shattered and he shook his head, dropping a quick kiss in your hair without taking his eyes off Maggie, whose color had returned as the paramedics took her pulse and listened to her heartbeat.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Jon whispered. “This is not your fault. This was not anyone’s fault.”

One medic offered Jon a look of understanding as she hung her stethoscope back around her neck.

“This happens to kids sometimes,” she explained gently. “Often kids will just have a one-off seizure for no reason, and that will be the only one they have in their lives. There is no reason to blame yourself. You did everything right.”

You slowly extricated yourself from Jon’s arms and looked toward Maggie as the paramedics finished their assessment.

“Heart rate is fine, BP is normal, and she’s completely stable at the moment,” the other medic said. “We’re going to transport her to Lurie Children’s for further testing. You are both welcome to ride along with us.”

You nodded immediately, then turned back to Jon. You didn’t know exactly how to broach the subject that came to your mind, but then again, it was a fairly obvious one considering the hockey game that was actively being played just below, Jon’s teammates on the ice without their captain.

He nodded, reading your mind like he had a knack for doing.

“I’m not going back out there. I’m coming,” he insisted. “I’ll grab a quick shower and change, then I’ll meet you there. Okay?”

You nodded as he stepped toward you, grasping your face and firmly placing a kiss to your forehead. Before you could step away, his hold on you tightened.

“Hey…” he spoke softly, ducking to look at you eye-to-eye. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated, still not sure of the veracity of his statement, but knowing that you needed to hear it. Knowing that you needed to hear it because he needed to hear it.

You bit your lip. “Okay,” you whispered, unable to match his confidence just yet — not until the doctors had their say.

After goodbye hugs and kisses from Jon, Maggie was loaded onto a stretcher and hauled through the tunnels of the arena, into the back of an ambulance, a frightening experience despite her being seemingly back to normal. You tried to keep the ride as lighthearted as possible, following the routine you typically did when driving Maggie through downtown Chicago.

“Say hi to Wrigley!” you encouraged with a tight smile, pointing out the window as you passed Dylan and Tayler’s apartment building.

“Hi Wrig-ee!” Maggie complied with a wave, as bright and happy as ever.

And so it went for four more of Jon’s city-dwelling teammates who lived along the route, you pointing out their buildings and urging Maggie to greet their pets from afar as she would on any normal day, until the ambulance pulled into Lurie and the two of you were quickly checked in and whisked to a private room.

After a few minutes, Maggie was taken for a battery of testing, and you were left pacing the halls until Jon jogged into the unit, head on a swivel as he searched for you.

You couldn’t remember a time when you were more relieved to see him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and called out, “J.”

He spun your direction and bolted toward you, as he gathered you into his arms once more.

“How is she?” he asked, tucking you against his chest.

“Still fine,” you said with a sigh, your fingers grasping the material of his shirt, clinging to him with all the strength you had left. “They said she’ll be about an hour in testing.”

And true to their word, the doctors returned Maggie to her room, a brand new teddy bear tucked beneath her arm, almost exactly sixty minutes later, and two doctors, who introduced themselves as a cardiologist and a neurologist, gave you the best news of your life so far — nothing appeared to be wrong with Maggie at all.

You exhaled for the first time in hours, splaying your fingers across your chest in relief as Jon hooked an arm around your neck and quickly kissed your temple.

The neurologist smiled in understanding and continued. “As you’ve been told by now, this does happen in children from time to time, often inexplicably,” she said. “Most children who have one singular seizure will never have another one for the rest of their lives.”

You nodded. Jon asked, “So, what does that mean? What now?”

“It means that we are going to keep her overnight for observation, just to be safe, and then when you go home, you keep a very close eye on her, and call me immediately if you notice anything unusual happening again,” the doctor replied. “And you just try to let her go back to living the same way she did before this happened.”

You chewed at the inside of your cheek, and the doctor took notice of your unease at her statement.

“Easier said than done, I know,” she said as she patted your arm. “But if you have any concerns, you can call me anytime.”

You and Jon nodded, and after profusely thanking the doctors, you made your way back into Maggie’s room.

“Hey, Mags!” Jon greeted softly, sitting on the side of her bed as you stood behind him, circling your arms around his shoulders. Maggie beamed as Jon took hold of her hand and kissed her little fingers. “How ya feelin’?”

As if on cue, Maggie yawned. “I tired, Daddy,” she spoke, another result of the seizure that you were being told was normal.

Without missing a beat, Jon kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the bed, lifting Maggie so that she was lying on his chest, mindful of the few monitors that she was connected to.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” he said, caressing her back. “How about Mommy and Daddy lay down with you, huh?”

Maggie grinned up at him and nodded, extending a hand as an invitation for you to join them. You squeezed her fingers with yours and kicked off your own booties before circling the bed to the opposite side and lying down, grabbing the extra blanket from the end of the mattress and covering the three of you with it. You finally let out a sigh of relief as you rested your head on Jon’s chest, your feet tangled with his, your daughter in the safest place she could possibly be.

“We love you, Maggie girl,” you whispered, kissing her nose.

She smiled even as sleep overtook her exhausted little body.

“Wuv you,” she breathed as her eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep didn’t come nearly as easily for you or Jon, and you passed off Maggie between turns dozing off, scrolling your phones, and walking the halls decompressing from the unsettling evening.

At one point, you woke as Jon slowly climbed back into the bed, offering you a soft smile as he pulled Maggie from your chest to his own, winding his other arm tightly around you.

“Stromer called to check in,” Jon told you in hushed tones, his hand stroking your hair as he kissed your forehead. “Said Tayler told him you were amazing during the whole thing. So calm.”

You sighed, staring at Maggie’s sleeping figure and reflecting on the terrifying scene that had been playing in your mind for hours now.

“You would have been the same,” you murmured with a shrug, your fingers mindlessly tracing the embroidered logo on Jon’s t-shirt.

“I dunno about that,” he said. “Think I would have been a total mess.”

You tilted your head upward to look at him, his deep brown eyes providing the comfort you needed, as they always did.

“I don’t think so,” you disagreed. “I think you would have handled it fine. Your instincts just click in. It’s… it’s crazy.”

Jon nodded, his fingers smoothing up and down your arm slowly as your eyelids grew heavy once more.

“Let’s just hope we never have to deal with it again,” Jon whispered. You nodded.

And, thanks to some merciful power that you would spend the rest of Maggie’s life feeling thankful to, you never did.

_____

four years old...

After placing Maggie’s breakfast plate in front of her — loaded with her requested heart-shaped pancake and strawberries, plus a dollop of whipped cream, which was reserved only for special occasions — you turned to find Jon staring at your four year old as if she were about to walk down the aisle at her wedding instead of into her first day of preschool.

You smirked to yourself and grabbed your coffee from beneath the Keurig before sidling up to where he leaned against the counter.

“How ya holdin’ up there, Dad?” you asked, squeezing his bicep. He had yet to take his eyes off his little girl, his own coffee surely growing cold in his cup.

He shook his head. “Not so hot,” he admitted sheepishly. “This day came way sooner than I thought it would.”

Your heart softened at his observation, and you left your mug on the counter as you situated your feet between his, leaning against his chest.

“I know, J,” you said, leaving a soft kiss at the skin just above his t-shirt collar before wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s hard watching them grow up. But she’s not a baby anymore, ya know? She’s a little person.”

You leaned back to find Jon pursing his lips. Again, he shook his head.

“Nah, she’ll always be my baby,” he countered.

You nodded, resting your chin against his collarbone.

“She will,” you conceded quietly.

Just then, Maggie turned her attention from the cartoon on the kitchen television toward the two of you.

“Why you keep lookin’ a’ me?” she asked Jon, her curious, quirked eyebrows looking just like his.

Jon pushed himself off the countertop and crossed the room toward her in a few easy strides.

“Because you’re beautiful, Maggie girl,” he said, kissing the top of her head where you had neatly parted her hair to form two neat braids. “That’s all.”

Maggie scrunched her nose playfully at her adoring father who mimicked her expression.

“Love you, Daddy,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

You weren’t convinced that Jon wouldn’t just dissolve into tears right then and there (and you weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t, either), but he held it together and replied, “I love you, Mags.”

With a smile, Maggie pulled back from Jon and shimmied back into her seat.

“I’m almost done wif’ my breakfast, Mama!” she called to you, pointing to the mostly-eaten pancake on her plate as proof. “And ‘den it’s time for school, huh?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s right, babe! You take a couple more bites and then we’ll go grab your backpack,” you replied.

Maggie looked up at Jon once more, squealing with giddy excitement this time.

“I’m so ‘iss-ited!” she said with a clap before retrieving her fork.

Jon laughed and rubbed her back.

“I’m excited, too, Mags,” he replied, and he meant it — how could he not be excited for this little bundle of contagious energy to embark on this new adventure? “You’re gonna be great.”

_____

six years old...

Jon had always insisted that Maggie didn’t need to play hockey. Shouldn’t play hockey, unless she truly wanted to. He had waxed poetic for close to an hour one night about how “you could be a dancer or a pianist or a basketball player or a cheerleader like your mom if you want.” About how “I’d be just as happy going to gymnastics competitions and horse shows and voice recitals as I would watching you play hockey.” About how “just because your last name is ‘Toews’ doesn’t mean you have to like hockey, no matter what anyone says.”

But she did. Maggie really did like hockey. In fact, she loved it.

You could see it in her eyes each and every time you brought her to watch Jon and the boys at the United Center; every family skate at the holidays and before outdoor games; every time her pupils dilated and irises flickered as she sat next to you watching Jon and the boys on television when they went on the road (that is, until she fell asleep curled into your side when it got too far past her bedtime, wrapped in her little red fleece “19” blanket).

Maggie loved hockey.

And she told her dad as much.

“Daddy, I want to play hockey for me,” she repeated again and again, in all of her six-year-old wisdom, to reassure her father.

And he looked to you each time, as if to prove to you that he hadn’t been coaxing her or egging her on — hockey was just in her blood.

You nodded encouragingly to him every time.

And one late summer Saturday morning when you all sat at the table on your back porch in Winnipeg, Maggie made an announcement.

“Mommy, Daddy,” she began, pushing back the baby hairs that had escaped from her ponytail while Jon chased her around the house earlier, after she woke. “When we get back to Chicago, can you sign me up for hockey?”

Jon, his mug at his lips, nearly choked on his coffee. He could hardly believe it. You sent him a wink, unnoticed by the ever-watchful Maggie, who was currently picking at her fruit salad.

“Stay cool,” you mouthed as Jon cleared his throat and attempted exactly that.

“Sure, Mags, we can do that,” you agreed, earning a wide grin from your daughter.

And you did.

A month later, as Jon bent in front of Maggie in a community rink locker room to tie her new red and black skates — because “they have to have red like yours, Daddy” — he swallowed a lump in his throat. He had tied her skates plenty of times since she was a toddler, but never for an official hockey practice. He felt like pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

After leaving Maggie with her coaches and teammates in the locker room, Jon found you on the end of a bleacher in the stands, awaiting his arrival with a smile.

Across the rink, the kids made their way down the tunnel, some falling even before reaching the ice as they tripped over the lip at the door.

But not Maggie.

She took extra care not to make the same mistake, and was soon gliding easily across the frozen surface, barely a wobble in her stride.

For the next half hour, Jon stood and watched on silently with his arms crossed, following Maggie’s every movement on the ice, finally glancing at you with a proud smirk.

“She’s good, eh?” he mused softly.

With a smile, you leaned forward on the bleacher to kiss his temple, then nodded.

“She is,” you agreed. “I wonder where she gets that from.”

Jon smiled bashfully, eyes flickering to his feet before finding Maggie on the ice once more, easy to spot by the familiar “19” embroidered on her back, and by the way she maneuvered so gracefully around her less-coordinated young peers.

“I guess I never...” Jon stood up straighter and cleared his throat, “I never let myself think that maybe she would really wanna play, ya know? I just didn’t want to push her. And I didn’t wanna get my hopes up. But... I mean, look at her. She really seems to like it, eh?”

You tried to hide a grin as you watched him watching her, and you scooted closer to the end of the bleacher, nearer to where he stood with eyes locked on his little girl. You wrapped your hands around his bicep and softly confirmed, “She really does.”

You, too, let your gaze drift to your daughter, who just then effortlessly caught a pass from her teammate across the crease and buried it behind the goalie. You squeezed Jon’s shoulder and he bit down on his knuckle in an attempt to stay quiet and not break into cheers — after all, this was mini mite practice, and only the first one at that. The two of you turned to each other and giggled at yourselves quietly, Jon draping his arm over your lap as he settled against the bleachers. You combed some of his short hair behind his ear and smiled.

“Looks like I got a little mini-you in hockey skates after all,” you said, earning a proud grin from your husband.

_____

sixteen years old…

Ten years flew by faster than both you and Jon could have ever prepared for, despite the reminders from your parents and older friends to cherish every moment of Maggie’s childhood, because in the blink of an eye, she would be out on her own.

The years were a blur of princess dresses and Disney movies, tutus and rollerblades, an ever-revolving door of new crushes and new best friends, and favorite bands and outfits changing like the breeze.

But the one constant was hockey.

From that day she stepped on the ice for her first practice as a mini mite, Maggie’s love of and talent for the game grew exponentially in tandem. As she blossomed, she caught the eyes of coaches not only in the Chicago area, but well beyond, earning a coveted spot on a number of elite and competitive teams, not because of her last name, but because of her glaringly obvious skill.

One evening while Maggie studied in her bedroom, you sat Jon down in the living room for a conversation you could hardly believe was already being had — one that had always seemed a lifetime away.

“So, Maggie’s coach pulled me aside today, while the girls were changing after practice,” you began, setting down two glasses of wine on the coffee table for Jon and yourself. “Said he’s been fielding some phone calls. A lot of phone calls, actually.”

Jon’s brows rose as he swallowed a sip of wine.

“Really?”

You nodded as you took a seat next to him, cuddling up under his outstretched arm.

“Six schools are already interested, J,” you spoke softly. “Six.”

Jon drew a deep breath and sank back further into the plush sofa cushions.

“Jesus,” he said, bewildered. “What schools?”

You counted them off on your fingers. “BC, BU, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Ohio State, Penn State.”

At the list of exclusively Division I programs, Jon went wide-eyed.

“Shut up,” he said with a chuckle.

You held your hand up in innocence.

“I swear!”

Jon shook his head, stroking his chin in contemplation as he had a habit to do.

“This is just… this feels weird, no?” he finally blurted, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

“Super weird,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder. “Looks like we’re gonna have to plan some campus visits.”

“I don’t want her to go,” Jon immediately replied with a distinct sadness in his voice, prompting a familiar sinking feeling in your stomach, the same kind you always got when you thought about your baby girl moving out on her own. “I do, but… I don’t.”

You smoothed your hand across his chest. “I know, babe,” you said. “But you know she’s gonna be great.”

Jon hummed in agreement. “The greatest,” he replied fondly. “Have you talked to her yet?”

You shook your head. “I figured we could do it together tomorrow night,” you suggested. “Take her to dinner maybe. She has that math test tomorrow morning, so I didn’t want to stress her out.”

Jon kissed your temple. “Such a good mama,” he praised, making you grin.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, sipping wine and individually contemplating Maggie’s future before Jon piped up.

“It’s too bad North Dakota shut down their women’s program,” he said. “Sucks.”

You smirked and looked up at him.

“It does, but even if they still had it, don’t you think it would’ve been a little too much pressure?” you asked.

Jon scoffed. “Mags thrives under pressure,” he retorted. You rolled your eyes.

“Jon, you cannot pressure our daughter to go to the school you want her to go to, okay?” you gently reminded. “It’s her decision.”

“I know that!” Jon claimed. “I’ll be fine with whatever choice she makes. As long as she’s happy. And not a Gopher.”

“Jon...” you sighed, weary, as he mentioned his alma mater’s rival team.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Nobody can be happy and go to Minnesota. Those are just the facts.”

“Jonathan!” you hissed, pushing at his chest and trying your damnedest not to giggle. “If she chooses Minny, you’re going to suck it up and put on your happy face, and that’s final,” you told him firmly, wagging your finger for dramatic effect.

Having gotten the exact reaction out of you that he wanted, Jon broke into laughter.

“Bossy, eh?” he spoke in a low tone, nuzzling his nose along your hairline. “Too bad for you, I like it when you’re bossy,” he said, pressing soft, slow kisses from your temple to your ear, down to the curve of your jaw.

Words of protest died on your lips as you closed your eyes and unconsciously tilted your head to allow him access to your neck. You would forever be grateful that, teenager in the house or not, Jon was always eager to entertain a heated makeout session as though you were still the young lovers you had been once upon a time…

Even if things were now broken up in a split second at the squeak of a bedroom door swinging open in the upstairs hallway.

You cleared your throat and smoothed your hair, pulling your collar up just before Maggie appeared on the stairs.

“How’s the studying going, sis?” you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Maggie sighed and slumped against the arm of the chair across from you, stretching out her long limbs, her Canada Hockey crewneck sleeves struggling to span the length of her slender arms.

“Almost done,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “I got A’s on both of my practice quizzes.”

“That’s my girl!” you preened.

“Nice job, kiddo,” Jon added, reaching out his fist to bump hers — one the “daddest” of all his dad habits. “Hey, Mags, you free for dinner tomorrow night after practice? I wanna take you and Mom out. Somewhere nice,” he said.

She nodded. “Sure,” she confirmed easily. “What’s the occasion?” she asked with a soft giggle.

Jon shrugged a shoulder, playing coy. “Just wanna celebrate you,” he claimed, certainly not telling a lie. “You deserve it.” True, again, you thought as you sipped your wine quietly.

And then, with a smile that mirrored his and eyes that sparkled like yours, both equally melting you, Maggie leaned forward, first looping her arms around Jon’s neck and kissing his cheek, offering a sincere “thanks, Dad,” then wrapping you in a hug of your own.

She sauntered behind the bar across the room to grab a can of La Croix from the fridge, and bid you goodnight as she approached the stairs again.

“Hey, Mags?” Jon repeated before she disappeared from view.

Maggie paused, turning toward him expectantly.

“You know how proud we are of you?” he asked.

Maggie nodded, grinning. “Yeah, Dad, I do,” she replied.

Jon nodded, too.

“Just making sure.”

_____

eighteen years old…

Two short years and half a dozen college visits later, you and Jon stood behind Maggie in the stands of her school’s rink as she signed her letter of intent, all three of you dressed in maroon t-shirts with gold “M”‘s emblazoned on the chest. As she stood from the table, cameras from several news outlets flashing, she turned to you with a bright grin.

“So proud of you, my girl,” you said, squeezing her waist as she wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Mommy,” Maggie said into your ear. “For everything.”

You pulled back and nodded, trying to maintain your composure as your eyes stung with bittersweet tears.

Maggie turned next to Jon and reached up to hug his neck.

“I love you, Mags,” he said, kissing her cheek. More softly, he added, “But it’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Babe!” you snap in a harsh whisper. “Zip it.”

Maggie rolled her eyes as she dropped her arms.

“It kinda is too late to change my mind, Dad,” she giggled, shaking her head. “That was sort of the whole point of today.”

“You know I’m just teasing you,” Jon said with his ornery smirk. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. Minny will be lucky to have you.”

Maggie blushed under her dad’s praise, but not a moment later, the tender moment was interrupted as the high school athletic director approached, asking if she could snag Maggie for a couple of brief interviews.

Maggie followed, throwing you both one last mega-watt smile over her shoulder before being whisked away, and you leaned into Jon as all attention in the room was directed to your daughter.

“And so it begins,” you commented.

Jon nodded, sighing, and snaked his hand around your waist. You glanced up at him and saw the same mix of emotions in his eyes as you felt in your own heart — happy and sad, excited and anxious, proud and overwhelmed.

You gently nudged your elbow against his abdomen.

“Hey,” you spoke, circling your arms around his torso. “You know she’ll always be your baby. Hmm?”

Jon glanced at Maggie from across the room, then smiled down at you softly. He nodded.

“Always.”

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