You tug Lottie’s tiny beanie down over her ears and smooth the fuzzy edge of her coat, heart already fluttering like it always does before his games. She’s giggling, her little hands wrapped around your finger, completely unaware that tonight is kind of a big deal.

Her first hockey game. Her first time watching her daddy on the ice.

You bounce her gently on your hip as you make your way to the VIP section—where all the players’ families sit. Familiar faces smile at you as you pass. You’ve been coming here since Jesse got drafted, and now they all know you. But tonight’s different. Tonight, it’s not just you they’re excited to see—it’s the baby they’ve only ever seen in photos.

“Is that Lottie?” one of Jesse’s teammates’ wives gasps, eyes wide.

You nod, beaming as you sit. “She finally gets to see her daddy play.”

Lottie blinks around at the bright lights and noise, her little face scrunching before she leans into your chest. You rock her slowly. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s about to come out. You’ll see.”

You glance out over the ice as the arena goes dark. The crowd explodes. Music booms. Lights flash. One by one, the players skate out—and then there he is. Jesse Callahan. #87. Golden boy. Your boy.

Your husband.

He skates out smooth as ever, sharp and focused, until he reaches his usual spot at the far end of the rink. Then—just like always—he lifts his helmet slightly and looks right up toward your section. It’s barely a second. But you know he’s looking for you.

He doesn’t see Lottie yet. But he will.

The game is fast and tense. His team’s locked in. Jesse scores the final goal—clean, smooth, like it’s nothing. The arena shakes. You lift Lottie’s hands and help her clap, laughing when she kicks her feet excitedly.

“Daddy scored just for you,” you whisper against her curls.

After the game, you head down the hallway behind the rink. Everyone back here knows you—security, staff, even the coach. You’ve been here since Jesse was “just a maybe,” before the fame, the contracts, the cameras. Back when it was just you and him and a dream.

You don’t even make it all the way to the lounge before the door flies open and Jesse’s there—hair damp, face flushed, eyes searching until they land on her.

“There’s my girl,” he says, crossing the hallway in two long strides and gently lifting Lottie into his arms. She lets out a squeal, arms wrapping around his neck, face lighting up like she’s known him forever.

“She said ‘Dada’ earlier,” you murmur, watching him melt right there in the hallway.

He kisses her cheek, holds her tight, then looks over her shoulder at you.

“You brought her,” he says, voice rougher now, quieter.

You smile. “She was ready.”

He shifts Lottie to one arm and reaches for your hand with the other, pulling you closer. You slide right into him like always, like home.

“I still can’t believe you did all this with me,” he says, staring at you like it’s the first time.

“I didn’t do it with you,” you tease. “I did it for you.”

He grins, those damn dimples flashing. “Well. That makes two of us.”

Lottie babbles something against his chest, and he chuckles, bouncing her gently.

“Think she’ll be a hockey fan?” he asks.

You glance between the two of them and smile. “I think she already is.”