“Now that’s what I call service,” Jake says, catching one of the bottles of light beers mid-slide. “Thanks, Flic.”
“I need to keep my team happy,” Flic replies, brushing one of her ice-blonde braids over her shoulder. “And getting us into the playoffs.”
“Like we weren’t already feeling the pressure,” Chase fires back.
“Good, because I really wouldn’t want to have to take your jerseys down from my wall.” Flic flashes a teasing smile at him and Jake. It’s all for show. Flic might look like a biker-bar badass in her tight black jeans and black tank top. And she might be a huge Stormhawks fan, but there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for the Sullivan boys. She grew up spending her weekends at Oakwood Ranch while her parents ran this place. As soon as she was old enough, she took over and now runs The Hay Barn like her own personal Stormhawks kingdom.
She hands Serena a soda and starts sliding beer bottles around the table for the rest of us. Only when she reaches Izzy does she pause, handing her a brown glass with a lemon wedge stuck on the edge. “And a mocktail for my favorite mom-to-be,” Flic says, smile widening.
A sudden hush falls over the table, broken a second later by Harper’s excited, “Oh my God, you’re pregnant?”
Flic slaps a hand over her mouth, cheeks flaming. “Wait—you haven’t told them yet?”
Izzy bursts out laughing. “We were just about to.”
Dylan’s grin stretches wide and he pulls his phone from his pocket, showing us a baby scan that makes my chest burst with joy and ache with emptiness in the same breath. “We’re having a baby,” he says, sounding nothing like the grumpy, football-obsessed man he was a few years ago. Proof if I ever needed it that second chances really do exist.
“I’m three months,” Izzy adds, her smile matching Dylan’s. “We told Mama this morning. And Mad knows, of course,” she adds, mentioning her ten-year-old daughter, who all theSullivans adore, especially Dylan, who has become the best stepdad any child could ask for.
The table erupts in cheers and hugs and back slaps. I smile too, fighting back the prick of tears.Happy tears, I tell myself. Not self-pity. That would make me a pathetic loser. But the truth is, I’m twenty-eight, and I always thought I’d be married with kids by now, like my sister, Elle. Elle is only two years older than me. She got married at twenty-three and already has two beautiful children. She lives a couple of streets over from our parents in Idaho Springs, and her life is carpool and bake sale schedules. The funny thing is, in Elle’s eyes, I have the life to envy. I hear it in her voice when we grab five minutes to talk between my coaching schedule and her busy mom life.
Tell me what it was like to wake up without being jumped on by a three-year-old wearing a potty on her head.
You went for coffee on your own. What was that like?
I always laugh and play the cool, care-free younger sister, but the truth is, I want it so bad I ache for it. The marriage. The babies. The school runs and Sunday morning pancakes. I want it all.
Flic disappears to serve a customer. The crowd is starting to thin. People are thinking about waking up on Monday morning. Which is probably what I should be doing. Tomorrow, I’ve got budget forms to submit, and a call with the physical therapy team about implementing safer warm-ups. Not to mention starting choreography on the next routine with Liv.
Chase catches my eye across the table and winks. I know that look. The same look from history class when he was about to ask the teacher a wildly off-topic question that would have them forgetting the pop quiz we were supposed to have.
He shoots a look at Jake. “What about you, Jakey? Got any news you wanna share?”
Harper gets there first, already shaking her head. “Don’t put ideas in his head, Chase. We’re waiting a few more years.”
Jake flashes Harper the kind of smile that’s full of love and promises. “I’ve probably only got a few more seasons left playing pro football. Gonna give it my all, then be the best daddy in the world.”
“Just so you know, man,” Chase says. “I’ve already got best uncle locked down. Mad told me last week.”
“That’s only because you sneak her candy,” Dylan mutters.
Izzy’s eyes land on Chase, flashing with mock fury. “I hope you’re not bribing a ten-year-old with candy, Chase Sullivan.”
Chase holds up his hands, his expression one of total innocence. The look never worked on Mama Sullivan, but it got us out of trouble with my mom and dad on more than one occasion as kids. “Hey, I’m just securing my best-uncle position. You know I’ve got no plans to head down the dad-and-diapers route.”
His comment is another reminder why Chase and I could never be more than friends. We want totally different futures, and that’s fine by me. “Well, be prepared to be a fun uncle to my kids one day, too, Chase,” I throw out. “You know I want at least four.”
Chase rolls his eyes playfully. “Pretty sure your vision board says ten.”
I laugh along with the others, ignoring the twinge of sadness that I’m not even close to a place in my life to think about one kid let alone four or ten.
“Thank goodness,” Dylan mutters. “The last thing this world needs are any more Chases and your peanut butter ramen.”
Jake snorts. “You should feed that to all your Chasing Love fans. No way they’d still want to marry you after a taste of that.”
“Hey.” Chase points a finger at Dylan then Jake. “Peanut butter ramen is elite and that meal got me through college.”
“Yeah,” Dylan says, “and nearly got you dumped by three different girlfriends. One of them said it smelled like feet.”