I glance at my phone and the date, panic spiking. “It’s less than two weeks away!”
“I’m sorry, have you met your Stand-Ins?” Tatum fires back. “We could run the world with a smartphone and a Google calendar.”
“We’re not talking about some Halloween party or back-to-school bash, Tay! This is mylife. My career. And a wedding thrown together in two weeks cannot be how it all comes to a head.”
Tatum reaches across the table and grabs my hand, steadying me in the midst of my spiral. “Look. I know you’ve only seen me pulloff events that are all spectacle and champagne fountains. But I need you to hear me right now—this isn’t just about optics for the Strikers. This is aboutyou.”
Eslin slides her hand on top of ours, grounding me with her calm as well. “If you let us carry this with you—” she glances at Tatum, then back at me, her voice soft but certain, “—we’ll make it more than damage control. We’ll make it beautiful. Intimate. Like it was always supposed to be this way. Like we’ve been planning it all along.”
I look between them, my heart squeezing. My new best friend and the woman who feels more like a sister every day—standing shoulder to shoulder, ready to fight for me, for us. For the family we’re somehow stitching together out of chaos.
It’s the only plan that makes sense. An announcement obnoxious enough to drown out whispers, turning the conversation from shame to celebration. Not a scandal—an event. Something bold and impossible to ignore.
Eslin and Tatum throw themselves into the details, sketching out ways to weave the team into every part of it—photo spreads, behind-the-scenes clips, even small personal touches that make each player visible. Not props. Not background noise. Family. The kind that fights, messes up, but still shows up when it matters.
“The story shifts from scandal to unity, framing the Strikers not as fractured, but as something stronger than ever,” Tatum adds.
Declan rubs a hand over his face. “A unit? How is that going to work if they’re all pissed at me from that interview?”
Eslin just smiles, her confidence cutting through the doubt. “More on that later. For now, we have less than two weeks to pull off a wedding so beautiful, so magnificent, that your little secret looks intentional.”
I glance at Declan, bracing myself. “And I know how much you hate doing interviews, but Tatum’s already lined up a series. Stories about us. Our life. Behind-the-scenes visits into our home.”
Eslin jumps in, practically glowing. “We’re calling itSweet Home Americana,” she announces proudly. “After what you’ve nicknamed her.”
“I’m aware,” Declan deadpans, face flat, unimpressed.
Then his eyes find mine. “And you think this will help?”
I shrug, because what else can I do? “It’s the best shot we have.”
He exhales slowly, then shakes his head with the faintest smile. “I just want you to be happy. But if none of this works, I’m taking you to Argentina and getting you pregnant the first chance I get.”
Daddy clears his throat, pointed and deliberate, reminding me that the secrets in this room don’t belong to me alone. “I don’t have any oaths to live by like Eslin does. If you don’t tell him, I will,” he warns.
Declan’s head snaps to me. “What’s the pr—” he stumbles, correcting himself, “What’s your father talking about?”
I let out a long sigh, slip my hand into his, and tug gently. “Come on, husband. Let’s take a walk by the lake so I can tell you about the birds and the bees.”
Five minutes later, Declan is tearing around the lake, arms in the air, shouting, “Gooooaal!” before stripping down and cannonballing straight into the water.
Guess he’s happy.
We’re having a baby.
Chapter fifty-nine
Candy Canes & Second Chances
Declan
The cold shoulder has a way of sinking into your bones. The team hasn’t said much to me since the announcement—my wedding to one of the owners making me public enemy number one in the Strikers’ locker room. No outright blows, no screaming matches. Just silence. Cold, thick silence.
I can take a hit on the pitch, but this? This eats at me. Because I need them to trust me again. I need them to know I’m not here to screw them over.
Xavier Darcy and the Prick promised the guys had something planned. A way for me to earn my way back into their good graces. So far, though, the only plan I can see is pretending I don’t exist.
It’s December 16th, and Coach Saunders—always the genius at poking sore spots—asks us to share traditions from home. “Findthe common ground,” she says. “Build some shared experiences. Remember why you play for each other, not just yourselves.”