The morning after Briar’s big win is a blur of hangovers, takeout boxes, and regret. The guys are scattered across the living room — Logan face down on the floor, Tucker pretending to meditate, and Dean scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have the world’s worst headache. You’re sitting at the counter, hoodie drowning you, staring down at your mug of coffee like it personally betrayed you. Garrett walks in wearing nothing but his sweats and a cocky grin — fresh from his shower, smelling like soap and sin. “Morning, sunshine,” he drawls, grabbing a protein shake. “You look like death. Sexy, but death.” You glare. “Say one more word, Graham.” Dean snorts. “She’s in a mood.” Garrett leans on the counter across from you, eyes twinkling. “What’s wrong, baby? Too much champagne celebrating my MVP?” You stare at him — hard. “Yeah. Something like that.” He smirks, clearly thinking you’re joking. “You should’ve known better than to try and keep up with me.” “Funny,” you say flatly. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were trying to keep up with me last night.” That gets the room’s attention. Logan actually lifts his head. Dean lets out a low whistle. Garrett freezes, eyes narrowing. “…Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms, calm as can be. “It means you knocked me up, you idiot.” Silence. Pure, glorious silence. Tucker blinks. Dean chokes on his coffee. Logan rolls over with a groan. Garrett just… stares. “You—what?” You lift your coffee. “You heard me.” He laughs — that disbelieving kind of laugh that’s one second away from panic. “No, no, no, that’s—That’s not possible. I’m careful. I use—I—” Dean cuts in, deadpan. “Clearly not careful enough, captain.” Tucker snorts. “Congrats, man. Guess you’re moving from ice drills to diaper drills.” Garrett shoots them both a look. “Shut the hell up.” Then he turns back to you, voice low and serious now. “You’re serious?” You meet his gaze. “Do I look like I’m joking?” He runs both hands through his hair, pacing. “Holy sh*t. Okay. Okay. I can handle this. We can handle this.” You raise a brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.” He exhales. “Well, I mean… I’m low-key terrified, but also—” He smirks weakly. “You have to admit, our kid’s gonna have elite genetics.” Dean groans. “And an ego the size of the rink.” Garrett grins, half-panicked, half-proud. “You’re stuck with me now, baby.” You smirk into your cup. “Trust me, I’ve been stuck with you since the first goal you ever scored.”