Page 101 of Slap Shot Daddies

I feel something deep inside…but I don’t know what it truly is.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Mom shakes her head slowly, her expression contorted with a mix of disappointment and disgust. "This is not how we raised you, Kenzie."

"No," I whisper, my voice barely holding together as tears pool at the corners of my eyes. "It’s not."

I sit there, my heart pounding like a relentless drum, and my palms leaving damp marks on my thighs as they sweat profusely. I brace myself for the wave of shame that I expect to crash over me at any moment.

I anticipate the crushing guilt, the overwhelming surge of regret. I wait for that small, insidious voice in my head to whisper that I've ruined my life.

But it never comes.

Instead, something else entirely begins to unfurl within me—something lighter, warmer, like a gentle sunrise breaking over a horizon.

It's excitement. I blink, almost disbelieving, as the realization dawns on me.

I'm excited about this baby.

I press my hand to my stomach, my fingers spreading across the soft fabric of my sweater.

It's still flat, for the most part, still just me, but soon it won't be. Soon, a little life will be growing inside me.

A part of me. A part of them. And that thought? It no longer fills me with fear.

It makes me happy.

I lift my gaze to my mom, whose face is still pale with shock, her eyes wide and unblinking. My dad sits beside her, gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white, and I half expect to hear the wood crack beneath the pressure.

For the first time since I walked through the door, a sense of calm washes over me like a soothing balm.

"I don’t feel bad about this." My voice comes out steady and certain, a surprising contrast to the chaos I had anticipated. "Not even a little."

Mom’s jaw drops, and she stares at me as if trying to process my words. Dad shakes his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern. But I continue, driven by a newfound conviction.

"I love them," I say, the words flowing with unexpected ease, like a dam breaking. "I don’t know why I fought it so hard. But I do. And I want this baby."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my past fears lifting away like dark clouds dispersing in the wind. And for the first time in a long time, a profound sense of freedom envelops me.

Mom’s eyes narrow, her brows knitting together as if I’ve just sprouted an extra head.

Dad lets out a heavy sigh, his fingers pressing into his temples with a force that suggests he's trying not to explode.

But their reactions don’t faze me in the slightest.

A sudden clarity washes over me like a tidal wave breaking against the shore, and I know exactly what I need to do.

“They are wonderful men,” I declare, lifting my chin defiantly, my voice steady and clear. “They’re talented, kind, and they care about me deeply. You’ll have to adjust because you’re going to meet them and see them.”

Mom’s eyes widen, her lips parting in disbelief. “Kenzie, you can't be serious,”

“I am.”

With determination, I stand up straighter than I have all evening. I can do this. If I can sit here and tell my ultra-religious, conservative parents that I’m pregnant and in love with three men, then apologizing to the guys and making things right seems like the next logical step.

I should have never hidden this truth from them. I allowed fear to dictate my actions, let the shadow of my upbringing cloud my judgment. But that stops now.

I glance at my mom, her hands trembling ever so slightly on the table, and my dad, whose weary eyes speak of exhaustion. A smile breaks across my face, a genuine, heartfelt smile.

---