Page 107 of Slap Shot Daddies

The early morning sky hangs above me, a dull, washed-out blue, with the sun struggling to peek over the horizon, casting weak, tentative rays into the sky.

Around me, the trees stand bare and skeletal, their twisted limbs reaching upward like the frozen fingers of ancient giants. Frost sparkles on the grass, a delicate lace of white overlaying the dying remnants of fall leaves crumbling beneath its weight.

I should be fine.

I should be happy.

But instead, my heart churns with rage.

I pound my way up a winding hill, breath billowing like smoke in the crisp air, thighs aching with each upward thrust against the steep incline.

The pavement beneath my sneakers is slick with morning dew, making each step a calculated risk, and my fingers sting sharply from the cold, even though I wore gloves out of routine.

Braden’s back in town, and Reggie’s over the moon. Kenzie’s got that radiant glow of someone with exciting news.

And me?

I’m the one standing on the periphery, trying to mask my feelings with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

I push myself to run harder.

The distant, earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves mixes in the air, the final breath of autumn before winter’s icy clutches descend fully upon Minneapolis.

I should be ecstatic about Kenzie’s announcement. I should be fantasizing about cribs, baby names, and that magical first moment when I hold my child in my arms.

Instead, my chest tightens with an uncomfortable pressure, something gnawing and anxious.

I don’t want to acknowledge what it is.

But the farther I run, the clearer it becomes.

I’m afraid.

I run along the winding park trail, the path curving between tall, shadowy trees while my thoughts unravel faster than my pace.

My sneakers crunch against the fallen leaves, and my breath comes in sharp, frosty bursts, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs like a relentless drum.

What the hell am I so afraid of?

The answer hits me hard, like a slap to the face, and I nearly stumble. Wyatt.

I slow my pace, running a hand through my sweaty hair, the strands sticking to my palm, my mind racing wildly, outpacing my feet.

I’m already a father.

I love my son more than anything in this world, but I barely see him as it is.

And now I’m having another kid?

How do I explain to Wyatt that his dad has a whole other family on the side? That his sibling is going to grow up in a home so completely different from his own?

Will he resent me for it?

The thought makes my stomach churn like a stormy sea.

I slow to a jog, feeling the cold air bite sharply at my exposed skin, the chill seeping through my thin running gear.

My muscles ache, each step sending a jolt of protest through my legs, my body screaming at me to stop, but my mind remains tangled in the knot of uncertainty tightening in my gut.

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