Page 108 of Slap Shot Daddies

Wyatt deserves a father who is present, who puts him first.

And yet…

Kenzie.

The way she looks at me, her eyes full of trust despite everything. She looks at me like she wants me in her life, like she believes in some impossible future.

I stop running altogether, standing on the trail as my breath fogs in front of me, each exhale a ghostly whisper in the crisp air.

I don’t want to lose her.

I walk the last stretch of the trail, leaves crunching beneath my worn sneakers, my breath visible in the crisp morning air.

My body cools down, muscles loosening as my mind churns through every damn thing I’ve been avoiding. The sun casts long shadows, and I feel the weight of them, matching the heaviness in my chest.

I was raised believing in one version of love: a storybook tale of one man, one woman, kids, a white picket fence, and a family dog barking in the yard.

It’s what I pictured for myself for so long that even after my marriage crashed and burned like a speeding car hitting a wall, I clung to that outdated dream with white-knuckled determination.

But what if I’ve been wrong this whole time?

The question gnaws at me like a persistent itch I can’t scratch.

Kenzie doesn’t fit into a perfect little box, with her fiery spirit and unpredictable laugh that echoes like a melody in my mind. She never will.

And neither do I, with my messy past and fears that lurk like shadows.

I love my son, and I will always put him first. His laughter is my favorite sound, his smile a light in my darkest moments. But does that mean I can’t have happiness too?

The thought of Kenzie raising our baby without me sends ice straight through my veins, a chilling dread that clings to my bones. The thought of some other man stepping in where I should be?

Unacceptable. My heart tightens in protest.

I want to be in this, fully, with every fiber of my being. I don’t want to be the guy standing on the sidelines, watching opportunities slip away, afraid to step up and claim what could be mine.

I know what regret feels like. It’s a heavy cloak I wore once already with my ex, suffocating and relentless. And I’ll be damned if I let my fear keep me from something real again.

The past invades my thoughts, vivid images of my ex-wife, the heated arguments, the crushing disappointment, and the harsh sting of betrayal replaying over and over.

I used to believe she had been unfaithful out of pure selfishness, convinced she didn’t care enough about me or our son, Wyatt.

But now, as the icy wind stings my face, I wonder if perhaps there was more to it. Maybe I played a part in pushing her away too.

I realize how I imposed a rigid order on our lives, everything needing to be meticulously by the book, planned down to the last detail.

There was no room for spontaneous adventures or impulsive decisions, only a suffocating bubble of safe, structured stability.

Perhaps to her, it felt like a cage, a prison I unknowingly constructed to cope with my own fear of chaos. Maybe I smothered her spirit without even realizing it.

I release a slow, measured breath, watching it dissolve into the frigid air as my shoes crunch over the frost-covered gravel beneath me.

Kenzie isn’t like my ex.

She’s a whirlwind of wildness and freedom, her unpredictability both terrifying and exhilarating. Yet, she possesses a goodness that shines through.

She makes me laugh until my sides ache. She challenges me to think beyond my constraints. She inspires me to strive for something better.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, wrestling with the urge to text her.

---