Page 113 of Slap Shot Daddies

Back in the car, the atmosphere buzzes with excitement. Braden grips the steering wheel, his fingers drumming out a rapid rhythm as if trying to match the beat of his racing thoughts.

Reggie sits beside him, eyes glued to the ultrasound pictures, his grin stretching from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas morning.

“So,” Reggie says, his smile so wide it seems to light up the car, as he waves the glossy ultrasound photos. “We’re officially placing bets on what the bairns will look like.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Ambrose, sitting in the back seat, raises a questioning brow. “You’re betting on our kids now?”

Braden’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Bro, you knew this was gonna happen.”

Reggie nods, his expression mock-serious as if he’s discussing world affairs. “It’s inevitable.”

Ambrose lets out a sigh, his exasperation tinged with amusement. “Fine. What are the stakes?”

Reggie leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hair color. Eye color. Hockey skills.”

“Hockey skills?” I laugh, a sharp bark of disbelief. “They’re fetuses, Reggie.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “No harm in getting a head start.”

Braden glances at me through the rearview mirror, his grin infectious. “You in, Kenz?”

I cross my arms, a fond smile playing on my lips. “It figures that sports betting is what finally got you guys to process this.”

Ambrose chuckles, shaking his head in agreement. “She’s not wrong.”

Reggie rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, but I say we make it interesting.”

Braden winks, a competitive gleam in his eye. “Oh, it’s on.”

I roll my eyes, a blend of exasperation and affection, as I rub my belly gently.

These babies have no idea what they’re in for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Braden

Kenzie has officially reachedthe stage where her growing belly obscures the view of her feet, and it’s driving her crazy.

Her frustration is palpable in her huffs and the way she occasionally glances down at her toes as if expecting them to reappear.

Not that she’ll openly admit it, but we all catch her grinning when we take over her chores. Her face lights up with a reluctant smile when we haul the heavy laundry basket down the stairs or stir a pot on the stove.

Even when we kneel to tie the laces of her sneakers, she can’t hide that tiny upward curve of her lips. Although she scowls when we hover too closely, the small, secret smiles give her away.

Kenzie is measuring much larger than a typical pregnancy, which makes sense with three tiny humans nestled in her belly, but it also means her balance is completely off.

Ambrose has taken to shadowing her like a vigilant bodyguard, his hand perpetually poised to catch her if she wobbles.

His eyes never stray far from her, ready to steady her with a gentle grip on her elbow.

Meanwhile, Reggie is in full overprotective Scottish dad mode, fussing over her with a thick accent that softens when he reminds her to sip from the water bottle he’s always refilling or guides her to the couch for a well-deserved nap.

He’s a constant presence, ensuring she rests whenever her eyelids droop.

As for me, I try to lighten the mood. I crack jokes to coax laughter from her when she’s feeling worn out, slip her favorite snacks into the pockets of her maternity pants, and kneel at her feet to massage her swollen ankles, drawing circles with my thumbs until she sighs in relief.

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