Page 114 of Slap Shot Daddies

Kenzie complains incessantly, grumbling about her aching back and the relentless kicks from within, but she also melts under our hands, her tense muscles relaxing when we take care of her.

She acts annoyed, rolling her eyes at our fussing, but the glow on her face tells a different story.

She’s never looked happier.

That’s not all that’s exciting about today, though.

Today’s game day.

The air is charged with nervous energy so thick I can almost taste it as we step into the rink. The tension crackles around us like static as we gear up for the most important match of the year. Kenzie is already down by the bird enclosure, her laughter ringing out as she prepares the Macaws for their pregame antics.

They've been meticulously trained to swoop over the crowd, dropping T-shirts and little foam pucks to pump up the fans before we take to the ice.

One of the birds, a feisty little troublemaker with bright plumage, the same one that nipped at Kenzie’s fingers months ago, is at it again, causing a ruckus.

From a distance, I watch as Kenzie throws her head back in laughter, her hands resting lightly on her big belly as she calms the bird that now perches confidently on her shoulder.

There's something about the way she stands there, radiant, joyful, thriving amidst the chaos that surrounds her, that strikes a chord deep within me.

Ambrose comes up beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “You ready?” he asks, his voice steady and reassuring. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I force myself to look away from her.

“Yeah,” I reply, steeling myself for the challenge ahead. “Let’s win this thing.”

The Ottawa Moose are playing like their lives depend on it. The scoreboard shows a tense 5-5 tie, the crowd's cheers are echoing like thunder, and the air feels thick with tension as if it could choke us. Each time we edge ahead, they claw us back, relentless and unyielding.

Then, things take a turn for the worse.

Reggie skates hard down the rink, but an opposing player slams him into the boards with a bone-jarring check. He crumples to the ice, but when he rises, his gloves are already off, tossed aside like unwanted baggage.

Before I can blink, chaos erupts into a full-on brawl.

Ambrose and I don’t falter. We leap into the fray.

Fists are flying like a flurry of punches in a storm. I feel a hand yank on my jersey, pulling me off balance.

I swing my arm with all the force I can muster, connecting with a guy’s jaw, and my knuckles scream in agony. The shrill blast of the ref’s whistles pierces the air.

The crowd is shouting a cacophony of wild sounds, and we’re all eventually pulled apart, adrenaline still coursing through us.

The game grinds to a halt.

The penalty box is so packed it feels like a sardine can, but we grin at each other, eyes alight with the thrill of the moment.

“Worth it?” I ask, swiping at the blood trickling from my lip with the back of my hand.

Reggie snorts, a smirk playing on his bruised face. “Aye.”

Ambrose just shakes his head with a wry grin, clearly entertained by the ruckus.

Back on the ice, the clock is our enemy, showing a mere fifteen seconds left. We need to score. It’s do or die.

Then, chaos erupts on the ice rink.

The macaw that previously nipped at Kenzie’s finger?

Yeah, it decides this is the perfect moment to unleash pandemonium.

With a burst of color, the bird swoops down onto the ice, wings flapping with frantic energy. It darts between the skaters, weaving around legs and dodging sticks, causing the referees to blow their whistles in a flurry of confusion, their shrill sound barely cutting through the noise.

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