Page 41 of Slap Shot Daddies

And the worst part? I revel in it.

It’s not merely the physical attraction, though that aspect is undeniably powerful. It’s the way they gaze at me, as if I’m something rare, something extraordinary.

As if I’m more than just the girl who tends to the birds.

For the first time, I feel truly desired.

And it’s perilous.

I let out a deep sigh, pushing myself away from the cluttered desk, attempting to shake these thoughts free, when my phone vibrates insistently against the table. I glance down at the screen.

Mom.

A tight knot forms in my stomach. I hesitate before answering, stepping into the quiet of the hallway.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, already steeling myself for the conversation.

“Kenzie, sweetheart! It’s been ages since we talked. Are you doing okay?” Her voice is syrupy sweet, but there’s always that underlying edge, that slight tone of disapproval, as if she’s poised to catch me in a misstep.

“I’m fine,” I reply, even though I already know the direction this is heading.

“Well, I was just thinking, it’s been so long since you’ve been back home, and the church is doing a special service this weekend. You should really come.”

I swallow hard, gripping my phone a bit tighter. “I, um…I actually hurt my hand,” I say, hoping this excuse will end the conversation. “I’m behind at work, and…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she exclaims. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?! I can come out and help with the clinic!”

Fuck!

“No, no,” I say, my words sudden. “Mom, it’s not that serious. I have a handle on it. Tell you what, I’ll come visit this weekend.”

Church. Oh, wonderful.

My mother shrieks excitedly, but I can’t even muster a smile.

I rub my temples the moment I hang up the phone, already regretting every word I just uttered.

I can already picture the scene with vivid clarity.

My mother will parade me into the congregation like some prodigal sinner returned from the wilderness, her smile too bright, introducing me to every eligible man in the building as if I’m a prize calf displayed at a county fair, ready for the highest bidder.

I press my fingers harder against my forehead, trying to dispel the throbbing ache forming behind my eyes.

Why did I agree to this?

Truthfully, because it was the only way to prevent her from showing up here unannounced. And even though the thought of enduring two hours of sermons and painfully forced small talk makes me want to scream into a pillow, it’s still preferable to having my mother invade my clinic and scrutinize every aspect of my life.

I glance back at the rink, where the guys are still gliding across the ice, utterly oblivious to my little crisis.

They’re so engrossed, so liberated, roughhousing over the puck, throwing playful shoves, their laughter echoing like they don’t have a single care in the world.

I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on me.

That kind of freedom feels like a distant dream. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I push off the wall and start packing up my things. I have work to do, tasks that demand my attention.

The last thing I need is to get swept up in the camaraderie of the guys again. Even as I head for my car, I can still feel the lingering warmth of Braden’s lips on mine, a reminder of distractions I can’t afford.

The moment I slide into the driver's seat, I grip the steering wheel with a vice-like intensity, my knuckles turning a stark white as I inhale deeply, trying to calm the storm inside. I loathe this sensation, the constriction in my chest, the relentless buzzing behind my temples, the insidious anxiety winding itself tightly in the pit of my stomach.

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