Page 57 of Slap Shot Daddies

I envision Braden’s teasing smirk, the curve of his lips always hinting at mischief. I think about Reggie’s strong, playful hands,the way they always seemed to find mine with a comforting, effortless ease.

Then there’s Ambrose, his intensity palpable, the way he makes me feel desired in a manner that doesn’t send my heart racing with fear but with a thrilling sense of belonging.

Its madness, I muse.

I spent my entire childhood absorbing the lesson that love is supposed to be a sacred bond between a man and a woman, a one-on-one connection that anything else defies.

Yet, when I was with them…it didn’t feel like defiance. It felt extraordinary.

I groan, tossing my phone onto the wooden table where it lands with a soft thud. The muted glow of the TV flickers across the room, casting shadows that dance intermittently, but my eyes are unfocused, not really absorbing the images on the screen.

Sleep proves elusive, no matter how heavy my eyelids feel.

I struggle not to think of them, not to imagine the look on my mom’s face if she ever discovered the truth. But the images persist, and despite everything, I feel no shame.

I slowly get up and try to prepare myself for a long day.

The searing hot water cascades over me. A cloud of steam swirls around me, carrying the scent of the hotel shampoo, a vaguely floral aroma.

It hasn’t been very long since I let myself fall into all of their arms.

And now, here I am, preparing to walk into church like a dutiful daughter.

I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning my forehead against the cool, smooth tile, the contrast a welcome relief.

I should feel guilty, perhaps even ashamed, but those feelings elude me.

Instead, what courses through me is a vibrant sense of life, a thrilling awareness of being more myself than ever before.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a plush towel, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. My skin is still flushed.

A genuine smile tugs at my lips, an expression of pure, unfiltered joy. Then the thought strikes me.

What if I do just burst into flames the moment I cross the church's threshold?

I shake my head at the absurdity of it, drying off quickly before slipping into the most conservative dress I packed.

The high neckline and knee-length hem are strategic choices, masking any hint of the transformative encounters I’ve experienced with three remarkably different, incredibly amazing men.

I grab my purse, smoothing the fabric of my dress with care, and exhale deeply.

It's time to face the music.

I send a quick text to my parents.

>> See you at church.

With that, I step out the door, ready to face whatever awaits.

The church parking lot is overflowing when I pull in.

As I step out of the rental car, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath my feet, my parents are already making their way toward me.

My mom’s face is pinched with barely concealed disapproval, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Why did you waste money on a hotel?” she asks, shaking her head with a hint of exasperation. “You know you could’ve stayed at home.”

“We kept your room just as it was,” my dad adds, his voice softer, laced with a hopeful note. “It’s still your home, Kenzie.”

---