Page 72 of Slap Shot Daddies

A pang of disappointment tightens like a coil in my chest. "Any chance you know when she’ll be back for sure? Or…maybe you could let her know I stopped by?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light, hopeful.

She arches a brow, a hint of suspicion in her gaze. "I can have her call you when she’s back, if you’d like."

I push a bit harder, letting my accent roll out thick and warm. "Ah, just let her know Reggie stopped in. Reggie MacDonald. From the Marauders.” I grin, trying to inject some levity. "Tell her I miss her."

Her lips twitch, but not quite in the way I hoped. "I’ll be sure to pass that along. I’m sure she’ll be delighted," she says, her tone impeccably polite, but I can sense the gentle brush-off.

A flush of heat creeps up my neck, an unwelcome surge of embarrassment.

Bloody hell. I sound like some desperate fan. This is not the suave persona I was aiming for.

"Cheers," I mutter, stepping back toward the door, my confidence somewhat deflated, feeling like an idiot as I retreat from the clinic.

I sit in my car, fingers drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel, and stare out at the clinic’s stark brick facade.

I pick up my phone and navigate to the group chat with Braden, Ambrose, and me in it. The screen displays no new messages, just the last few check-ins from earlier this morning.

Braden>> Anything from her yet?

Ambrose>> Nope. Ally said the same thing, that she’s resting.

My thumbs fly over the screen as I type quickly, urgency guiding my movements.

>> Just went by her clinic. She’s still out. They said all week. Gettin’ a bit worried now.

I watch the screen intently, waiting as the familiar little dots appear and disappear, teasing me with anticipation.

Braden responds first.

>> Care package time??

Ambrose>> Ally said NO. Let her rest.

I exhale deeply, leaning back in my seat as a tightness clutches my chest, constricting each breath.

>> Maybe we just text her again? Check in like normal? We might be pushing too hard.

Silence hangs heavy for a moment.

Then, those elusive dots again, appearing, disappearing, as though they’re both second-guessing every word.

Ambrose>> Fine.

Braden>> Yeah, texting is probably better.

I close my eyes briefly, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. At least we’re on the same page. Yet, a gnawing sensation twists in my gut.

Something still doesn’t feel right.

I open our chat with Kenzie, staring at the blinking cursor, the silence echoing louder than any words.

>> Hey, lass. Missin’ you. Hope you’re startin’ to feel better.

I hit send, watching as the message delivers, but there’s no reply. Just that empty silence, stretching on and on, a void that seems to deepen with each ticking second.

I drive home, but my mind's not really on the task. The engine hums steadily beneath me, while the radio murmurs softly in the background, playing some melancholic country tune about heartbreak and cheap beer. It's there, but it's just noise.

My thoughts are with her.

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