Page 83 of Slap Shot Daddies

I step closer, determination edging my voice. “We’re worried about you, man. We’re a team. And we’re…more than that now, right?”

Braden exhales slowly, his breath a whisper in the still, heavy air, avoiding our eyes. “I just need space.”

The words sting, cutting through the camaraderie like a blade. We had just shared an incredible night with Kenzie, and now he’s pulling away, the warmth of that memory already fading.

I glance at Reggie and his eyes reflect my own concern and confusion. Something is undeniably wrong.

Reggie and I pull into the driveway, the tires crunching over the gravel, each pebble making a distinct pop under the weight of the car.

I turn off the engine, but neither of us makes a move to exit.

We both sense an unsettling undercurrent in the air, something that doesn't quite fit.

When we finally step inside, the silence is palpable, hanging in the air like a thick fog, devoid of the usual comforting sounds; no music, no TV, no Braden’s voice filling the space with his jokes.

We find Braden in his room, the door ajar, revealing him hurriedly stuffing clothes into a duffel bag. The metallic zip of the bag scrapes harshly over the fabric.

His face is drawn tight, his shoulders rigid with tension. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest.

“What’s going on, Braden?”

He keeps his head down, focused on his task. “Taking a trip.”

Reggie shifts uncomfortably beside me. “Trip? Where?”

His hesitation stretches the moment, an awkward pause that feels like an eternity. “Russia.”

I blink in surprise. “Russia? What the hell, man?”

Braden finally meets my gaze. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but there’s something else lurking there, guilt, perhaps, a silent confession. “I need space. Clear my head. I’ll be back…a few weeks, maybe a month.”

The air between us grows heavy, as if charged with static. My heart thuds loudly in my chest, an involuntary reaction to the unease I can’t shake. This doesn’t feel right. “Did you tell Kenzie?”

He gives a brief nod. “Texted her.”

I open my mouth, ready to dig deeper, to question this sudden departure, but he slings the bag over his shoulder, brushing past us with a determination that brooks no argument.

The front door closes with a soft, definitive click, leaving us in silence.

Reggie and I stand frozen for a moment, our breaths barely stirring the stillness, before we slowly trail to the front window. There, we watch as Braden tosses his well-worn bag over his shoulder.

He steps out the door and starts walking away. He doesn't glance back, not even a fleeting look.

Reggie lets out a sharp exhale, his hands finding their place on his hips, the tension radiating off him.

"Russia?" he exclaims, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "Who just ups and decides on Russia outta nowhere?"

I shake my head slowly, rubbing the tight knot of tension that has settled into my neck. The house, once filled with Braden's presence, now feels cavernous, the silence pressing down like a heavy blanket.

"This is bad timing," I say, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. "We need him. The team needs him. We’re on the brink of a championship run, for God’s sake."

Reggie collapses onto the couch with a thud, his knee bouncing with restless energy. "He's always been a bit...you know, a wandering soul and all that," he muses, his voice tinged with resignation. "But this? After everything with Kenzie? It feels like he's running from something."

I sit down beside him, tension tightening my jaw. "Did something happen with her? Did they fight?" I ask, the words heavy with concern.

Reggie shrugs, a helpless gesture. "Last I heard, everything was good. He said he texted her, but...damn, man. He didn’t even say goodbye properly."

I pick absentmindedly at a loose thread on my jeans, trying to untangle the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind. Braden’s face lingers in my mind, my eyes welling with tears at the thought.

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