Page 84 of Slap Shot Daddies

Reggie and I remain slumped on the couch, the worn-out cushions sagging beneath our combined weight. The only sound breaking the silence is the low, persistent hum of the fridge in the background.

“This really screws up the season,” I mutter, my voice barely rising above a whisper. “Coach is gonna lose it.”

Reggie nods silently, his eyes fixed on the scuffed wooden floor. “And what about Kenzie?” he says, his voice tinged with worry. “She’s becoming close with all of us. What if she thinks Braden leaving means we’re all pulling away?”

The mere thought constricts my chest, a dull ache settling in. The memory of her lips brushing against mine from our morning together lingers vividly.

The warmth of that connection is something I’m not ready to lose.

I don’t want to lose her.

I cast a sidelong glance at Reggie. “You think Braden’s regretting…all of this?”

Reggie exhales heavily, running a hand through his tousled red hair. “I dunno. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe things got serious, and he’s not ready for serious.”

I frown, unease knotting in my stomach. “We’re all in this together, though. He knew what this was.”

Reggie leans back into the couch, his gaze softening as he stares into the distance. “Yeah, but feelings creep up on you, don’t they? Maybe it hit him harder than he thought. Maybe heneeds to figure his head out before he can come back and do this right.”

The truth stings, a sharp pang of understanding.

Relationships are tangled webs, especially this one.

I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen as I stare at our group chat.

The last message from Braden is still there.

>> Gone for a bit.

I type out a message.

>> We need to talk soon.

No response.

The house feels colder, an emptiness settling in, and I realize how crazy it is to see a roommate as closer than a brother.

I miss him already.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kenzie

The secondI catch Braden’s name lighting up in the group chat, my stomach clenches so fiercely it’s as if invisible hands are twisting it into knots.

I feel my fingertips over the cool surface of my phone, the screen’s glow momentarily pulsing under my touch.

With barely a thought, I snatch the keys hanging from the hook by the door, their metallic tinkle slicing through the stark quiet as I bolt outside.

The drive transforms into a frantic dance of jerky stops and starts. I dart between cars, my eyes flitting between the zigzagging traffic and the rhythmic, insistent beat of my heart, which drowns out even the distant chatter of my radio.

Every red light looms like a deliberate countdown, its duration stretching into an eternal chastisement as my pulse hammers in my ears, echoing against the backdrop of idle engines.

A sour tang of panic overpowers my senses, a bitter contrast to the fleeting cool aftertaste of mint from my rushed brush earlier.

Sweat slicks my palms, undermining the clasp I have on the wheel. As I turn onto the familiar street where the boys live.

My eyes dart to the driveway only to find it abandoned, a stark, empty space that amplifies my concern.

---