Page 85 of Slap Shot Daddies

Then, near the curb, I catch sight of Braden, a slim silhouette with a rugged duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His gaze is locked onto his phone, as if hunting for a hidden remedy in the digital abyss.

Relief surges through me. I slam on the brakes. The sudden skidding sending a shower of loose gravel scattering across the ground. I hurriedly leap from the Jeep, my breath materializing in ghostly puffs amid the crisp breeze.

“Braden!” I call out. His head jerks up instantly and those striking green eyes meet mine, softening briefly with surprise before hardening into a determined mask, an abrupt transition from vulnerability to resolve.

He slowly lowers his phone, his eyes flicking nervously between me and the winding road that stretches ahead. I can almost see the strain in the taut muscles of his shoulders, as if he’s bracing for a tidal wave of consequences.

“Don’t go,” I blurt, my voice betraying the tremor of a leaf caught in a wild wind. “Please, can we talk? Just, please, don’t leave yet.”

His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, a flash of tension rippling under his skin. “Kenzie…” he begins, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.

I step nearer, each footfall on the gritty pavement punctuated by the crunch of gravel, almost as if the ground itself protests my hurried approach. “I know you’re hurting, I see that in every line on your face. But running off like this...it’s like you’re dismantling everything we have. Like you’re leaving me. Leaving us.”

His eyes widen for a moment, shadowed with inner conflict. “I’m not abandoning you. I’m trying to hold everything together, to prevent it from all falling apart.”

Tears well up in my eyes, each one threatening to spill freely as I struggle to contain them. “What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

Braden’s eyes, usually sharp with determination, soften with a mix of sadness and simmering frustration, as if he’s been holding back a tempest for too long. “I can’t keep this from Reggie and Ambrose,” he confesses, his voice low and strained.

“Every day I’m out here, I feel like I’m deceiving them, and it’s eating away at me. And you…” His words catch in his throat as he swallows hard, “you shouldn’t have to bear all this weight by yourself. We…”

I reach out, my hand instinctively closing around his rough, calloused fingers. The warmth from his hand steadies me, a brief anchor in the turbulent sea of our emotions.

“I’m terrified, Braden,” I whisper, my voice thick with unshed emotion. “I can’t imagine losing any of you.”

His hand squeezes mine in response, yet the defeat in his eyes tells a story of battles already lost, a silent admission that hope might be slipping away.

“Kenzie.” he murmurs, my name tumbling from his lips as though it holds the weight of his unspoken regrets.

I draw a slow, uncertain breath, both anticipating his next words and dreading them.

“I can’t do this,” he rushes to add, his voice snapping with a raw urgency that reverberates between us. “Not like this. Each time I look at you and pretend ignorance, I feel like I betray them more. They deserve so much more, and you deserve so much more.”

Warm, salty tears escape down my cheeks, carving fragile trails onto my skin as I try to steady the quivering of my heart. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” I plead, my tone barely rising above a whisper. “I just…I need time. Time to sort through all of this.”

The sound of his exhalation is sharp, almost pained, as he sweeps his hand through his unruly hair in a futile attempt to tame the chaos within.

“I understand,” he says, though the strain in his voice makes it clear he’s at his wit’s end.

“But I can’t keep smiling at them, keeping up the charade, when everything is so wrong.” He winces, regret dancing in his eyes. “It’s just, I feel like I’m being used. I’ve been used before, and it taught me that even when something feels good, it can be wrong.”

Each word cuts. But before I can muster a reply, the soft, rhythmic hum of approaching tires breaks the heavy silence. The Uber slows to a stop on the gravel, its tires crunching with a hesitant finality.

“Braden, please…” I whisper desperately, my voice barely audible above the hum of the arriving car.

With a gentleness that belies the storm raging in his eyes, he brushes a trembling thumb across my cheek, wiping away a solitary tear. After a moment that stretches into an eternity, he withdraws his hand.

“I need this space. But I promise, I’ll come back,” he assures me quietly.

The car door slams with a resonant thud that echoes in my ears as the Uber begins its slow departure. Standing on the sidewalk, I watch the car recede into the night.

Its humming engine fades into the distance, while the glow of red taillights diminishes to mere pinpoints, like the last embers of a fire that I’d hoped was just beginning to warm me.

I pivot sharply on my heel, my worn leather boots emitting crisp clunks with every measured step across the gravel.

I get in my car, and as I’m driving back to the boy’s house, my vision blurry with tears. I park outside the house and sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Time to actually do something. Time for action.

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