Page 86 of Slap Shot Daddies

With each steady stride toward the front door, it feels as though my legs are guided by a force independent of my will, but deep inside, I know that I truly long to step across that threshold.

The tension in the air is almost tangible, a silent threat that hovers between hope and despair.

Determination burns in my chest as I enact my plan, even as the voices of Ambrose and Reggie echo behind me. Their words, laden with desperation and care, try to anchor me back to what once was.

“Please,lass, you don’t have to leave!” Reggie’s plea resonates as his soft, trembling hands reach out, tugging gently at the boxes of my things that I clutch against my chest.

Ambrose echoes his sentiment, his voice heavy with worry. “Please, Kenzie, don’t! We don’t know what’s going on with Braden, but we care about you, we want what we had!”

Their words momentarily make me pause, the realization warming a corner of my heart with the knowledge that they share my feelings. But that warmth swiftly turns cold.

Everything is unrecognizable now, marred by changes too complex to articulate even as I stand there in a moment of intimacy amid chaos.

Even as the two captivating men continue to express their concern with quiet urgency, I cannot bring myself to unburden the truth, the truth that I am pregnant, a secret shrouded in betrayal because the one who was supposed to share this moment with me has already fled.

That revelation stings like a fresh rash against my skin. I pause and slowly turn, glancing back at their meticulously kept home.

My eyes drink in every detail. The inviting plush sofa beside the pristine, crisp white walls edged in delicate crown molding,the large television affixed to the wall above a modern wooden coffee table, perpetually littered with neatly stacked books and unopened mail, and the kitchen, bright with white cabinetry and shimmering silvery-gray marble that evokes memories of mornings spent tangled in laughter and bare skin.

I recall the mornings when we’d all dance together in the kitchen, naked under the blissful melody of a favorite track, as our bodies intertwined and our inhibitions dissolved into passionate abandon.

Every inch of the house bears witness to a wild intimacy, riddled with the echoes of pleasure and regret. I long, for a brief, aching second, to have stolen one final look at each room, the secrets held in every corner, each bedroom, each bathroom and every space where our history was brutally, yet beautifully, inscribed.

But I know I just cannot trust them with the weight of my news.

Without exchanging another word, I retreat back through the front door, noting the confusion etched on the faces of the men who watch as I depart.

I don’t stop, don’t engage with their concerned murmurs. The crushing exhaustion clings to me like a threadbare cloak worn thin from relentless burdens and heartbreak.

In my mind, Braden’s hasty departure replays. Tears begin to form again, blurring the streetlights into halos of golden luminescence while the chilly night air pricks my damp cheeks.

My hand drifts involuntarily to my stomach, pressing lightly as if to shield the fragile life growing within.

In a flurry of anxious thoughts, I imagine a future where Braden is gone for good, picturing myself alone in a dimly lit kitchen, struggling over and over again to clutch the right words to break the news to Reggie and Ambrose…that I am pregnant and that Braden’s “vacation” was his escape.

A car glides by, its tires murmuring against the asphalt, pulling me momentarily from the spiraling vortex of my thoughts. I swipe my sleeve across my face, a futile attempt to quiet the rising sob that threatens to burst forth.

Briefly, I steal one last look at the house that once felt so familiar.

I climb back into my Jeep. As I drive away, I glance into the rearview mirror, watching the house shrink into a distant, blurred silhouette, a mere shadow of possibilities that will never be.

Once again, my hand moves instinctively over my belly, as if seeking reassurance from this silent, persistent reminder of my uncertain future.

“What the hell am I going to do?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Reggie

I sit aloneon the soft couch. The living room is dimly lit, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the blue screen of the television, but my eyes aren't on it.

Braden's absence hangs heavy in the air and Kenzie's disappearance feels like a void.

Ambrose is secluded in his room, the door firmly closed as if to shut out the world.

When I knocked earlier, he offered nothing more than a gruff mumble about needing space. I understand; we're all disoriented, struggling to find our footing in this sudden upheaval.

But me? I feel hollowed out.

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