Page 95 of Slap Shot Daddies

Does he miss me too?

My fingertips graze the cool surface of the phone as I hesitate, his words reverberating like a drumbeat against my chest.

Pushing myself up from the couch. My eyes, raw from endless tears, stinging with unspoken grief, still refuse to settle into sleep as my thoughts whirl in relentless turbulence.

Grasping the softest, most comforting throw blanket, I slowly make my way to the spare bedroom.

There, among a huddle of blankets, the kittens lie in a peaceful cluster, their tiny chests rising and falling in an effortless, blissful rhythm. The small, dying crackle of the fire in the living room lingers as I lower myself onto the plush rug beside them.

The mother cat, sensing my presence, lifts her head and meets my gaze with sleepy, emerald eyes.

She releases a gentle purr; a rhythmic, resonant sound that fills the quiet room, and instinctively draws her kittens closer with a tender nuzzle.

I watch them intently, tracing the soft contours of their delicate fur, and feel a small thread of my own tension unravel, easing away like frayed fabric slowly mending itself.

These innocent creatures remain blissfully unaware of the burdens that weigh upon me, of heartbreak, of the dizzying turbulence of love that splinters itself among three different men.

Their world is simple. A safe haven powered by warmth, sustenance, and an unconditional, all-encompassing love.

For just a fleeting moment, I long for this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Reggie

I stomp into the kitchen,my boots thudding against the tiled floor, and reach for a protein bar on the counter.

Ambrose hovers in the corner, his presence as ominous as a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury.

He’s been brooding all morning, his silence more volatile than words. Ever since Kenzie’s confession, we’ve avoided discussing things, but today, his mood has curdled into outright hostility.

“Ye gonna glare at me all mornin’ or actually say what’s crawled upyer arse?” I mutter, wrestling the wrapper open with my teeth, the crinkling sound sharp in the tense air.

“You,” he snaps, his voice as sharp as breaking glass, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You’re just…so damn flippant about everything. Like nothing bothers you.”

I scoff, biting into the protein bar, the dense mixture of peanut butter and oats clinging stubbornly to my tongue.

“Ye think this is me not carin’? Jesus, Ambrose, we’ve got a whole mess in our laps, and yer actin’ like I’m the problem ‘cause I’m not sittin’ ‘round mopin’ like you.”

His fist comes down hard on the counter, making the coffee pot rattle and the mugs tremble. “Maybe take something seriously for once, Reggie!”

I shove the protein bar into my pocket, stepping closer, eyes locked with his. “Aye, I take Kenzie seriously. But yellin’ at me like some moody bastard ain’t gonna fix this!”

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching beneath his skin, and his hazel eyes flash with a challenge, daring me to argue. The air between us is thick.

This isn’t about me; it’s about him, lost without Braden to mediate, and without Kenzie to guide us on what the hell she wants.

The car ride is an absolute disaster. Ambrose and I don’t stop bickering the entire journey to the rink. Each word we exchange is as sharp as a blade, every insult just another log fueling the fiery tension between us.

"Yer wound so damn tight, Ambrose," I mutter, trying to keep my eyes on the road. "Ye need a drink, a shag, or a hobby."

His voice is taut with frustration. "And you need to stop pretending everything is fine, Reggie! Braden left, Kenzie’s pregnant, and we’re just supposed to sit back and let things work out?"

I scoff, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while gesturing with the other. "Aye, ‘cause what else can we do? Force her tae talk? Drag Braden home by his ears?"

His hand on the wheel is ironclad, knuckles pale in the light. "At least I’m trying!" he snaps, his voice a pitched note of desperation and anger.

We storm into the rink. The guys notice immediately, their eyes darting between us, but we’re both too stubborn to offer an explanation. We just hit the ice, skating through warmups in tense silence.

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