Page 70 of Slap Shot Daddies

When Ally gets up to leave, she wraps me in a tight embrace. “Listen, rest, hydrate, eat whatever you can but try to make it nutritious and not just junk food, and look into vitamins. Come back to work next Monday. Doctor’s orders,” she finishes with a playful wink. “I’ll cover for you. As of now, you have a very nasty stomach bug.”

I hold on to her a little longer than necessary, reluctant to let go, not yet ready to face solitude.

“Thank you, really,” I choke out before letting her go. She gives me a smile and promises to call tomorrow before turning away and heading outside.

The door clicks shut behind Ally. I sink onto the couch, clutching my stomach as if trying to hold myself together.

The quiet sound of the TV show’s credits fades into oblivion, leaving only the low, steady hum of the fridge and the sporadic creaks of the old wooden floorboards beneath me.

The air feels thicker, heavier, like a tangible force pressing down on me, suffocating in its intensity.

This place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Not after spending so many nights intertwined with the guys, laughter echoing around their dining table, or waking up nestled in a tangle of limbs in their oversized bed, the scent of them lingering in the sheets.

I stare at the TV screen, my reflection a ghostly silhouette in the darkened glass. “What the hell am I doing?” I whisper into the void, my voice barely a tremor in the oppressive silence.

I rub my temples with trembling fingers. The nausea has subsided for now, but a persistent, dull ache gnaws at my gut. I try to piece together my cycle, but it’s all a chaotic blur.

I’d been so consumed by them, by the thrill of their presence, the comfort of their touch, I hadn’t noticed the days slipping away like sand through my fingers.

Leaning back, I press my palms into my eyes, as if that will block out the overwhelming weight of it all, the baby, the guys, my parents, the impending storm of consequences.

Would they leave? Would they want to know whose it is? Would it even matter to them? These questions swirl like a storm in my mind.

I exhale shakily, the breath leaving me like a deflated balloon. I know what my parents would say, their voices a haunting echo in my mind. “You’ve ruined your life.”

Tears threaten to spill over, burning hot in my eyes, but I push them back with sheer force of will.

My hand rests gently over my uterus as I lay across the couch.

It feels flat, still “normal”, but there’s a subtle difference.

It’s firmer, almost taut beneath my fingers, where once it was softer.

Slowly, I trace delicate circles over the spot just below my navel, the thought silently creeping in. There’s a life in there.

A rush of warmth floods my chest, melting with a wave of fear. I didn’t know what I expected to feel, but this…it’s more intense than anything I could have imagined.

I picture Braden’s wide grin, the way his eyes light up when he teases me.

I think of Reggie’s easy, infectious laugh, his playful flirting like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

I imagine Ambrose’s steady, grounding presence, the way his hand lingers on the small of my back when no one’s looking, a silent promise of support and care.

Then, the thought of them leaving lingers like a shadow over my heart, making it ache with a dull, persistent pain.

All three losses at once, three people who make me feel wanted, seen and adored.

Would they really stay if this all got serious?

I close my eyes, imagining their reactions, the vivid scenes playing out in my mind.

Braden, his jade eyes wide with surprise, running a hand through his inky hair. “Whoa, that’s way more than I signed up for…”

Reggie, all charm but with a new flicker of nervous detachment beneath his rippling surface. “Lass, no…nothing about me isfathermaterial...”

Then, Ambrose, steady, calm, but his eyes would darken with a shadow of worry and doubt. “You know I already have a son…I can’t afford another child and estranged mother…”

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