Page 79 of Slap Shot Daddies

I chew at the inside of my cheek, anxiety twisting my insides into knots. The need to confide in someone feels urgent, pressing. If there’s anyone I can trust with this, it’s him.

But how do I even begin to say it?

My throat constricts with apprehension. The bustling clinic, with its constant hum of activity and staff milling about,is no place for this conversation. I need somewhere private, somewhere that feels safe.

Taking a steadying breath, I turn the wheel sharply, steering us toward a small, secluded park nestled down the street.

“Where are we going?” Braden asks, his voice gentle, devoid of pressure.

“Somewhere quiet,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

The park is nearly deserted, with only a few dedicated joggers tracing the winding paths in the distance and a couple leisurely strolling with their golden retriever trotting alongside them.

I park my Jeep beneath a large oak tree, its branches weaving a dance of dappled shadows over the hood. I linger in the driver's seat for a moment, my heart pounding.

Braden sits beside me, silent, his gaze steady and patient, waiting for me to make the next move.

With fingers that betray a slight tremor, I unclip my seatbelt and step out into the crisp air, feeling the crunch of gravel under my sneakers as I make my way to a weathered wooden picnic table nestled near the edge of the tree line.

Braden follows, his footsteps soft, the gentle scrape of his shoes intermingling with the rustling leaves overhead. He asks no questions, simply accompanying me with a quiet presence.

We settle onto the bench, the cool wood pressing into the backs of my thighs, and I clasp my hands tightly in my lap to steady their shaking. The silence stretches between us.

Braden’s knee lightly bumps against mine, and he offers me a small, reassuring smile. “Okay,” he says softly, his voice a calming balm. “I’m here. Whatever’s going on…just tell me.”

I swallow hard, feeling a knot in my throat and a tightness in my chest. This is the moment I’ve been dreading, yet it is also the moment I need.

This is it.

My fingers feel dwarfed in his as he gently cradles my hands in his lap, his thumbs tracing gentle patterns over my knuckles.

His touch radiates warmth and steadiness, contrasting with my pulse, which thunders wildly as if trying to break free from my chest. I fix my gaze on our intertwined hands for a moment before daring to meet his eyes.

They’re tender, filled with concern and so open that it almost undoes me.

I draw a shaky breath, the chill in the air stinging my lungs. My lips quiver as I force the words out. "I’m…pregnant," I whisper, the confession hanging heavy in the air.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening in surprise, yet he doesn’t let go of my hands. He takes a moment to process, his jaw clenching slightly before he releases a measured breath. "Okay," he says carefully, almost as though testing the word. "Wow…okay."

Tears cloud my vision, and I wipe them away quickly. "But…I don’t want to tell the others. Not yet." My words are edged with a mix of fear and vulnerability.

His head tilts slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Why…why just me, Kenz?" His voice remains gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt threading through it.

I tighten my latch on his hands. "I trust you. And I…I’m scared, Braden. I don’t know what they’ll say. What any of you will say. I just…I needed to tell someone."

He exhales sharply, glancing away briefly before locking eyes with me again. "I get it," he finally says, his voice softening like a soothing balm. "But…this is big. And I, God, Kenzie, I’m excited. Scared, but excited. I’ll be here for you. Always."

I release a heavy breath, relief washing over me.

Braden’s eyes lock onto mine, searching for reassurance, yet beneath the surface of his excitement, a flicker of uncertaintylingers. I can sense it in the slight tension of his grasp, the subtle twitch of his jaw as he processes my request.

“You’re asking me to keep this from them,” he murmurs, the words barely audible over the rustling leaves. “From Reggie. From Ambrose. That’s…that’s tough, Kenz.”

A wave of guilt washes over me, heavy and suffocating like a thick fog. I nod, my vision blurring as tears threaten to spill over.

“I know. I hate asking you that. But…I need time. Please.” My voice wavers, a plea wrapped in desperation.

His thumb traces a soft line along the inside of my wrist, a gentle caress that anchors me amidst the turmoil.

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