KENDALL
It’s crazy to think that I’m now three months pregnant and I’m no closer to
coming up with a way to tell Aleksi about this baby without him tossing out
his entire new life just to ‘do the right thing’, which I know he’ll try to do.
The comment section on Trey’s interview is finally starting to die down,
and I’ve blocked my mother three times since the photos of me and Tarron
went live. She only ever texts when she wants something:
So happy to see you reconciling. I always liked him.
Of course, she did because he always bought her nice gifts and gave her
tickets to his games as some sort of attempt to help mend our relationship. It
took him two years into our relationship for him to realize she was just a user.
You blocked my last number. I’m trying here Kenny. If he gets a
new start, why don’t I?
Blocked again.
Really? Blocked again? I figured you’ve changed. I thought
maybe you care how I’m doing and how I could use some help.
But of course not. Still selfish ‘ol high and mighty doctor. Tarron
was always too good for you.
She only finds me when there’s money in it. I hate the idea that Tarron
leaked enough information that suggests I’m pregnant. She’s the last person I
want to know about it. She didn’t even offer congratulations. Why would she?
She always told me in a drunken fluster how having a kid was the worst
decision she ever made.
Another text comes through, and I cringe before looking down.
My heart immediately mends the second I see who it is. Relief and a smile
come to my cheeks.
Vivi: I’m kidnapping you.
Peyton: Liar. Practice is over for the day.
Me: I’m working.
Vivi: We’re going shopping. Baby stuff. No arguing.
Me: I don’t even have a nursery. I live in a shoebox.
Peyton: Then we’ll call it “creative spatial planning.”
Vivi: I’m a genius at small spaces. Bring your comfy shoes.
Me: I don’t need anything.
Peyton: You need sunshine and serotonin.
Vivi: And decaf lattes. I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Momma Bear
I stare at the phone a full minute before I sigh and grab my keys.
They mean well. They always do, and after everything with my mom and
Tarron, somehow, they knew I needed this.
Of course they did.
The shop downtown is all soft lighting and pale wood. Creams, pale pinks,
blues, and yellows. Every stuffed animal imaginable lines the shelves, along
with baby books, luxury breast pumps, and strollers that cost more than my
car.
The sunlight spills through the wide front window. It smells like clean linen
and lavender, and for the first time in weeks, my shoulders relax.
Not because I need retail therapy, but because being here, with my friends,
embracing this baby and making this a fun experience for me, lets me revel a
little in the fact that this baby is real. It’s not just something between me and
my OBGYN anymore. Others know and they might even be more excited
about it all then me.
Rows of tiny sweaters and impossibly small socks hang from copper racks.
Peyton’s already fingering a line of plush animals, muttering about how the
giraffe looks like her podcast co-host. Vivi’s holding up a delicate muslin
blanket printed with tiny stars.
“This is the one,” she says decisively. “Gender-neutral, classy, and machine
washable. We’re already nailing this.”
I laugh and then take a sip of my drink they got me before we met up. “I
don’t even have a crib yet.”
“Then start with something small,” Peyton says. “Every story starts
somewhere.”
I drift toward the back, fingertips trailing over soft fabrics and wooden
mobiles shaped like clouds. For a second, I let myself imagine it. A tiny
nursery corner in my studio apartment, the soft light through the window, the
steady rhythm of a heartbeat against my chest.
I’ve made every decision in my life with logic and precision. Med school,
residency, fellowships, the NFL team I worked for before the Hawkeyes.
Each one was planned, deliberate, and earned.
This… this wasn’t.
And yet, somehow, it feels like the first thing that’s ever been right. The
only thing that feels off. The baby’s dad has no clue.
Vivi appears beside me, holding up a tiny onesie that says rookie of the
year. I can’t help it—I smile.
She grins back. “That’s the first real smile I’ve seen from you in weeks.”
“It’s hormones,” I tease.
“Bullshit.” She bumps my shoulder. “That’s joy, and you’re allowed to feel
it.”
She’s right, it is joy. I can’t pretend that being a mother isn’t something I’ve
always thought I’d be, even if the idea of turning into my mother terrifies me.
I already love this baby so much. I just wish that the nagging complications
of who the father is, isn’t the final nail in my career coffin. It would be easier
to tell him if I didn’t think dropping this baby bomb on him didn’t ruin his
new happiness.
Across the store, Peyton calls out, “You know who’s back in town, right?”
The air shifts.
Vivi shoots her a warning look, but Peyton barrels on, unbothered. “The
guys started trickling in yesterday. Training camp orientation is this week. I
heard Aleksi’s flight landed last night.”
My heart gives a traitorous thump.
I smooth my hand over my stomach, grounding myself.
Vivi rubs my arm. “Don’t worry. He probably has terrible jet lag. You
probably have another day or two to gather what you’re going to tell him,”
she says, glancing down at the now, three month tiny baby bump that’s at the
point of not being able to hide anymore.
For the last month, I just looked bloated and my ‘bigger’ scrubs did most of
the hiding for me. But now I’ve “popped” per Isla and my little baby bump is
pretty hard to pass off as just putting on a few pounds.
“Are you going to tell him?” Peyton asks gently.
“Yes, but I’m afraid to.” The word comes out wobbly and unsure. “He’s got
a life in Finland now. A girlfriend. I saw the photos.”
Vivi frowns. “You don’t know that—”
“I do,” I say quietly. “And even if I didn’t, it doesn’t matter. He’d drop
everything if I told him. His career, his team… her. He’d feel like he had to, I
just know it. I don’t want him to drop everything for me and this baby. I can
raise it on my own.”
Peyton shakes her head. “Don’t you think you should let him choose what’s
worth giving up? I mean, if you’re willing to let him have a choice is any of
this?”
“I’m protecting the baby, and him… and the Hawkeyes.”
“Okay, I get it… I do. So I’m going to say this one last thing. And I mean
this with love… but is there any chance that you’re protecting yourself from
fear of rejection?” Peyton asks.
For a moment, no one speaks. Then Vivi reaches out and takes my hand,
squeezing once. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us. You have your reason
and we’ll support you.” she says softly. “Our job today is to make sure you
have everything you need. No matter what. If you want to downplay this
whole thing to Aleksi and give him an easy out, then do what you have to.”
The pressure behind my eyes builds, but I blink it back. Peyton’s probably
right but I just can’t go to that place right now. Rejection has been such a
huge part of my life. My mother, Tarron, the media. Even medical school has
a lot of moments where someone else is picked over you.
Admission letters, first year residency applications, everything has a
waiting list and a line of people more qualified than you.
We wander for another half hour, falling into easy chatter. Peyton debates
stroller models like she’s prepping for a sports draft. Vivi insists every baby
deserves a plush blanket “so soft it makes angels jealous.”
I know Peyton and Vivi mean well, which is why I take into consideration
everything they say, even if I need to process it for more time before I can
answer it honestly.
For today, I’m going to allow myself to bask in being here. Surrounded by
pastel chaos and people who refuse to let me feel alone.
Vivi’s voice breaks through my reverie. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I smile, small but sure. “Actually, I think I am.”
Peyton slings an arm around my shoulders. “Good. Because we’re doing
this together. You and baby bubble get the whole WAG village.”
I laugh softly. “I think we’re gonna need it.”
And if I have to play along with Tarron’s redemption narrative to keep this
peace intact, so be it.
He can use my name for good press. It keeps the Hawkeyes, Aleksi… and
Penelope’s GM position safely out of the media’s line of fire. And I can use
Tarron’s name for protection.
Penelope has done so much for me. I owe her a lot and dragging the start of
her legacy as the first female GM in the NHL into the mud isn’t fair. She
doesn’t deserve that.
This option is at least transactional.
No one gets hurt.
Aleksi
The walk from The Commons to the stadium takes maybe five minutes, but
I’m practically buzzing by the time I hit the second block.
Back home, finally.
The three months in Finland did what I needed it to—reset my head, refill
the tank. Between helping coach my nephew’s peewee team, sauna nights
with my mom, and my sister force-feeding me home cooking, I actually
feel… good. Grounded. Ready to take on this season
I didn’t text Kendall. Not even once.
She asked for space, and I gave it to her. Even when it felt like it was
cutting off my oxygen. I can’t count the number of times I wrote something
and then deleted it before I sent it. How many times I stalked her photos and
the team’s socials trying to get any glimpse of her and how she’s doing.
And when those photos with Tarron hit the internet, I tried not to read into
them. The dinner, the hand on her back, the kiss on the cheek, the little bundle
comment in his interview that made me throw my cell phone against the wall
of my sister’s living room. That cost me a brand new phone and a full
interrogation about Kendall from a nosy twin sister.
I told myself it didn’t matter. That maybe she’d finally moved on.
But the truth? The thought of her with him again nearly drove me to
booking a flight and coming home early to make one last ditch effort to make
her see that trying to figure this out between us is worth the risk.
It’s late afternoon when I spot a row of boutique storefronts across the
street, pastel awnings glowing. I’m halfway past when something—someone
—catches my eye.
Blonde hair. A soft laugh. Hand curved protectively over her stomach.
I stop cold.
She’s inside a baby store, standing by a white crib while Peyton and Vivi
hover nearby. They’re laughing about something. Peyton’s gesturing wildly,
Vivi pretending to measure the rails like she’s about to redecorate the entire
place.
But Kendall… She’s different. She is softer somehow… practically
glowing.
And then I see it.
The curve. The swell of her belly beneath her shirt.
The air leaves my lungs.
Fuck, she’s pregnant. Does this mean I lost her for good? Was Tarron’s
interview right? Are they really working on their relationship?
Before I can think, I’m crossing the street. I don’t even look for traffic as
my duffel bounces against my leg.
The door hits the bell overhead with a clang when I shove it open.
“Kendall—”
Her head jerks up, eyes wide. It takes a second for her to register it’s me,
but when she does, there’s a flicker of something—panic, maybe—before she
smooths it away.
“Hey, Aleksi,” Peyton says quickly, her tone a little too bright.
“Did you just get back?” Vivi adds, but something in her eyes says she
already knew I was in town.
Vivi’s grabbing onto the conversation like a lifeline when she’s usually cool
and calm.
“Yeah,” I manage, still catching my breath. “My flight landed yesterday.”
Peyton nods, smiling too hard. “No time for jet lag, huh?”
Vivi shoots Kendall a look, then says, “Well, it was great to see you. Peyton
and I were just going to…” she glances wildly around the store.
“Go over here,” Peyton finishes, dragging Vivi toward a shelf of picture
books with the subtlety of a bulldozer.
And just like that, it’s only us.
“Hi,” Kendall says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re back.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “You look… good.” My eyes drop instinctively to
her stomach.
And before I can stop myself, the words are out:
“You’re pregnant.”
Her lips part, her hand automatically finding her belly. “Um… yeah, I am.”
The smile I manage isn’t forced—it’s just… heavy. Weighted with
everything I’m trying not to say.
“Congratulations,” I tell her softly. “I know this is something you really
wanted.”
She nods once. “It is.”
“Tarron’s a lucky guy.”
That’s when her eyebrows knit together, confusion flashing across her face
“Tarron?”
“You’re back together,” I say carefully. “I saw his interview, and the photo
of you two at the restaurant.”
Her expression hardens. “We’re not back together. And he’s not the father.”
The air changes. “He’s not?” I ask, my pulse picking up.
She hesitates, sending a quick glance toward Vivi and Peyton who then cut
eye contact as if they aren’t watching us carefully.
It has me wondering how much she told them about Nevada and the motel.
But is any of that relevant now?
“No,” she says, swallowing hard. Her eyes flick back to me. “I’m three
months pregnant, Aleksi.”
The words echo like they’re fighting to find gravity. The look on her face
suggests that three months should mean something to me
“You’re three months pregnant,” I repeat slowly, searching her face for a
clue… a hint.
My mind scrambles to do the math. And then it hits me, though my hope is
too fragile to allow myself to believe that it’s possible. After all, we used
protection every time. But I can’t help it, I want the baby to be mine no
matter how unlikely that could be. “Three months as in—”
“Three months as in… the motel in Nevada,” she finishes quietly.
My heart stutters.
“The baby’s mine?” I ask, afraid to believe it, afraid not to.
She nods. “I hadn’t been with anyone in over a year before that. And I
haven’t been with anyone since you. The baby is yours.”
For a second, the world tilts—like the whole damn planet just shifted under
my feet.
Then the smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. It’s not just relief,
it’s flat out joy. Stupid, overwhelming, bone-deep joy.
My duffel drops to the floor with a loud thud, and I don’t even care.
My eyes go to her belly—the small, perfect curve that’s carrying my child.
Our child.
Kendall, the woman I can’t stop thinking about, is carrying my baby.
It’s the best news of my life.
I take a step closer, fighting back the sudden burn in my chest. I want to
scoop her up into my arms and kiss her. Fuck, I’ve missed her so much, but
the last time I saw her, she asked for space. I don’t know if my reaction to
wanting to hold her would be welcomed or not.
But God, I want to.
“Can I—” I start, motioning toward her stomach.
She nods.
I reach out slowly, both hands settling on the gentle curve of her abdomen.
Warm and soft, and so much more real than the social media pictures of her
that I’ve been staring at for the last three months that we’ve been apart.
The moment I touch her, something inside me snaps into place.
It’s like breathing again after being held under water for far too long.
Her hands lift, sliding over mine. Her touch is hesitant but familiar,
steadying me in a way nothing else ever has.
Then her fingers brush against my right hand, catching on the band of
athletic tape still wrapped around my finger.
She looks down, then up at me. “You’re still wearing it?”
I glance at the ring, at her, then back again. There’s too much I want to say,
but one question wins out.
“How long have you known?” I ask, and I can feel my pulse everywhere—
neck, wrists, even in my throat.
She hesitates, her hands still covering mine where they rest on her stomach.
“About six weeks,” she says quietly. “I took a test the night after dinner with
Tarron.”
At the mention of his name, something sharp twists behind my ribs, but I
stay quiet, waiting.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” she goes on, voice trembling just a little. “I took
another one. And another. And by the sixth, I realized I wasn’t in denial, I was
just wasting money.”
A breath of a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite everything.
“Sounds like something you’d do.”
But the humor dies fast. Because none of it explains why I had to find out
like this.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Kendall?”
Her fingers slip away from mine. She folds her arms, like she’s bracing for
impact. “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Bullshit,” I say before I can stop myself. I don’t like the fact that I cursed
at her but she can’t possibly think that a baby doesn’t change everything.
“You think I’d find out you were pregnant with my kid and it wouldn’t
change anything?”
Her chin lifts, stubborn as hell. “You had your life in Finland. Your family.
Your team. A girlfriend—”
That word stops me. “A what?”
She blinks. “The woman in your pictures. The brunette. The one you took
skating and got ice cream with. The one your mom loves.”
It takes a second before I realize she’s serious, and then I rack my brain for
any brunette I spent time with in Finland but I didn’t spend any time with
anyone… except for my sister who came back from France early with dyed
hair. If you ask me, she looks better as a blonde but after thirty-four years of
knowing my sister, I know better than to comment on her hair.
“You mean Saara? My twin sister?”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh my God.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “There’s no one in Finland I’m seeing. You
really thought I moved on that fast? Or frankly… at all?”
“I thought your sister was in France? And then you didn’t call,” she says,
voice small. “You didn’t text. And after Tarron’s interview, and the photos…
it just seemed like maybe it was for the best if everyone thought it was his,
and you could keep living your life. I didn’t want to—”
“Saara internship finished early. And you didn’t want to what?”
She meets my eyes then, and there’s so much guilt and sadness tangled in
hers that it knocks the air out of me. “Ruin things for you.”
I blink. “Ruin things for me?”
“You’d have dropped everything,” she says, her words rushing now like
she’s afraid if she stops, she’ll lose her nerve. “You’d have given up the team,
your career, your whole life, just to do what you thought was right. And I
couldn’t let you do that. What if this doesn’t work?”
My heart’s pounding. “I’m not Tarron.”
“I know that,” she says, voice cracking. “But the league doesn’t. The
medical board doesn’t. If they found out, it’d look like the same story all over
again—doctor and player, scandal and suspension. You’d be labeled, and I’d
lose everything I’ve worked for. I just… I can’t go through that again. And all
the work you and your father put into your hockey career. That would have all
been for nothing if they benched you, or traded you… or worse.”
Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “So I needed to protect the little bit of
peace I had left. For me. For the baby. I was going to find a way to tell you
once I thought of a way to make sure you didn’t drop your life for us.”
The silence between us feels like it could crack the floor. I should be angry.
And part of me is. Not angry that she didn’t tell me. I’m upset that she
doesn’t trust me enough to tell me and let me fix this between us. I’m upset
that she thought she had to go through all of this alone.
“You really thought I’d find out that the baby is mine and then I would do
what Tarron did to you?” I finally ask.
She looks up, tears clinging to her lashes. “No, I think you’d do the
opposite. I think you’d pick me and the baby over everything even if it’s not
what you want,” she says. “I think you’re the kind of man who would
sacrifice your own happiness for responsibility and duty. But I can’t let you
do that for me… for us.”
Jesus. She actually believes that.
“You didn’t even give me the chance,” I say quietly.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. I want to grab her. I want
to kiss her. I want to tell her she’s not alone in this—not for one more second.
But she’s shaking, and I can tell she’s been holding this together with tape
and stubbornness for weeks.
So instead, I do the only thing that feels right.
I put my hand back on her stomach.
The smallest smile pulls at her mouth. Then she reaches into her bag and
takes out her phone. “I recorded something at my last appointment,” she says.
“Do you want to hear it?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
She hits play.
And then I hear it—the heartbeat.
For a second, the world tilts again. I’m not even aware of breathing.
That’s our baby. Our heartbeat. Beating because of one impossible night
that was never supposed to happen.
I look up, and Kendall’s watching me, uncertain, like she’s waiting for me
to break.
Instead, I grin. “That’s our kid,” I say softly.
She nods. “Yeah. That’s our kid.”
A laugh bursts out of me, pure and unfiltered. I run a hand over my face,
still half in shock, half dizzy with something that feels a hell of a lot like joy.
“God, I don’t even know what to do right now. Half of me wants to go skate a
lap around the city, and the other half wants to never stop touching you.”
Her laugh is small but real. “You don’t have to do anything, Aleksi.”
I meet her eyes and smile. “Too late. I already am.”
“We still need to talk and figure this out. No interviews with the media
blurting out that a little bundle is coming, okay?”
“What’s there to figure out? We’re having a baby.”
“Please Aleksi…”
“Okay. We’ll do this your way.”
“Thank you. For now, you need to get to orientation,” she says.
“Oh shit… I completely forgot what the hell I was doing the minute I saw
you in the window.”
She smiles. “You need to go. We’ll talk later. I still don’t know how this
happened since we used protection. You used a condom every time, right?”
“Of course I did.”
She nods and then looks down at my hands as if still trying to piece
together how this happened.
“I mean, I ran out of the condoms I brought in my duffle but luckily we had
the one from the vending machine.”
Her eyes shoot up to stare back at me, her face turning white as a ghost, her
eyes darkening like a storm rolling in, and her jaw dropping. “You used the
condoms that have been sitting in a vending machine, in the middle of a
blazing hot desert, for who knows how long? Did you even check if they
were expired?”
My stomach drops. Dammit, this is my fault… isn’t it?
In my defense, it was a desperate situation. Kendall was begging for more
and she was only giving me one night. I wasn’t thinking about anything else
other than getting back inside of her. The vending machine condoms looked
like salvation at the time. Not exactly the best combination for being
concerned with reading fine print.
“I mean… probably?” I offer weakly.
She just stares, her jaw slightly dropped.
“Okay, maybe not.”
For a beat, neither of us speaks. Then she lets out a breath that sounds
halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “And apparently fertile as hell.”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, but she shakes her head instead.
“Go. You need to get to orientation before you get fined or benched. We have
enough on our plate to worry about making more waves. We’ll talk later.”
I bend to grab my duffel off the floor where I dropped it and swing it over
my shoulder. Then I walk back toward the door, still watching her over my
shoulder. I don’t want to leave. I want to find a place to take her, somewhere
quiet where we can make plans but I know she’s right. I have to go or I’ll get
fined for not showing up.
As I step back out of the baby shop boutique, one thought hits me:
I’ve faced playoff pressure, broken bones, open heart surgery and brutal
hits, but none of it has ever felt as terrifying—or as right—as this does.
