ALEKSI
The usual smells of the Hawkeyes stadium hit me the moment I walk in.
Ice cleaner from the zamboni, stale popcorn, fresh brewed coffee, and an
undercurrent of sweat and determination.
I just left Kendall at the baby store a few minutes ago after finding out
she’s pregnant and that the baby she’s carrying is mine. I feel like I floated on
a cloud the whole way here.
I walk into the locker room. It’s loud with the chatter of teammates getting
back into the rhythm. Someone’s blasting music from a Bluetooth speaker,
Slade’s arguing about fantasy stats, and half the guys are already suiting up
for practice.
It feels good to be back. Spirits are up which means that most everyone has
had enough time to shake off our playoff loss. It’s a new season full of new
possibilities. We’ll get ‘em this year.
I drop my duffel beside my stall and nod a few greetings, but all I can think
about is Kendall, the baby, the sound of its heartbeat that’s still looping
somewhere in the back of my skull like background music I can’t turn off. I
wouldn’t turn it off, even if I could.
Slade claps me on the shoulder. “Back from Finland and already spaced
out? Must’ve been one hell of a vacation.”
“Something like that,” I say, forcing a smile.
Trey’s across the room lacing his skates for the morning ice meeting. When
he glances up, his brow furrows. “Hey, you okay? You look distracted.”
I hesitate, debating how much to say, but it comes out anyway. “I ran into
Kendall on my way here. She was with Vivi and Peyton.”
That gets his attention. His head jerks up fast, and I see the exact moment
Vivi’s voice replays in his head.
“Oh, shit,” he says, dropping his laces. “Are you okay? How’d you take the
news?”
I blink. “Wait… what news?”
The look on his face answers that before he can. He grimaces. “Damn. Vivi
swore she wouldn’t say anything. I just assumed—”
“You assumed I knew.”
“Yeah. Because you and Kendall seemed like you’ve been getting…
Closer. I figured she told you while you were in Finland.”
A sharp laugh escapes me. “She hadn’t told me yet. She thought I was
dating someone else and didn’t want to ruin it for me, but I think my reaction
was better than I think she expected,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Who all knows?”
Trey shifts, eyes darting around the room. I follow his gaze. Hunter’s
standing by the whiteboard, flipping through drills with one of the assistant
coaches. The second our eyes meet, he gives me that “I know something”
look before heading over.
“Fuck,” I groan, dragging my hands through my hair. “You too?”
Hunter lifts a brow. “Peyton told me. But I’m on strict orders not to say a
damn word, or I get my adventure sex privileges revoked for a year.”
Trey makes a face. “Adventure sex?”
“Sex anywhere besides our house,” Hunter says, like it’s the most normal
thing in the world. “Peyton likes to switch it up. I’m always down.”
Trey snorts. “Man, you two need a hobby.”
Hunter grins. “We have one. It just sometimes happens in an elevator.”
Scottie overhears that last part and yells from across the room, “Elevator?
That explains why you were late to the charity gala, bro.”
“Yeah, well,” Hunter shrugs, unapologetic, “we make efficient use of
time.”
The locker room bursts into laughter, but I can’t quite join in. My
stomach’s still knotted, brain replaying Kendall’s face when I asked to touch
her stomach. The way her expression softened.
Trey notices. “Seriously, though,” he says, lowering his voice. “You good?”
I nod. How could I not be good? The woman I’m crazy about is having my
baby. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than I should be.”
He studies me a beat longer, then nods slowly. “You’re handling it better
than I would’ve. Vivi said Kendall’s been worried about the whole thing. And
Tarron McCoy hinting on national television that they are getting back
together threw her off.”
I smile faintly. “We’ll work it out now that I’m back. Tarron and I will be
exchanging words if he thinks he can claim my kid and Kendall in charity
interviews. It’s not going to go down like that.”
“Have you talked to Kendall about that?” Hunter asks, as if he still knows
more than I do.
Before I can ask what he knows, Coach yells for quiet as the morning
orientation starts. Everyone shuffles toward the whiteboard, the usual mix of
jokes and chirps dies down. But I barely hear a word of the schedule
rundown. Conditioning drills, media day prep, equipment fittings. It all blurs
into background noise.
All I can think about is her and the baby.
When the meeting ends, I sit on the bench for a second longer than
everyone else, pulling out my phone. My thumb hovers over our text thread—
short, clinical, all business until now.
Me: Can I come to the next ultrasound?
The three little dots appear almost immediately. Then—
Kendall: You can.
I exhale, the tension easing. I’m still not sure where I fit into all of this.
What she’s going to let me do, or how she’s going to let me be involved, but
I’m hoping this is what I need for her to see that we’re worth a shot.
Me: When?
Kendall: Thursday morning. 9 a.m.
Kendall: OK
Me: I’ll pick you up.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, letting the sound of sticks hitting the
floor and lockers slamming ground me again.
Slade walks by, flipping a puck in his hand. “You look like you just got
benched or blessed. Which is it?”
“Maybe both,” I say with a grin.
He gives me a look like I’ve completely lost it, but I don’t care.
Two more days.
I can survive anything for two more days.
My apartment looks like a bomb went off in a baby aisle.
There’s a stack of library books on the counter, three open tabs on my
laptop, and a YouTube video still paused mid-sentence on “Ten Things Every
New Dad Should Know.” If anyone walked in, they’d think I was cramming
for a parenting final.
I scroll through the site again. “At fourteen weeks, your baby is the size of
a peach.”
A peach. My chest tightens with a weird mix of pride and panic. Kendall is
already past her first trimester which means I have less than 7 months before
she gives birth
I type what to expect when you’re expecting as a new dad into Google like
a man looking for cheat codes. Results flood the page. Articles. Forums. Dad
podcasts with names like The Rookie Father and Dad Mode Activated.
I click the first one. A chipper voice greets me:
“Welcome back, new dads and dad-to-bes. Let’s talk about the emotional
roller coaster that starts before your baby is even born.”
I sink onto the couch, with a notebook. There’s no option to screw up. I
have to do everything right and I owe it to my father to be the kind of dad he
showed me how to be. The only problem? I have no idea how to be a dad to a
brand new infant, and even less idea on how to make sure that Kendall is
supported.
They talk about patience, communication, and how to support your partner
when she’s exhausted or scared. Every word feels personal. Kendall doesn’t
need my panic. She needs my calm.
The host says, “The biggest thing is to show up—even when she tells you
she doesn’t need you to.”
I pause the episode and stare at the screen. That part hits hard and I wish
this was live so I could ask exactly how I can do this, but I know that the
answer is likely different for everyone. I’ll have to ask her. The only trouble
with that is that Kendall isn’t exactly an open book when it comes to telling
me her feelings or thoughts on pretty much anything that has to do with her or
us.
I open my notes app and start a new list as the podcaster starts to list them
off.
THINGS I SHOULD PROBABLY LEARN:
I
How to install a car seat… the proper way.
How to swaddle (find a video on this)
Purple crying… what the hell is that?
What contractions actually look like and how to stop braxton
hicks
Foods pregnant women can’t eat, cravings, food aversions
Preparing for the hospital stay, Go-Bag, natural birth vs. cesarean
and preparing for both
The importance of skin to skin at birth, and talking to baby so
they recognize your voice
Safe sex, horny second trimester
stare at that last line for a long time. I never realized that women
sometimes have a sex drive spike during their second trimester. So many
thoughts come to mind. How do I not hurt the baby? Will she want to have
horny pregnancy sex with me? And how do I bring this up when we’re on
unsure ground right now?
My phone buzzes with a new notification. The podcast app: Recommended
for you – “Becoming Dad: The Science of Attachment.”
“Sure,” I mutter, hitting subscribe. “Why the hell not.”
I keep scrolling. Another article catches my eye: ‘How to Prepare for Your
Partner’s First Ultrasound.’
It’s past midnight before I finally shut my laptop. Everything I just learned
swirls through my mind. I rub the athletic-tape ring around my finger,
thinking about the way Kendall’s hand rested on top of mine at the store.
About hearing the heartbeat for the first time. About her smile when she said
our baby.
I consider my notes. The one thing seems to be a recurring phrase: Offer
support, and often. I take that as my green light to touch base with her.
Me: You doing okay tonight?
Five minutes pass. Ten. Then:
Kendall: Yeah. Trying to get some sleep. You?
Me: Learning how to be a dad from YouTube.
Kendall: Oh no. That sounds full-proof.
Me: Don’t worry. I’m a fast learner.
Kendall: I know you are. Goodnight, Aleksi.
Me: Goodnight, Doc.
I stare at the last text until the screen fades to black. Then I whisper into the
quiet, “I’m not just showing up, Doc. I’m staying.”
Two days later and over a dozen text messages later-the big day. I show up
to Kendall’s for our ultrasound knock once, then again.
A crash answers me from inside, something metal hitting tile and then a
muttered “ouch” from Kendall’s voice. “One second!” she calls out.
A beat later the door swings open, and she’s standing there in leggings and
a light blue blouse that’s too big for her, hair twisted into a messy bun. She
looks as beautiful as ever, even while sporting an expression somewhere
between flustered and apologetic.
“Sorry,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I tried to make
breakfast. It went… poorly.”
I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, fighting a smile. “You’re feeding
two people now. That’s practically a sport.”
She huffs a laugh and steps aside so I can come in. The place smells faintly
like burnt toast and coffee. The studio’s small–so small that when I shift to
close the door, my duffel nearly bumps the corner of her couch. But it’s her.
Soft gray blankets, stacks of medical journals, a few framed photos of the
Hawkeyes, and in the corner, still in the box, a folded bassinet.
She notices me looking. “It’s temporary,” she says quickly, like she’s been
rehearsing it. “My lease is up in six months. I’ll find somewhere bigger after
the baby gets here.”
“Looks cozy,” I offer.
“It’s small,” she insists.
“Small can be cozy,” I counter, earning a tiny smile that makes my chest
ache.
She’s nervous. I can see it in the way she keeps straightening things that
don’t need straightening. A stack of mail, her coffee mug, a blanket that’s
already neat.
When she reaches for her purse, I grab it first. “Got it.”
“I can carry my own bag,” she protests.
“I know,” I say, slinging it over my shoulder. “But I want to.”
Her eyes flicker to mine like she’s not sure what to do with that, then she
sighs and lets it go. It’s a win. One small step in the right direction to show
her that I’m here to support her. I’m going to keep showing it until she
believes it–feels she can count on it.
We walk out together, the hall echoing with the faint mumbles of her
neighbors’ TVs.
She buckles her seatbelt, notices the pile of books on the backseat, and
blinks. “Some light reading before bed?”
I
glance at the stack–What to Expect When You’re Expecting, The
Expectant Father, Crib Safety 101. “Trying to catch up,” I admit. “I want to
be ready before the baby gets here.”
She arches a brow. “You realize most first-time dads panic their way
through this, right?”
“I’m not panicking.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me.
“Okay,” I say, giving in. Lying won’t get me anywhere with her. Honesty is
the only way to win her over, “I’m preparing so I don’t panic. You know
me… I like to know the facts.”
That earns a soft laugh, the first real one I’ve heard from her in weeks. It
feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. But when the laughter fades,
silence slips back in–comfortable and heavy all at once. There’s still a lot we
both have to say but neither of us are saying it.
“I’ve never done this before,” I say quietly, eyes on the road. “I don’t want
to screw it up.”
Her gaze turns toward the window, watching the blur of the city roll by.
“You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you care too much to get it wrong,” she says simply, glancing
over at me. “You don’t do halfway, Aleksi. Not with hockey. Not with people.
Not with me.”
That last part hits me. It’s exactly the thing I want her to see in me. It’s the
way my father treated everyone and how he did everything before he passed.
He never did anything halfway and I don’t want to either. I swallow hard,
unsure what to say, so I just nod.
At a red light, I reach across the console and rest my hand gently on her
belly. “I can’t wait for this little one to get here,” I say.
Her lips part slightly, breath catching, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead,
she places her hand over mine, letting it linger there. The world outside the
windshield goes quiet. It’s just us for a moment.
When the light turns green, I reluctantly pull my hand back, gripping the
steering wheel tighter than necessary.
“Like I said before. You don’t have any obligation to do anything,” she says
softly, like she’s trying to protect me from my own heart.
“Is it okay with you that I want to?”
She nods. “But that doesn’t mean this is going to be easy. Or that there
won’t be consequences to both of our careers for this. We need a plan.”
We drive the rest of the way mostly in silence, broken only by her
humming along to the radio. Every now and then, she presses her hand
absentmindedly against her stomach, and I catch myself watching her
reflection in the window instead of the traffic ahead.
She’s glowing, even if she won’t admit it.
Not the cliché kind–more like a quiet light that lives under her skin,
something she built herself out of resilience and stubbornness.
I park in front of the clinic, shift into park, and glance over. “Ready?”
She exhales through her nose, fingers gripping her seatbelt. “As I’ll ever
be.”
As we walk inside, I think about how strange this all is. How a month ago I
was halfway across the world convincing myself to let her go, and now I’m
walking beside her toward the first glimpse of the possible future ahead of us.
And somehow, I already know that whatever happens after this
appointment, I’m never going to be able to walk away again.
“Dr. Rodriguez will be right in,” the nurse says, smiling before she slips out.
The door clicks shut, leaving us alone in the exam room.
Kendall climbs onto the table, tugging her blouse up to reveal the small
curve of her belly. I sit in the chair beside her, my knee bouncing before I can
stop it.
She notices. “Are you nervous?”
I huff out a laugh. “A little bit.”
Her mouth quirks. “You’ve faced down NHL defensemen twice your size
and you’re nervous about an ultrasound?”
“Defensemen don’t have heartbeats A\as far as I’m concerned. They’re
heartless robots sent to destroy my season.”
That earns a soft laugh. It’s small, but real, and for the next few minutes we
sit there in comfortable silence.
Dr. Rodriguez knocks lightly to warn she’s entering and then comes in .
She greets Kendall first, asking a few routine questions before glancing at me.
“And you must be the dad.”
My chest tightens at the word. Dad. It’s the first time anyone’s said it out
loud.
I don’t say anything in response, giving Kendall the option here. I want her
comfortable and I don’t know where we’re landing when it comes to telling
everyone yet. Even if half the team already knows.
“Yes, he is. This is Aleksi,” Kendall says, looking at me and then the
doctor.
“Great. I’m so glad you could make it this time, Aleksi. I’m Dr. Rodriguez,
and I’ll be Kendall’s OBGYN through the entire pregnancy. I’ll also be the
doctor on call when Kendall gives birth—assuming she delivers within two
weeks of February twentieth. Otherwise, one of my partners will cover if I’m
in another delivery.”
Kendall turns quickly, as if something just occurred to her. “Just so you
know, he may or may not be here when I give birth.”
“Not here for the birth? I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her, not understanding
why she’d think I wouldn’t show.
She glances over at me. “The season. You might be out of town for an away
game.”
Her explanation hits like a slap of cold air. She’s right. I might be on the
road when she goes into labor. The idea of not being there to drive her to the
hospital, to hold her hand, to cut the cord—feels like a foreign concept I’ve
never had to consider until now.
She sees the shock on my face. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “I knew that
was a possibility.”
No… it’s not okay. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
“Doc, do you travel for patients?”
“Aleksi…” Kendall warns.
“I can pay double. Triple. Name your price.”
“Oh my God.” She slaps her forehead and looks at the doctor. “Ignore
him.”
Dr. Rodriguez just smiles. “We’re a little far away to worry about that right
now. Once we’re closer to delivery, we’ll talk about options, okay?”
Kendall nods, calm as ever, but it doesn’t touch the anxiety tightening my
chest. I hate the idea of missing any of this.
“Now, are we ready for the fun part?” the doctor asks, warming up the
monitor. “Seeing the baby?”
“Yes, we’re very excited,” Kendall says.
Then the doctor glances at me. “You’re welcome to move closer, and you
can hold her hand if you’d like.”
I look at Kendall. She doesn’t say yes, but she doesn’t say no either. So I
slide my chair closer until I’m beside the table, and when I reach out, she
takes my hand.
“And how do we feel about finding out the sex of the baby today? Or are
you planning to wait?” Dr. Rodriguez asks.
Kendall’s eyes dart to mine, wide and uncertain. “I thought we found out at
the twenty-week ultrasound?”
“Yes, typically,” Dr. Rodriguez says with an easy smile. “But since you
didn’t know sooner, we’re a little behind, which means we should be able to
tell now. That is, if the baby cooperates. It’s entirely up to you.”
Kendall looks at me like a deer in headlights. I can practically see the
calculation behind her eyes. The part of her that lives by rules, schedules, and
plans suddenly dropped into something unpredictable.
And this is the moment I get it… what all those parenting podcasts meant
about support. It doesn’t always come with big speeches or perfect timing.
Sometimes it’s as simple as being the steady one when the other person can’t
find their footing.
She doesn’t know what the right answer is. But she’s looking at me like
maybe I do.
I clear my throat, trying to soften the tension in the room. “I’d like to
know… that is, if you’re okay with it. Unless you were planning some big
gender reveal?”
Her shoulders drop a little. “God, no. No gender reveal,” she says, and then
turns back to the doctor. “Okay, we’ll find out now.”
Dr. Rodriguez grins. “Perfect. Let’s see if the baby will give us a good look
today.”
Dr. Rodriguez spreads the cool gel across Kendall’s stomach, then turns the
monitor toward us. The screen flickers, gray static swirling until—there.
A small shape emerges, hazy at first, then sharpening with each adjustment
of the probe. The rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of the heartbeat fills the room,
steady and sure. My chest tightens. That sound—our baby’s heart—is
somehow louder than everything else.
“Here we go,” the doctor says gently. “Right there… That’s the head. You
can see the curve of the skull here… and those are the hands sort of covering
it up. We might not get a good look at the face today.”
Tiny fingers wiggle on the screen like they’re waving. Kendall lets out a
shaky laugh, covering her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“And there are the feet,” Dr. Rodriguez continues, sliding the wand a little
lower. “All ten toes accounted for.”
I can’t stop staring. It’s grainy, surreal, but the outline is perfect—tiny
limbs, a beating heart, movement that feels impossible and miraculous all at
once.
“Everything looks great,” the doctor says, her tone brightening. “And…
you don’t have to look long before you see this—” She points to the screen
with a grin. “That’s a penis. Congratulations, it’s a boy.”
Kendall gasps softly, eyes darting to mine. For a second, she looks stunned.
Then she laughs—a breathy, teary sound that knocks the air right out of me.
A boy.
The word sinks deep, spreading warmth through my chest until I can’t help
but smile.
“Guess he’s not shy,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Kendall wipes at her eyes, still smiling through the tears. “Just like his
dad.”
She squeezes my hand just a little tighter and then I pull her hand up to my
lips and press them against her skin for a kiss.
Kendall’s eyes turn glossy. “He’s perfect.”
I smile when her eyes find mine for just a moment. “Of course he is. He’s
ours.”
The doctor narrates as her wand moves, crown-to-rump length, heart rate,
early bone structure, but I barely hear her. I can’t stop staring at the little blur
pulsing on the screen. That’s the moment it all becomes real.
Not theoretical. Not a list in my phone. He’s real and in six months, we’ll
be holding him.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She nods, voice thick. “Yeah. I just… didn’t expect to feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s already real? Like he’s already ours. It was all theoretical, until
now.”
“Would you like a picture to take home?” the doctor asks.
Kendall nods, and the printer hums softly, spitting out two small black-and
white photos. She hands one to Kendall, then offers the other to me.
I stare down at it, feeling something in me rearrange completely. “Thank
you,” I say, but my voice comes out rough.
When the doctor leaves, silence settles again. Kendall sits up slowly,
wiping off the gel with a towel. I hand her a tissue, still staring at the photo in
my hand, and then when she’s done, I help her off the bed until her feet touch
safely to the ground.
Neither of us speaks for a while. It’s not awkward. Just heavy–full of
everything words would ruin.
I reach for the door but stop, turning back to her. “Thank you for letting me
come.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m glad you were here too.”
Then her stomach growls. Loudly.
She freezes, eyes widening, cheeks flushing pink.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “How about lunch?”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, reaching for her purse, voice light
but deflecting.
“You didn’t eat breakfast,” I remind her. “And you’ve got a baby to feed
now.”
That earns me the smallest smile. “Actually, you’re right. And I’m
starving.”
The moment our food arrives, Kendall cuts into her omelet like she’s as
starving- as I figured she would be. We eat in silence for a few minutes before
I say it.
“Trey and Hunter know you’re pregnant.”
Her fork pauses midair. “How did you—”
“They’re not as subtle as they think.”
She sighs, setting the fork down. “Well, I haven’t exactly been able to hide
it that well from the team for the last few weeks. Pretty much everyone
knows I’m pregnant, and anyone with a girlfriend or wife in our girls’ group
knows it’s yours. Just the people inside the franchise,” she says quickly.
“Outside of that…” Her eyes drop to her plate. “Gossip is still going around
that it’s Tarron’s. Which has kept the medical board from suspecting
anything.”
My fingers tighten around my sandwich, maybe harder than I mean to.
“And you’re just letting people think that?”
Her head snaps up. She sees the flash of anger before I can hide it. “I
haven’t confirmed it or played into it at all,” she says carefully.
“But you haven’t denied it either,” I counter, voice lower now.
I don’t want to get in a fight over this. Especially when everything today
has been going well, but the idea that anyone thinks Tarron is my kid’s father
is going to give me an ulcer if I don’t say anything.
She licks her lips, guilt flickering across her face. “For right now, I need to
make the best decision for my license. For the Hawkeyes. For you.” Her hand
drifts unconsciously to her belly. “And most importantly, for this baby. The
less stress I have, the better. I just want this baby to come into the world with
as little turmoil as possible. If I lose my job and you get traded or benched,
it’ll make everything harder.”
“Kendall,” I say quietly, trying to keep my voice from shaking, “I don’t
care what happens to my career. I want to claim this baby as mine. I don’t
want to hide it away like it’s a dirty secret.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. But I need more time to figure things
out. Penelope thinks the longer we lay low, the less media attention I’ll get for
the pregnancy. And Tarron… he got what he wanted out of it. The small press
interview already made him look good, and he hasn’t said another word. If we
don’t draw any attention to this, people might forget about it soon enough.”
I take a deep breath, trying to swallow the frustration that’s crawling up my
throat. She’s right–on paper, she’s right. Her license is at stake. The team
could be fined or forced to trade me depending on the sanctions the NHL
would come down on them with.
But it still feels wrong.
“Okay,” I finally say. “So how do you want to do this?”
“We tell as few people as possible. The ones closest to us already know, but
anyone outside of that can’t be trusted until after the baby’s born and we
figure out the best course of action.”
“I’m a public figure too, Kendall. Just as much—maybe more—than
Tarron.” I meet her eyes. “And I want my kid to come to watch me skate.
Don’t you think people are going to find it strange when I’m holding your
baby and it’s wearing my jersey number?”
Her lips twitch into a grin.
“What?” I ask, a little confused.
“Just the thought of our baby in your jersey, pounding on the plexiglass.”
Something in my chest melts too. I reach across the table and take her hand.
“That’s what I want, Kendall. You and the baby in my jersey. Like Trey has
Vivi and Adaline.”
Her expression softens but she shakes her head slightly. “I know. Just…
give me some time, okay? Please?”
I squeeze her hand once. “I’ll tell my mom and my sister, but that’s it.
Since the guys already know, we’ll keep it small.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
I glance down at her plate. “Now eat. That baby needs to be strong when it
comes out. Skating lessons start at six months old.”
Her laugh bursts out before she can stop it. “Why does that not shock me?”
Kendall wanting to lay low and let the media roll with their assumptions
about Tarron isn’t what I wanted when I imagined this conversation, but
hearing her laugh makes it easier to live with. Even if this isn’t the plan I
pictured the minute she told me she was pregnant—she’s giving me enough to
hope for.
I know she’s not ready for what I want. And until she is, I’ll do whatever it
takes to make sure she and the baby have peace.
“Thank you for understanding,” she says quietly.
“Making sure you have a stress-free pregnancy is my top priority,” I tell
her. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to make that happen.”
“Even if it means not correcting the media about Tarron?”
The words sting, but I force a small smile. “For now,” I say.
I pull up in front of Kendall’s building just after four. The rain’s stopped,
leaving everything shining and slick. Her apartment complex sits in a narrow
row of brick walk-ups off Pine Street—clean, safe enough, but it’s not the
kind of place I imagined having my kid grow up in. My apartment isn’t
exactly ideal either. I imagined I’d have a house with a big yard by the time I
had a child, but life throws you curve balls, and I can’t be mad at this one,
because it gave me a son who’s on his way.
She unbuckles her seat belt, pausing for a second like she’s not sure if she
should thank me or apologize .
“Thanks for lunch,” she says finally. “And the ride. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” I tell her.
Her eyes soften. “You always want to.”
She reaches for the handle, and I glance past her at the staircase leading up
to her unit. Third floor. No elevator. Tight stairs, narrow hallway. My chest
tightens with the math of it. A pregnant woman hauling groceries up three
flights alone. A baby who’ll need more room than this place could ever give.
“Get inside before it starts raining again,” I say, forcing a smile.
She gives a small nod, opens the door. “Drive safe, Aleksi.”
“Text me when you’re settled,” I say automatically.
“I will.”
She hesitates, one hand on the door. For a second, I think she’s going to say
something else—something that might make all of this feel a little less
impossible.
But she just smiles, small and tired, and slips out into the drizzle.
I watch her climb the stairs, one careful hand on the railing. When she
reaches the landing, she glances back once, then disappears inside.
I sit there for a minute longer, the ultrasound photo still tucked into my
visor, replaying everything: the tiny heartbeat on the screen, her laughter over
lunch, her insistence that this stay quiet.
It’s not how I imagined it. But I made her a deal.
And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s keeping my word.
She said she wanted as little stress as possible. Fine. Then I’ll handle
everything else: the logistics, the backup plans, the safety net she refuses to
ask for.
Because I meant it when I told her I’d make her life easier, and that’s
exactly what I’m going to do.
I shift the car into drive, merging back into the slow stream of city traffic,
the late-day sun breaking weakly through the clouds. My phone buzzes in the
console, but it’s not her yet.
Not yet.
At the next red light, I open my messages, thumb hovering over Trey’s
name. He just bought a house in the suburbs of an expensive gated
community once he realized that Adeline couldn’t grow up in the commons.
Then I type:
Me: Hey–any houses for sale in your neighborhood?
