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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kenzie

Monday morning drags itself in under a blanket of gray clouds that matches the queasy churn in my stomach.

I push myself out of bed, feeling as though my limbs are weighted with lead, each movement a struggle.

My head throbs with the dull ache of a restless night. I shuffle to the bathroom, hoping to shake off the fog of fatigue.

Brushing my teeth is a dance to avoid my gag reflex; the minty toothpaste foams up in my mouth, turning into a frothy adversary rather than the refreshing ally it should be.

As I rinse, my phone buzzes again on the bathroom counter.

Ally’s texts blink up at me.

Get your butt in gear, Kenz. You need fresh air, and you need your files.

Her words are like a nudge from the corner of my mind, reminding me of the tasks ahead, even though the thought of facing the day, and everyone around me, feels like an insurmountable mountain to climb.

I wrap my hands around a chipped mug filled with ginger tea, the warmth seeping into my fingers as I pull on my favorite pair of jeans and a loose sweater.

The soft fabric is a small comfort against my skin, though the tea does little more than offer a fleeting reprieve to my unsettled stomach.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of my Jeep, I twist the dial to blast the heater, battling the piercing cold of a late-autumn Minnesota morning.

I look at the travel mug I’ve neglected to wash and the seats and dash that need wiped down. As I reverse out of my parking spot, my stomach lurches at the familiar bump of driving out onto the street, a jarring reminder of my current state.

Today promises to be a marathon, not a sprint.

But I need those files, and I need to check on the macaws.

The early morning sun is hidden behind the gray clouds, casting the cityscape in a dull, cheerless glow that mirrors my mood.

Each turn of the wheel is a small triumph over the persistent nausea.

But my thoughts are not on the road ahead: they're on Braden, Reggie, and Ambrose.

My throat constricts as vivid images of their faces flood my mind: their expressions the last time I saw them, etched with concern and warmth. They had held back, respecting Ally's request to give me some space.

I can almost feel their curiosity, their silent questions about what’s been going on with me, and the weight of secrecy presses heavily on my chest.

The idea of revealing the truth to them at work, in the midst of the buzzing rink where they glide with effortless grace and I linger in the background, tending to the birds, feels impossible. How could I expose my vulnerability there?

And…what if they react badly?

What if they're angry?

What if, for them, this…our connection …was merely a fleeting amusement?

The thought slices through me, leaving a dull ache in my chest. I clamp my lips together, determined to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over, stinging my eyes with their salty insistence.

As I approach the rink, uncertainty weighs heavily on me.

What will I do when I face them? Perhaps I can slip in and out unnoticed.

That's the plan: swiftly retrieve my files, check on the birds, and make a hasty exit before anyone has the chance to corner me for a conversation.

I release a slow breath, tasting the bitterness of bile and regret lingering on my tongue.

Just get through today, Kenz , I tell myself, willing my heart to steady.

My mind wanders back to the past few days, which I've spent in endless hours curled up on my couch.

I had clutched a pillow tightly against my abdomen for almost that entire time, as if it could somehow stabilize the whirlwind my life has become.

It amazes me how quickly everything shifted, how one moment could redefine everything I thought I knew.

In my mind’s eye, I see my mom’s face, her lips drawn into a tight, disapproving line, her eyes shadowed with disappointment.

She holds her Bible to her chest like a talisman, as if its weight could shield her from the scandal. Behind her stands my dad, a silent pillar of agreement, his presence a tacit endorsement of her every word.

I can almost hear the hushed, judgmental murmurs that will ripple through their church congregation.

Unmarried.

Pregnant.

It's a disgrace, they’ll say.

I know they’ll insist I return home, push me toward marrying someone, anyone, to erase the "shame" from our family name.

But I’ve already made my choice.

I lay my hand gently over my belly, spreading my fingers across the smooth skin. The subtle warmth beneath my palm offers a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing within me.

It’s a decision that might seem naive or daunting, but it resonates within me, a certainty I can’t deny. This child is my destiny.

As tears threaten to spill over, I blink rapidly, refusing to let them fall.

The thought of telling my friends, let alone my family, fills me with dread, but that moment will come in due time.

Right now, I’m prepared to embrace the fight for this little life inside me, whatever it takes.

The Marauders arena parking lot sprawls before me, nearly deserted except for a handful of cars scattered across the asphalt and gravel. These belong to the early risers like Ally and a few members of the training staff who beat the sun to work.

I maneuver my car into a spot close to the entrance, the tires crunching softly over gravel. Glancing up at the massive macaw mascot painted above the doorway, I notice its vibrant feathers of blue, yellow, red, stand out strikingly against the dull, overcast sky.

The bird’s wide, cartoonish grin seems to mock me, as if whispering, "Cheer up, Kenz. Life’s not that bad."

I let out a quiet laugh, almost a sigh, and shake my head.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have a baby growing inside you,” I murmur to myself, feeling the weight of my words.

With a determined breath, I grab my worn leather bag and step out of the Jeep, walking quickly. My boots crunch lightly on the gravel as I make my way to the door, each step a reminder of the day ahead.

I tug the door open. I peek around the entrance, half-expecting to see Braden, Reggie, or Ambrose coming around the corner with their easy smiles and boisterous laughter.

But the space is quiet, the corridors empty.

I exhale, the tension easing from my shoulders.

In and out , I remind myself. Just get the files, check on the birds, and get through the day, one step at a time.

I rush down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as I make my way toward my small vet office tucked in the back of the rink. My heart pounds in my chest.

My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, turning it slowly before slipping inside and letting the door close with a soft click.

The room is cozy, its warmth a stark contrast to the cool hallway.

The walls are lined with perches and cages, each filled with various veterinary supplies.

The smell of birdseed hits me instantly, and I exhale deeply, drawing the curtain closed over the narrow window that faces the rink, shutting out the world beyond.

The macaws spring to life, the bright red and blue one, Rio, emitting a cheerful squawk that echoes in the small space. He hops closer, his beady black eyes glistening with a mischievous glint as if he's genuinely pleased to see me.

"Oh, now you’re friendly," I whisper, extending my hand toward him.

I’ve been free of my bandages for a little while now, but I can’t deny that a jolt of nerves still goes through me being around Rio.

Still, he’s so cute when he’s nice. His claws cling to my forearm with gentle pressure as he steps onto me, his warm body nestling against my chest. His feathers feel smooth and silky beneath my fingertips as I stroke his head.

Meanwhile, the other bird, Sunny, flaps his wings with impatience, his vibrant yellow and green plumage catching the light in a dazzling display. I chuckle softly.

"You’re both handsome boys, yes," I murmur, feeling a swell of affection in my chest.

The simple, familiar contact with them soothes me, wrapping me in momentary peace. But just as I begin to relax, a sharp knock on the door jolts me back to reality, the sound resonating like a crack of thunder in the serene room.

I freeze in place, feeling Rio shift slightly on my arm, his little head tilting with curiosity. My chest tightens, and I can barely breathe as I cautiously turn my eyes toward the door.

Braden is standing there, his imposing frame filling the doorway, his black workout gear hugging every curve of his well-defined muscles. His dark hair is slick with sweat, and his green eyes, usually so vibrant, are now filled with a softness that speaks volumes of his concern.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his gaze pierces through my fragile composure, as if he's reading the turmoil beneath my skin. My face burns with embarrassment, and I can feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over yet again.

Desperately, I turn away from him, guiding Rio back onto his perch with trembling hands. My fingers brush against the cool metal bars of the cage, but the sensation barely registers as a heavy lump forms in my throat.

Don't cry. Not here, not now.

But it's no use. A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek as I fumble with the latch. I mutter a curse under my breath, wiping my cheek roughly with the back of my hand.

My emotions are all over the place, betraying me, making me feel vulnerable and weak when all I want is to maintain control.

“Kenzie,” Braden's voice reaches me, gentle and low. The warmth of his raspy tone is like honey soothing my frayed nerves.

I stiffen, stubbornly keeping my back turned to him.

“I’m fine. Just, just give me a sec, please,” I manage to say, but my voice wavers, betraying the turmoil inside.

I hear the soft, steady sounds of his footsteps approaching, and then his hand rests on my shoulder. It's warm and reassuring, firm enough to shatter the last of my defenses.

The gentle pressure of Braden's hand tugs me around to face him. His eyes are wide, and concern is etched into every line of his brow, his mouth set in a soft frown. My vision blurs as tears well up, and before I can hold them back, a quiet sob slips past my lips.

“Hey…hey,” he murmurs, drawing me into his chest.

His scent envelops me. A whisper of woodsy cologne, and something unmistakably him and takes me back to our tryst. The warmth of his body seeps into mine as his strong arms envelop me.

I clutch at his shirt, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, a steady presence that grounds me. His heartbeat thumps softly against my ear, a comforting, familiar rhythm.

His hand glides up and down my back, a slow and reassuring touch, while his other hand gently strokes the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.

“What’s wrong, Kenz?” he whispers into my hair, his voice tinged with worry. “You’re scaring me.”

I part my lips to speak, but the words catch in my throat. I'm pregnant. The confession is lodged there, but I can't seem to force it out.

Instead, I manage to stammer, “I…I just…it’s been a rough week.”

He leans back slightly, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek with tender care. “I’m here. We all are. You know that, right?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I need to tell him, but not here, not now.

“I’m heading to the clinic after this. Come by?” I suggest weakly, searching for a way to bring him closer. “Maybe…maybe you can help out a little?”

He offers a gentle, reassuring smile. “Of course. I’ll wait by your Jeep,” he promises, his warmth lingering as he releases me.

I pull myself together, wiping my tear-streaked cheeks with a crumpled tissue as Braden leaves the room, leaving behind an echo of his presence.

The room falls into a hushed silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the birds perched in their cages, their beady eyes fixed on me with curious attentiveness.

I take a deep breath, focusing on slow, deliberate movements as I prepare their breakfast, the seeds and fruit a welcome distraction from the racing thoughts tumbling through my mind.

The sunflower seeds crackle against the birds' beaks, a rhythmic crunch breaking the stillness.

When I finally gather my files, the folder feels disproportionately heavy in my hands, as if it holds not just papers, but the weight of the future.

Its edges dig into my palms, a physical reminder of the decisions and uncertainties looming ahead.

Stepping outside I catch sight of Braden leaning against my Jeep, his silhouette outlined by the morning light. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his faded hoodie.

The sunlight plays across his features, accentuating the rich darkness of his hair and drawing out the deep green of his eyes, a shade reminiscent of polished emeralds.

His easy smile radiates warmth, sending a rush of heat straight to my chest and making my heart skip a beat.

God, he’s handsome. And kind.

And…I might be carrying his baby.

I tighten my clasp on my files, the edges pressing into my skin as I approach him, willing my lips into a semblance of a smile.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice light and casual, yet his eyes search mine intently, as if seeking reassurance.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” I reply, striving to keep my voice steady and normal, even as my heart pounds wildly in my chest, a mixture of nerves and hope intertwining with every beat.

We climb into my Jeep, and I fumble with the seatbelt, my hands unsteady. Getting myself together, I manage to turn the engine over, and it roars to life.

As we drive, the soft drone of the radio drifts through the car, a gentle background to the silence between us. Braden leans back in the passenger seat.

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and I’m thankful for that small mercy. Braden has always had a knack for understanding the unspoken, for picking up on subtleties that others overlook.

I cast a sideways glance at him, noticing how the sunlight dances across the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

Fuck, I wish this was all simple.

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 uncertainty lingers. 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.

“I hate secrets,” he admits, his voice now softening. “But…I care about you. And if this is what you need, I’ll do it. For you.”

Relief crashes over me and before I can second-guess myself, I lean in and press my lips to his.

The kiss is tender, unhurried. His lips taste of mint gum with an underlying sweetness that is uniquely him. His hand cradles my cheek, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over my skin, grounding me in the moment.

I breathe him in, his musky cologne dancing in the earthy breeze that surrounds us.

When we finally part, his forehead comes to rest gently against mine.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “Together.”

I nod, my chest swelling with gratitude and something else, hope, a fragile yet luminous thing.

The future is a vast unknown, a landscape shrouded in mystery, but in this moment, I am not alone.

And that means everything.