Page 20

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kenzie

The second I catch Braden’s name lighting up in the group chat, my stomach clenches so fiercely it’s as if invisible hands are twisting it into knots.

I feel my fingertips over the cool surface of my phone, the screen’s glow momentarily pulsing under my touch.

With barely a thought, I snatch the keys hanging from the hook by the door, their metallic tinkle slicing through the stark quiet as I bolt outside.

The drive transforms into a frantic dance of jerky stops and starts. I dart between cars, my eyes flitting between the zigzagging traffic and the rhythmic, insistent beat of my heart, which drowns out even the distant chatter of my radio.

Every red light looms like a deliberate countdown, its duration stretching into an eternal chastisement as my pulse hammers in my ears, echoing against the backdrop of idle engines.

A sour tang of panic overpowers my senses, a bitter contrast to the fleeting cool aftertaste of mint from my rushed brush earlier.

Sweat slicks my palms, undermining the clasp I have on the wheel. As I turn onto the familiar street where the boys live.

My eyes dart to the driveway only to find it abandoned, a stark, empty space that amplifies my concern.

Then, near the curb, I catch sight of Braden, a slim silhouette with a rugged duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His gaze is locked onto his phone, as if hunting for a hidden remedy in the digital abyss.

Relief surges through me. I slam on the brakes. The sudden skidding sending a shower of loose gravel scattering across the ground. I hurriedly leap from the Jeep, my breath materializing in ghostly puffs amid the crisp breeze.

“Braden!” I call out. His head jerks up instantly and those striking green eyes meet mine, softening briefly with surprise before hardening into a determined mask, an abrupt transition from vulnerability to resolve.

He slowly lowers his phone, his eyes flicking nervously between me and the winding road that stretches ahead. I can almost see the strain in the taut muscles of his shoulders, as if he’s bracing for a tidal wave of consequences.

“Don’t go,” I blurt, my voice betraying the tremor of a leaf caught in a wild wind. “Please, can we talk? Just, please, don’t leave yet.”

His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, a flash of tension rippling under his skin. “Kenzie…” he begins, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.

I step nearer, each footfall on the gritty pavement punctuated by the crunch of gravel, almost as if the ground itself protests my hurried approach. “I know you’re hurting, I see that in every line on your face. But running off like this...it’s like you’re dismantling everything we have. Like you’re leaving me. Leaving us.”

His eyes widen for a moment, shadowed with inner conflict. “I’m not abandoning you. I’m trying to hold everything together, to prevent it from all falling apart.”

Tears well up in my eyes, each one threatening to spill freely as I struggle to contain them. “What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

Braden’s eyes, usually sharp with determination, soften with a mix of sadness and simmering frustration, as if he’s been holding back a tempest for too long. “I can’t keep this from Reggie and Ambrose,” he confesses, his voice low and strained.

“Every day I’m out here, I feel like I’m deceiving them, and it’s eating away at me. And you…” His words catch in his throat as he swallows hard, “you shouldn’t have to bear all this weight by yourself. We…”

I reach out, my hand instinctively closing around his rough, calloused fingers. The warmth from his hand steadies me, a brief anchor in the turbulent sea of our emotions.

“I’m terrified, Braden,” I whisper, my voice thick with unshed emotion. “I can’t imagine losing any of you.”

His hand squeezes mine in response, yet the defeat in his eyes tells a story of battles already lost, a silent admission that hope might be slipping away.

“Kenzie.” he murmurs, my name tumbling from his lips as though it holds the weight of his unspoken regrets.

I draw a slow, uncertain breath, both anticipating his next words and dreading them.

“I can’t do this,” he rushes to add, his voice snapping with a raw urgency that reverberates between us. “Not like this. Each time I look at you and pretend ignorance, I feel like I betray them more. They deserve so much more, and you deserve so much more.”

Warm, salty tears escape down my cheeks, carving fragile trails onto my skin as I try to steady the quivering of my heart. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” I plead, my tone barely rising above a whisper. “I just…I need time. Time to sort through all of this.”

The sound of his exhalation is sharp, almost pained, as he sweeps his hand through his unruly hair in a futile attempt to tame the chaos within.

“I understand,” he says, though the strain in his voice makes it clear he’s at his wit’s end.

“But I can’t keep smiling at them, keeping up the charade, when everything is so wrong.” He winces, regret dancing in his eyes. “It’s just, I feel like I’m being used. I’ve been used before, and it taught me that even when something feels good, it can be wrong.”

Each word cuts. But before I can muster a reply, the soft, rhythmic hum of approaching tires breaks the heavy silence. The Uber slows to a stop on the gravel, its tires crunching with a hesitant finality.

“Braden, please…” I whisper desperately, my voice barely audible above the hum of the arriving car.

With a gentleness that belies the storm raging in his eyes, he brushes a trembling thumb across my cheek, wiping away a solitary tear. After a moment that stretches into an eternity, he withdraws his hand.

“I need this space. But I promise, I’ll come back,” he assures me quietly.

The car door slams with a resonant thud that echoes in my ears as the Uber begins its slow departure. Standing on the sidewalk, I watch the car recede into the night.

Its humming engine fades into the distance, while the glow of red taillights diminishes to mere pinpoints, like the last embers of a fire that I’d hoped was just beginning to warm me.

I pivot sharply on my heel, my worn leather boots emitting crisp clunks with every measured step across the gravel.

I get in my car, and as I’m driving back to the boy’s house, my vision blurry with tears. I park outside the house and sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Time to actually do something. Time for action.

With each steady stride toward the front door, it feels as though my legs are guided by a force independent of my will, but deep inside, I know that I truly long to step across that threshold.

The tension in the air is almost tangible, a silent threat that hovers between hope and despair.

Determination burns in my chest as I enact my plan, even as the voices of Ambrose and Reggie echo behind me. Their words, laden with desperation and care, try to anchor me back to what once was.

“Please, lass , you don’t have to leave!” Reggie’s plea resonates as his soft, trembling hands reach out, tugging gently at the boxes of my things that I clutch against my chest.

Ambrose echoes his sentiment, his voice heavy with worry. “Please, Kenzie, don’t! We don’t know what’s going on with Braden, but we care about you, we want what we had!”

Their words momentarily make me pause, the realization warming a corner of my heart with the knowledge that they share my feelings. But that warmth swiftly turns cold.

Everything is unrecognizable now, marred by changes too complex to articulate even as I stand there in a moment of intimacy amid chaos.

Even as the two captivating men continue to express their concern with quiet urgency, I cannot bring myself to unburden the truth, the truth that I am pregnant, a secret shrouded in betrayal because the one who was supposed to share this moment with me has already fled.

That revelation stings like a fresh rash against my skin. I pause and slowly turn, glancing back at their meticulously kept home.

My eyes drink in every detail. The inviting plush sofa beside the pristine, crisp white walls edged in delicate crown molding, the large television affixed to the wall above a modern wooden coffee table, perpetually littered with neatly stacked books and unopened mail, and the kitchen, bright with white cabinetry and shimmering silvery-gray marble that evokes memories of mornings spent tangled in laughter and bare skin.

I recall the mornings when we’d all dance together in the kitchen, naked under the blissful melody of a favorite track, as our bodies intertwined and our inhibitions dissolved into passionate abandon.

Every inch of the house bears witness to a wild intimacy, riddled with the echoes of pleasure and regret. I long, for a brief, aching second, to have stolen one final look at each room, the secrets held in every corner, each bedroom, each bathroom and every space where our history was brutally, yet beautifully, inscribed.

But I know I just cannot trust them with the weight of my news.

Without exchanging another word, I retreat back through the front door, noting the confusion etched on the faces of the men who watch as I depart.

I don’t stop, don’t engage with their concerned murmurs. The crushing exhaustion clings to me like a threadbare cloak worn thin from relentless burdens and heartbreak.

In my mind, Braden’s hasty departure replays. Tears begin to form again, blurring the streetlights into halos of golden luminescence while the chilly night air pricks my damp cheeks.

My hand drifts involuntarily to my stomach, pressing lightly as if to shield the fragile life growing within.

In a flurry of anxious thoughts, I imagine a future where Braden is gone for good, picturing myself alone in a dimly lit kitchen, struggling over and over again to clutch the right words to break the news to Reggie and Ambrose…that I am pregnant and that Braden’s “vacation” was his escape.

A car glides by, its tires murmuring against the asphalt, pulling me momentarily from the spiraling vortex of my thoughts. I swipe my sleeve across my face, a futile attempt to quiet the rising sob that threatens to burst forth.

Briefly, I steal one last look at the house that once felt so familiar.

I climb back into my Jeep. As I drive away, I glance into the rearview mirror, watching the house shrink into a distant, blurred silhouette, a mere shadow of possibilities that will never be.

Once again, my hand moves instinctively over my belly, as if seeking reassurance from this silent, persistent reminder of my uncertain future.

“What the hell am I going to do?”