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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ambrose

The cold air sears my lungs as I push myself forward, each footfall striking the pavement with a relentless, angry rhythm.

The early morning sky hangs above me, a dull, washed-out blue, with the sun struggling to peek over the horizon, casting weak, tentative rays into the sky.

Around me, the trees stand bare and skeletal, their twisted limbs reaching upward like the frozen fingers of ancient giants. Frost sparkles on the grass, a delicate lace of white overlaying the dying remnants of fall leaves crumbling beneath its weight.

I should be fine.

I should be happy.

But instead, my heart churns with rage.

I pound my way up a winding hill, breath billowing like smoke in the crisp air, thighs aching with each upward thrust against the steep incline.

The pavement beneath my sneakers is slick with morning dew, making each step a calculated risk, and my fingers sting sharply from the cold, even though I wore gloves out of routine.

Braden’s back in town, and Reggie’s over the moon. Kenzie’s got that radiant glow of someone with exciting news.

And me?

I’m the one standing on the periphery, trying to mask my feelings with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

I push myself to run harder.

The distant, earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves mixes in the air, the final breath of autumn before winter’s icy clutches descend fully upon Minneapolis.

I should be ecstatic about Kenzie’s announcement. I should be fantasizing about cribs, baby names, and that magical first moment when I hold my child in my arms.

Instead, my chest tightens with an uncomfortable pressure, something gnawing and anxious.

I don’t want to acknowledge what it is.

But the farther I run, the clearer it becomes.

I’m afraid.

I run along the winding park trail, the path curving between tall, shadowy trees while my thoughts unravel faster than my pace.

My sneakers crunch against the fallen leaves, and my breath comes in sharp, frosty bursts, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs like a relentless drum.

What the hell am I so afraid of?

The answer hits me hard, like a slap to the face, and I nearly stumble. Wyatt.

I slow my pace, running a hand through my sweaty hair, the strands sticking to my palm, my mind racing wildly, outpacing my feet.

I’m already a father.

I love my son more than anything in this world, but I barely see him as it is.

And now I’m having another kid?

How do I explain to Wyatt that his dad has a whole other family on the side? That his sibling is going to grow up in a home so completely different from his own?

Will he resent me for it?

The thought makes my stomach churn like a stormy sea.

I slow to a jog, feeling the cold air bite sharply at my exposed skin, the chill seeping through my thin running gear.

My muscles ache, each step sending a jolt of protest through my legs, my body screaming at me to stop, but my mind remains tangled in the knot of uncertainty tightening in my gut.

Wyatt deserves a father who is present, who puts him first.

And yet…

Kenzie.

The way she looks at me, her eyes full of trust despite everything. She looks at me like she wants me in her life, like she believes in some impossible future.

I stop running altogether, standing on the trail as my breath fogs in front of me, each exhale a ghostly whisper in the crisp air.

I don’t want to lose her.

I walk the last stretch of the trail, leaves crunching beneath my worn sneakers, my breath visible in the crisp morning air.

My body cools down, muscles loosening as my mind churns through every damn thing I’ve been avoiding. The sun casts long shadows, and I feel the weight of them, matching the heaviness in my chest.

I was raised believing in one version of love: a storybook tale of one man, one woman, kids, a white picket fence, and a family dog barking in the yard.

It’s what I pictured for myself for so long that even after my marriage crashed and burned like a speeding car hitting a wall, I clung to that outdated dream with white-knuckled determination.

But what if I’ve been wrong this whole time?

The question gnaws at me like a persistent itch I can’t scratch.

Kenzie doesn’t fit into a perfect little box, with her fiery spirit and unpredictable laugh that echoes like a melody in my mind. She never will.

And neither do I, with my messy past and fears that lurk like shadows.

I love my son, and I will always put him first. His laughter is my favorite sound, his smile a light in my darkest moments. But does that mean I can’t have happiness too?

The thought of Kenzie raising our baby without me sends ice straight through my veins, a chilling dread that clings to my bones. The thought of some other man stepping in where I should be?

Unacceptable. My heart tightens in protest.

I want to be in this, fully, with every fiber of my being. I don’t want to be the guy standing on the sidelines, watching opportunities slip away, afraid to step up and claim what could be mine.

I know what regret feels like. It’s a heavy cloak I wore once already with my ex, suffocating and relentless. And I’ll be damned if I let my fear keep me from something real again.

The past invades my thoughts, vivid images of my ex-wife, the heated arguments, the crushing disappointment, and the harsh sting of betrayal replaying over and over.

I used to believe she had been unfaithful out of pure selfishness, convinced she didn’t care enough about me or our son, Wyatt.

But now, as the icy wind stings my face, I wonder if perhaps there was more to it. Maybe I played a part in pushing her away too.

I realize how I imposed a rigid order on our lives, everything needing to be meticulously by the book, planned down to the last detail.

There was no room for spontaneous adventures or impulsive decisions, only a suffocating bubble of safe, structured stability.

Perhaps to her, it felt like a cage, a prison I unknowingly constructed to cope with my own fear of chaos. Maybe I smothered her spirit without even realizing it.

I release a slow, measured breath, watching it dissolve into the frigid air as my shoes crunch over the frost-covered gravel beneath me.

Kenzie isn’t like my ex.

She’s a whirlwind of wildness and freedom, her unpredictability both terrifying and exhilarating. Yet, she possesses a goodness that shines through.

She makes me laugh until my sides ache. She challenges me to think beyond my constraints. She inspires me to strive for something better.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, wrestling with the urge to text her.

I want to tell her I’m sorry for my hesitation, that I’m ready to embrace the unknown, that I love her. But instead, I slip the phone back into my pocket, the decision weighing heavily on me.

I need to demonstrate my feelings with actions, not just words. Words can be hollow echoes, but actions have a way of speaking truths. I'm determined to step off the sidelines and actively participate in my own life.

I turn back toward home, my steps slower and more deliberate, as if I'm trying to stretch out the moment, the heaviness in my chest a bit lighter than before.

I still don’t know if I feel the same way they do about this whole situation. Love. That word has always been complicated for me.

I love my son without any doubts, love his laughter and the way he looks up at me with those trusting eyes. But loving an adult, a partner, that's a different beast altogether.

It's something scarier, like standing at the edge of a cliff, not sure if I'll fall or fly.

As I cross into our neighborhood, the scent of distant chimney smoke swirls with the crisp air, filling my lungs with a sense of nostalgia.

My sneakers thud against the pavement with a steady rhythm that is oddly soothing, the sound echoing in the quiet morning.

Then, my phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the serene silence. I slow to a stop, pulling it out with fingers that are stiff and chilled from the cold.

Swiping open the group chat, I read the message from Kenzie.

We all love you, Ambrose. You don’t have to feel just like us, but we want you to be a part of this, to be a part of our baby’s life. Take your time. Xo.

I stare at the screen, my heartbeat quickening in a new rhythm, not from running or exertion, but from a place deep inside me.

She means it.

Even after everything, after how I've kept my walls up, she still wants me in this.

I don’t deserve her kindness and patience. But damn, I want to try.

A small, reluctant smile tugs at my lips, and I shake my head, a mix of exasperation and affection bubbling within me.

She’s impossible. Stubborn as hell, her emotions swinging like a wild pendulum, unpredictable in every sense, and yet, there's a strange comfort in her chaos, a way she has of making everything feel a little less daunting.

The weight of needing to have it all figured out lifts slightly, like a fog clearing from the path ahead.

Maybe I don't have to have all the answers right now.

Maybe I just need to be present.

I hold down the voice text button, my thumb pressing into the cool, smooth glass of my phone screen, and speak, my voice rough, still catching my breath from my morning run. "I’m sorry for running off. I’ll be home soon."

A quiet sense of relief washes over me, settling the restless thoughts that had been swirling. I jog the last few blocks back home, the rhythmic thud of my sneakers against the pavement echoing my growing resolve.

My feet move faster now, like my body is racing to catch up to the acceptance dawning in my heart.

I don’t have to be perfect.

I just have to show up.