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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Braden

Kenzie has officially reached the stage where her growing belly obscures the view of her feet, and it’s driving her crazy.

Her frustration is palpable in her huffs and the way she occasionally glances down at her toes as if expecting them to reappear.

Not that she’ll openly admit it, but we all catch her grinning when we take over her chores. Her face lights up with a reluctant smile when we haul the heavy laundry basket down the stairs or stir a pot on the stove.

Even when we kneel to tie the laces of her sneakers, she can’t hide that tiny upward curve of her lips. Although she scowls when we hover too closely, the small, secret smiles give her away.

Kenzie is measuring much larger than a typical pregnancy, which makes sense with three tiny humans nestled in her belly, but it also means her balance is completely off.

Ambrose has taken to shadowing her like a vigilant bodyguard, his hand perpetually poised to catch her if she wobbles.

His eyes never stray far from her, ready to steady her with a gentle grip on her elbow.

Meanwhile, Reggie is in full overprotective Scottish dad mode, fussing over her with a thick accent that softens when he reminds her to sip from the water bottle he’s always refilling or guides her to the couch for a well-deserved nap.

He’s a constant presence, ensuring she rests whenever her eyelids droop.

As for me, I try to lighten the mood. I crack jokes to coax laughter from her when she’s feeling worn out, slip her favorite snacks into the pockets of her maternity pants, and kneel at her feet to massage her swollen ankles, drawing circles with my thumbs until she sighs in relief.

Kenzie complains incessantly, grumbling about her aching back and the relentless kicks from within, but she also melts under our hands, her tense muscles relaxing when we take care of her.

She acts annoyed, rolling her eyes at our fussing, but the glow on her face tells a different story.

She’s never looked happier.

That’s not all that’s exciting about today, though.

Today’s game day.

The air is charged with nervous energy so thick I can almost taste it as we step into the rink. The tension crackles around us like static as we gear up for the most important match of the year. Kenzie is already down by the bird enclosure, her laughter ringing out as she prepares the Macaws for their pregame antics.

They've been meticulously trained to swoop over the crowd, dropping T-shirts and little foam pucks to pump up the fans before we take to the ice.

One of the birds, a feisty little troublemaker with bright plumage, the same one that nipped at Kenzie’s fingers months ago, is at it again, causing a ruckus.

From a distance, I watch as Kenzie throws her head back in laughter, her hands resting lightly on her big belly as she calms the bird that now perches confidently on her shoulder.

There's something about the way she stands there, radiant, joyful, thriving amidst the chaos that surrounds her, that strikes a chord deep within me.

Ambrose comes up beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “You ready?” he asks, his voice steady and reassuring. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I force myself to look away from her.

“Yeah,” I reply, steeling myself for the challenge ahead. “Let’s win this thing.”

The Ottawa Moose are playing like their lives depend on it. The scoreboard shows a tense 5-5 tie, the crowd's cheers are echoing like thunder, and the air feels thick with tension as if it could choke us. Each time we edge ahead, they claw us back, relentless and unyielding.

Then, things take a turn for the worse.

Reggie skates hard down the rink, but an opposing player slams him into the boards with a bone-jarring check. He crumples to the ice, but when he rises, his gloves are already off, tossed aside like unwanted baggage.

Before I can blink, chaos erupts into a full-on brawl.

Ambrose and I don’t falter. We leap into the fray.

Fists are flying like a flurry of punches in a storm. I feel a hand yank on my jersey, pulling me off balance.

I swing my arm with all the force I can muster, connecting with a guy’s jaw, and my knuckles scream in agony. The shrill blast of the ref’s whistles pierces the air.

The crowd is shouting a cacophony of wild sounds, and we’re all eventually pulled apart, adrenaline still coursing through us.

The game grinds to a halt.

The penalty box is so packed it feels like a sardine can, but we grin at each other, eyes alight with the thrill of the moment.

“Worth it?” I ask, swiping at the blood trickling from my lip with the back of my hand.

Reggie snorts, a smirk playing on his bruised face. “Aye.”

Ambrose just shakes his head with a wry grin, clearly entertained by the ruckus.

Back on the ice, the clock is our enemy, showing a mere fifteen seconds left. We need to score. It’s do or die.

Then, chaos erupts on the ice rink.

The macaw that previously nipped at Kenzie’s finger?

Yeah, it decides this is the perfect moment to unleash pandemonium.

With a burst of color, the bird swoops down onto the ice, wings flapping with frantic energy. It darts between the skaters, weaving around legs and dodging sticks, causing the referees to blow their whistles in a flurry of confusion, their shrill sound barely cutting through the noise.

The bird handlers, dressed in matching uniforms and stationed near the edge of the rink, call out desperately, their voices rising above the cacophony. But the macaw pays them no heed, its vibrant feathers catching the light as it continues its mad flight.

But Kenzie’s voice pierces through the chaos from the stands.

“Here, buddy!” she calls, her tone clear and commanding amidst the turmoil.

The macaw halts mid-flight, its wings momentarily suspended in the air. Then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, it ascends gracefully towards her.

It alights gently on her shoulder, its claws curling gently against the fabric of her sweater.

The crowd erupts into cheers, a wave of sound crashing against the walls of the arena. Cameras flash, capturing the moment in bursts of light.

Under the dazzling arena lights, I watch Kenzie, her face radiant with amusement, her hands resting on her belly as she laughs, the macaw perched calmly beside her.

And that’s when I notice it. A gap in the defense, a fleeting chance.

I react instinctively, my muscles coiling as I drive the puck forward with a powerful slap, the blade of my stick slicing through the ice with precision. The puck glides, a black blur on white, cutting a path straight to the goal.

The goalie dives, his body a flurry of motion in a desperate attempt to block the shot. But it’s too late. The puck slips past him, hitting the back of the net.

The buzzer blares, announcing victory. 6-5.

Our team erupts in a frenzy of celebration, gloves and sticks soaring into the air like confetti. We scream, our voices hoarse with triumph.

And up in the stands, Kenzie is cheering, her laughter ringing out as she holds the bird, her joy as palpable as ours. The bird copies the cheering of the crowd and flaps its wings hard, making Kenzie laugh.

It’s as if she scored the winning goal herself.

And honestly? She kind of did.

Kenzie is still buzzing from the game, her laughter echoing in the crisp night air as we guide her outside. Her cheeks are a rosy pink, and her eyes sparkle with the kind of happiness that only a championship victory can bring.

As she glances at each of us, there's a playful suspicion dancing in her eyes.

“You’re acting weird,” she teases, lips quirking into a curious smile.

Reggie, flashing a mischievous grin, gently nudges her toward the car parked beneath the streetlight's soft glow. “Just get in, lass ,” he urges, winking.

She lets out an exaggerated sigh but doesn’t protest, sliding into the passenger seat. I settle in beside her, the leather seats slightly cool against the night air.

Ambrose takes the wheel, while Reggie claims his spot in the front, the familiar scent of his aftershave mingling with the car's interior smells.

“Where are we going?” Kenzie asks, her brows knitting together in confusion, yet her face remains radiant from the adrenaline of our win.

Silence answers her question, thick with an anticipation that hums through the vehicle. She peers out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across her puzzled expression.

As we roll into the parking lot of Feather & Fur Veterinary Clinic, her bewilderment grows. Her gaze lingers on a large construction sign anchored firmly in the ground, bold letters spelling out the name of a renowned renovation company.

Her head turns slowly, eyes wide, lips parting as she processes the scene. “What is this?” she breathes, her voice a mix of wonder and disbelief.

Ambrose shifts the car into park, then turns to face her, resting an arm casually over the back of the seat. “We know you’ve been stressing about this place,” he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. “So, we’re helping.”

Kenzie blinks rapidly, her hands trembling as emotion swells within her. “You, you’re fixing the clinic?” Her voice cracks with a blend of hope and astonishment.

Reggie nods enthusiastically. “With a proper surgical suite, modernized kennels, the works. And a nursery, for when the wee ones come,” he adds, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Her face crumples as tears well up, her breath catching in her throat. Suddenly, she bursts into tears, sobbing, actually, reaching out to clutch each of us in a tight embrace.

“You guys are amazing,” she manages to say between sobs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I can’t help but grin as I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her gratitude.

“You’re not in this alone anymore. We’ve got you.”