Page 34 of Breakaway Daddies

“Of course, Ro,” I say, managing to meet his gaze again.

We get into chatting, Rowan being benched due to his injuries, and not out on the ice with the team.

He’s been pretty upset since his last doctor’s visit, where he was told he was still doing too much and wasn’t healing as quickly because he was pushing himself so hard, and I realize how much he actually did need me around to help him.

As I laugh at something he says, a sudden wave of nausea crashes over me, leaving a sour taste at the back of my throat. I blink rapidly, pressing my lips together to suppress the queasiness, and shift to sit up straighter on the couch.

A strange unease settles in my stomach. I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to steady my breath.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t been feeling my best for a few days. Nothing too alarming, just a persistent queasiness, a vague sense of being out of sorts.

But life has been hectic.

Between long hours at the office, attending Rowan’s physical therapy sessions, and juggling the chaotic schedules of three professional athletes, I’ve been functioning on autopilot.

My fingers absentmindedly trace circles on my stomach as Rowan continues with his story.

“…and then Thomas nearly wiped out trying to take a shot. He’s fine, but I swear he thinks he’s invincible,” Rowan says, his voice animated.

I manage a chuckle, but my thoughts drift elsewhere. Exhaustion tugs at me, heavier than usual. But isn’t that just the way of things? The constant whirlwind of responsibilities and commitments?

Right?

Before I can dwell on that thought, my phone pings. A message pops up from Jack, my younger brother. The screen illuminates with the words:

>> You around to chat?

I frown, my thumb hovering over the notification.

Jack rarely reaches out like this out of the blue. It’s not that we aren’t close, we are, sorta, but we have a peculiar sibling dynamic.

He usually leaves me to my own devices unless something significant is going on.

I switch back to the convo with Rowan, his face popping up on my screen again. “Hey, my brother just texted. I should probably see what’s up,” I say with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Rowan nods. “Yeah, no problem. Call me later if we aren’t back yet,” he replies, offering a reassuring smile.

“Deal.” I smile back, then end the call.

I need to get out, get some fresh air—do anything but sit here like this. I put on my boots, grab my purse, and head outside.

Taking a deep breath, I swipe back to the home screen and tap on Jack’s name. The phone rings, the sound resonating in my ear like a persistent drumbeat.

As I wait, an uneasy feeling coils in my stomach, a tight knot of anticipation and dread. Maybe it’s the nausea creeping in, or maybe it’s just the uncertainty of what Jack wants to discuss.

I wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder, the screen warm against my cheek, as I rummage through the chaotic depths of my purse for my elusive car keys.

“Wait, you’re heading to Vegas again?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.

Jack’s laughter bursts through the speaker, slightly distorted but full of excitement. “Hell yeah, sis. You know, last time was the best time of my life.”

I shake my head, finally feeling the cool metal of my keys, and unlock my car with a click. “You mean when you blacked out and woke up in a lavish hotel suite with two girls you don’t even remember meeting?”

“Three girls, thank you very much,” he corrects, a smug edge to his voice.

I snort, settling into the driver’s seat and gripping the steering wheel. “Kinky must run in the family.”

“What?” he asks, confusion apparent in his tone.

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