Page 73 of Breakaway Daddies

I’ve been like this for almost two hours now: just trying to formulate my thoughts into a cover letter but every time I try I’m inundated with repeated thoughts of how I need a new job because I’ve been caught having an orgy in public.

It’s a wonder I haven’t been arrested for public indecency…

Every time I start a sentence, my mind goes sideways.

I have experience in all areas of PT, including injury avoidance, recovery, and how to handle three dicks at once!

With a groan, I dig my fists into my eyes, trying to refocus on the letters I still haven’t written, feeling the weight of their blankness, and a heavy “ugh” echoes in my mind.

I was meant to be a free spirit, untethered by conventional expectations. Planning for baby bottles and college classes simultaneously was never something I foresaw in my future.

And, well, certainly not doing it alone in my cramped little apartment, where the air is heavy with the earthy scent of snake bedding mingling with the sharpness of lavender cleaner.

I gather my scattered papers with a resigned sigh, cramming them into my battered laptop bag alongside my MacBook and a granola bar that will likely remain anxiously uneaten.

My fingers drum nervously on the desk, eyes flitting to the ultrasound picture carefully tucked inside my planner. A pang twists through my heart.

There’s a part of me that yearns to be with the boys, to truly be with them. To raise this baby together and form some unconventional, alternative version of a happy family.

But another voice in my head shouts, “You don’t fit into any box, Jinx. You’ve never followed the script, so why start now?”

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating. I grab my worn hoodie, shrug it over my shoulders, and head out the door. I crave noise, the clamor of life.

I need movement, the rush of adrenaline.

And, against my better judgment, I need the rink.

The thought stops me in my tracks. How could I return to the rink? If I did manage to get in, would I be trespassing?

My heart races a little when I think about Coach’s reaction to seeing me, his dark eyes narrowing to slits and his large mouth downturning into a disappointed frown.

The rink is a public place, though. Just because you were fired doesn’t mean you’re banned from ever attending a hockey game again, right?

That thought galvanizes me enough that I figure I’ll give it a shot.

I have to try anything to get myself together, to get my mind ready to move on.

The drive soothes me somewhat as I wind along the familiar roads. Outside, the wind whistles through the small gap in my car window, playfully tugging at the loose strands of my burgundy hair that I haven’t bothered to tie back.

My thoughts swirl like a relentless carousel, each turn bringing a new wave of anxiety.

What if I never figure out what I want from life?

What if I can’t handle this journey on my own?

What if everyone else has already moved on without me?

How will I react when I see the boys?

That one floods me with nerves. I don’t know how I’ll act. I’m pretty good at playing aloof, but I also thought I was good at hiding that I was in a quad-with-benefits, and that blew up in my face, didn’t it?

As the rink comes into view, my heart beats a little faster, a mix of nostalgia and nervousness. I’ve missed this place: the sharp bite of the cold air inside, the glacial scent of freshly resurfaced ice, the rhythmic hum of skates cutting across the rink.

The memories flood back as I approach the entrance. I swipe my badge with anticipation, but the scanner remains silent, unresponsive. I try again, pressing the card against the reader more firmly. Still nothing.

Of course, why would it still work…

Panic rises, and embarrassment tingles up my neck in a hot wave. I stand there, momentarily frozen, contemplating retreat, when a voice I recognize breaks through my thoughts.

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