Page 66 of Player Misconduct
“Yeah, well,” Hunter shrugs, unapologetic, “we make efficient use of time.”
The locker room bursts into laughter, but I can’t quite join in. My stomach’s still knotted, brain replaying Kendall’s face when I asked to touch her stomach. The way her expression softened.
Trey notices. “Seriously, though,” he says, lowering his voice. “You good?”
I nod. How could I not be good? The woman I’m crazy about is having my baby. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than I should be.”
He studies me a beat longer, then nods slowly. “You’re handling it better than I would’ve. Vivi said Kendall’s been worried about the whole thing. And Tarron McCoy hinting on national television that they are getting back together threw her off.”
I smile faintly. “We’ll work it out now that I’m back. Tarron and I will be exchanging words if he thinks he can claim my kid and Kendall in charity interviews. It’s not going to go down like that.”
“Have you talked to Kendall about that?” Hunter asks, as if he still knows more than I do.
Before I can ask what he knows, Coach yells for quiet as the morning orientation starts. Everyone shuffles toward the whiteboard, the usual mix of jokes and chirps dies down. But I barely hear a word of the schedule rundown. Conditioning drills, media day prep, equipment fittings. It all blurs into background noise.
All I can think about is her and the baby.
When the meeting ends, I sit on the bench for a second longer than everyone else, pulling out my phone. My thumb hovers over our text thread—short, clinical, all business until now.
Me:Can I come to the next ultrasound?
The three little dots appear almost immediately. Then—
Kendall:You can.
I exhale, the tension easing. I’m still not sure where I fit into all of this. What she’s going to let me do, or how she’s going to let me be involved, but I’m hoping this is what I need for her to see that we’re worth a shot.
Me:When?
Kendall:Thursday morning. 9 a.m.
Me:I’ll pick you up.
Kendall:OK
I slip my phone back into my pocket, letting the sound of sticks hitting the floor and lockers slamming ground me again.
Slade walks by, flipping a puck in his hand. “You look like you just got benched or blessed. Which is it?”
“Maybe both,” I say with a grin.
He gives me a look like I’ve completely lost it, but I don’t care.
Two more days.
I can survive anything for two more days.
My apartment looks like a bomb went off in a baby aisle.
There’s a stack of library books on the counter, three open tabs on my laptop, and a YouTube video still paused mid-sentence on “Ten Things Every New Dad Should Know.” If anyone walked in, they’d think I was cramming for a parenting final.
I scroll through the site again. “At fourteen weeks, your baby is the size of a peach.”
A peach. My chest tightens with a weird mix of pride and panic. Kendall is already past her first trimester which means I have less than 7 months before she gives birth
I typewhat to expect when you’re expecting as a new dadinto Google like a man looking for cheat codes. Results flood the page. Articles. Forums. Dad podcasts with names likeThe Rookie FatherandDad Mode Activated.
I click the first one. A chipper voice greets me:
