Page 73 of Player Misconduct
Something in my chest melts too. I reach across the table and take her hand. “That’s what I want, Kendall. You and the baby in my jersey. Like Trey has Vivi and Adaline.”
Her expression softens but she shakes her head slightly. “I know. Just… give me some time, okay? Please?”
I squeeze her hand once. “I’ll tell my mom and my sister, but that’s it. Since the guys already know, we’ll keep it small.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
I glance down at her plate. “Now eat. That baby needs to be strong when it comes out. Skating lessons start at six months old.”
Her laugh bursts out before she can stop it. “Why does that not shock me?”
Kendall wanting to lay low and let the media roll with their assumptions about Tarron isn’t what I wanted when I imagined this conversation, but hearing her laugh makes it easier to live with. Even if this isn’t the plan I pictured the minute she told me she was pregnant—she’s giving me enough to hope for.
I know she’s not ready for what I want. And until she is, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she and the baby have peace.
“Thank you for understanding,” she says quietly.
“Making sure you have a stress-free pregnancy is my top priority,” I tell her. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to make that happen.”
“Even if it means not correcting the media about Tarron?”
The words sting, but I force a small smile. “For now,” I say.
I pull up in front of Kendall’s building just after four. The rain’s stopped, leaving everything shining and slick. Her apartment complex sits in a narrow row of brick walk-ups off Pine Street—clean, safe enough, but it’s not the kind of place I imagined having my kid grow up in. My apartment isn’t exactly ideal either. I imagined I’d have a house with a big yard by the time I had a child, but life throws you curve balls, and I can’t be mad at this one, because it gave me a son who’s on his way.
She unbuckles her seat belt, pausing for a second like she’s not sure if she should thank me or apologize .
“Thanks for lunch,” she says finally. “And the ride. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” I tell her.
Her eyes soften. “You always want to.”
She reaches for the handle, and I glance past her at the staircase leading up to her unit. Third floor. No elevator. Tight stairs, narrow hallway. My chest tightens with the math of it. A pregnant woman hauling groceries up three flights alone. A baby who’ll need more room than this place could ever give.
“Get inside before it starts raining again,” I say, forcing a smile.
She gives a small nod, opens the door. “Drive safe, Aleksi.”
“Text me when you’re settled,” I say automatically.
“I will.”
She hesitates, one hand on the door. For a second, I think she’s going to say something else—something that might make all of this feel a little less impossible.
But she just smiles, small and tired, and slips out into the drizzle.
I watch her climb the stairs, one careful hand on the railing. When she reaches the landing, she glances back once, then disappears inside.
I sit there for a minute longer, the ultrasound photo still tucked into my visor, replaying everything: the tiny heartbeat on the screen, her laughter over lunch, her insistence that this stay quiet.
It’s not how I imagined it. But I made her a deal.
And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s keeping my word.
She said she wanted as little stress as possible. Fine. Then I’ll handle everything else: the logistics, the backup plans, the safety net she refuses to ask for.
Because I meant it when I told her I’d make her life easier, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
