35. Brayden
brAYDEN
MONTHS LATER
The weeks had passed by so quickly it almost felt like someone was hitting fast-forward on my life. And for once, the speed didn’t scare me. Things weren’t spiraling out of control the way they used to. They were settling. Sharpening. Shifting into something that looked suspiciously like peace.
Myla and Gavin were already married—somehow managing to pull off a wedding that was equal parts candlelit elegance and total chaotic hockey-family disaster. Karla cried through the entire ceremony, which she blamed strictly on hormones, even though she’d sob at puppy commercials on a normal day.
Karla was showing more and more every day, and every time I saw that bump, something primal and protective kicked on inside of me—like I’d swallowed a lightning bolt and it was now in charge of my emotions.
And the Otters? Stanley Cup champions.
Even months later, I kept catching myself staring at the ring on my finger like it might disappear if I blinked too long. I’d waited my whole damn life for that moment—lifting the Cup, hearing my name in the roar of the arena, celebrating until sunrise with my team.
But nothing—and I mean nothing—matched waking up next to Karla in our shared bed, her hand pressed protectively over the little life growing inside her.
My life was finally as perfect as I’d always hoped it would be.
Rolling over in the soft morning half-light, I leaned in and kissed Karla’s cheek, still warm from sleep.
“Baby, wake up,” I breathed against her soft skin.
She made a noise that was somewhere between a groan, a whimper, and a threat. “No. Five more minutes.”
I chuckled and wrapped my arms around her from behind, rubbing her belly gently. “You said that twenty minutes ago. At this point, I think we’re skipping the ‘nap’ terminology and entering ‘hibernation.’”
She yanked the covers over both of our heads, plunging us into a warm, cozy darkness that smelled like vanilla lotion and sleepy Karla. “I’m so sleepy,” she moaned dramatically, snuggling deeper against me.
Pregnancy had turned her into two versions of herself—A tiny, exhausted burrito. A tiny, hormonal dragon ready to burn the world down. Both were adorable. And a little terrifying.
I started rapid-firing kisses all over her face, her cheek, her jaw, then trailing down to her belly where our girl gave a tiny kick under my lips.
“Wake up,” I teased against her skin. “We have that stupid dinner tonight.”
“Fine.” She groaned like I’d asked her to climb Everest. Then she tugged me closer with surprising force. “But you have to wake me up in a happy way.”
Her voice turned playful—low and teasing—and before I could respond, she hooked her finger in the waistband of my sweatpants.
Oh.
So we were doing that.
Her mischievous grin was the kind of thing that could derail national infrastructure.
I kissed her neck slowly, savoring how her breath hitched, how her skin warmed beneath my mouth.
My hand slid down and tugged her panties aside, fingers brushing over her clit in gentle circles that made her hips jump.
Whoever said sex during pregnancy was weird was a certified idiot. I was borderline obsessed with her pregnant body—her curves, her softness, the glow she got after she came. If she wanted me, I would do anything to give her exactly that.
She freed my cock with one expert flick of her hand, rolling her thumb over the head in a slow stroke that sent my spine into orbit.
“Get on your side, baby,” I breathed into her ear.
She shifted, and I watched her like I always did—completely mesmerized, completely gone. I stroked myself, getting ready for her, heat pooling low in my stomach.
Sliding behind her, I guided myself between her thighs, letting the head of my cock rub against her slick opening. She whimpered, desperate and beautiful.
“Brayden, you’re not going to break me. Fuck me!” she demanded.
That made me laugh, breathless. “As you wish.”
I thrust into her slowly, savoring the tight heat that immediately gripped me. My hands dug into her hips, my mouth brushing her shoulder as I bit down softly. Her pussy clenched around me, her moans getting faster, higher.
She was close. I was close. Everything was perfect—
And then…
The baby moved.
Like—really moved.
A foot jabbed out so clearly I could practically count her toes.
“What the fuck?” I yelped and pulled out so fast I might’ve broken a world record.
Karla tried to look over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I pointed at her stomach, horrified. “Foot.”
“Brayden,” she groaned with exasperated disbelief, “there’s a small human inside me. What the fuck do you expect to happen?”
“I don’t know! Not that! What if she was pissed about us doing it and she was protesting? I can’t.” I shook my head rapidly, grabbing my sweatpants and pulling them back on. “I’m so sorry, baby. Just… not right now. We can try again later.”
Frustration flashed across her face. “Fucking incredible.”
She climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. I scrambled after her.
“Karla, I’m sorry. I was just—shocked.” My head fell to me hands. Fucking idiot.
She lifted one hand, stopping me cold in the doorway. “I’m going to take a bath. Alone. It’s fine. Seriously.”
Her eyes shimmered—not angry. Hurt. Emotional.
“Babe,” I whispered, cupping her cheek as she leaned away slightly, “you’re not fine.”
“I really am,” she forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just need a minute. Hormones.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to laugh it off, but then shut the bathroom door gently.
I stood there like a useless moron before walking away to give her space. Pregnancy hormones were like navigating a minefield blindfolded with a broken GPS.
By the time she came out, wrapped in a towel with damp cheeks and wet hair, we were running late.
“I just don’t know why we have to go tonight.” I buttoned my dress shirt, muttering under my breath. “It’s been a long day.”
Meanwhile, Karla was… having a full-scale meltdown in the closet. Clothes were flying. Literally airborne. It was like watching a tornado gain sentience.
“I am too fucking fat for all of my clothes, Bray!”
I opened my mouth to laugh—to lighten the mood—until she turned around clutching her favorite little black dress… and she was crying.
Real crying.
Full blubbering.
“Babe,” I said softly, crossing the room to her, “you’re not fat. You’re pregnant. There’s a huge difference.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We can skip the dinner if you’re feeling self-conscious.”
She glared at me so sharply I nearly tripped over a pile of shoes. “You’re going because this means a lot to your sister and it is your brother-in-law’s birthday. We already agreed to go. So we are fucking going whether you like it or not, Mr. Cox.”
I groaned. She knew I hated being called that. It was her favorite weapon.
She turned back to the closet, yanking out another dress.
“Why don’t we just go buy you a new one?” I suggested carefully, like I was approaching a wild animal. “Something that fits right and makes you feel good.”
Karla’s shoulders dropped. Then she slowly sank down onto the bed, tears streaming again. “But that means I really am too fat for my clothes.”
There it was. The hormonal spiral.
I knelt in front of her. “It means our body is busy doing something amazing. And I just want you to feel as beautiful as I know you are.”
Her crying stuttered. Then she laughed through tears.
Finally. Cheesy line for the win.
“Fine,” she sniffled. “Let me grab my coat. We can hit the mall on our way to the Hayes’ place.”
And just like that, crisis averted. Until the next one.