37. Brayden
brAYDEN
After what felt like five stores, a hundred outfits, three emotional meltdowns, and one heroic saleswoman who deserved a medal, Karla finally found the dress—a floor-length gown that made her glow like she was carrying royalty instead of our tiny gymnast daughter.
The woman at the store had been unbelievably kind, guiding Karla through fabrics and fits until she picked out the perfect dress.
Normally, I hated shopping with a passion, but tonight?
Watching Karla light up, watching her feel seen and pampered after a rough day—it made every minute worth it.
By the time we got to the Hayes estate, we were so late that even the stone fountain in the oversized circular driveway seemed to judge us.
I stood in the entryway for a few seconds before ringing the doorbell, trying to steel myself for what would inevitably become the world’s most uncomfortable dinner.
Myla opened the door with a too-bright smile, immediately grabbing Karla’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming tonight,” she said, practically dragging us inside.
She took our coats and guided us through the polished hallways into a living room big enough to host a press conference. Everyone was already seated and sipping something amber from crystal goblets. The air felt heavy with money and tension—a familiar mix in this family.
“My brother and his girlfriend are here,” Myla announced, waving us into the room like she was presenting contestants on a game show.
Mrs. Hayes swept toward us with practiced elegance, introducing herself to Karla and giving me a hug that was the emotional equivalent of a firm handshake.
“Such a pleasure to have you in our home,” she said, blinking at Karla’s belly with interest. “You know Myla and Gavin, of course.” She turned to me only briefly, clearly relieved that she didn’t have to make small talk with a guy who preferred hitting other men on ice for a living.
“And this,” she continued grandly, “is my husband, Gideon, and our younger son, Griffin.”
Both men lifted their glasses in acknowledgment—Coach with a stern nod, Griffin with a half-smirk before pushing himself up.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?” Griffin offered, dropping two ice cubes into a crystal tumbler.
“Water, please,” Karla answered.
“Whatever you’re having will work,” I added.
“Coming right up.”
We shuffled into the dining room, the sound of silverware clinking and polite conversation filling the overly formal space. The table was long enough to need a postal code. A chandelier glittered above us like it was judging every life decision I’d ever made.
The beginning of the meal was slow—painfully slow—and filled with light conversation about weather, traffic, pregnancy cravings (Karla, not Mrs. Hayes, thank God), and postseason events.
The most thrilling part of it was when Mrs. Hayes smiled sweetly and asked, “So, how long have you two been married?”
Karla nearly inhaled her water. “Oh, no ma’am, we’re not married.”
Mrs. Hayes’ eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “I’m terribly sorry for my assumption. When are you due?”
Karla rubbed her belly, beaming in the candlelight. “It’s getting close. She’ll be here before we know it.”
Myla perked up at that. “I keep trying to get them to tell me the name of my niece, but they want to keep it a big secret.” She shot me a wicked grin right as Coach cleared his throat.
“So, Myla,” Coach said, leaning forward to get a better look at his daughter. “When are you and Gavin going to start a family?”
There it was. The bomb. The conversational landmine.
“Gideon, leave them alone,” Mrs. Hayes scolded gently. “Let them enjoy being married for a bit.”
But her words bounced off Coach like pucks off plexiglass.
With a completely serious expression, Gavin lifted his glass and stated, “Dad, My can’t get pregnant if she keeps swallowing.”
I spit whiskey all over my plate. My cheeks fired up like someone lit them with a blowtorch. Karla slapped a hand over her mouth. Myla choked on her wine.
And Coach… Coach looked like he had been personally stabbed by that sentence.
I wanted to die. Just implode into a neat little pile of ash and be swept away.
Griffin cleared his throat loudly. “This roast beef is fantastic, Mom. You really outdid yourself.”
Myla, face twisting into a horrified grin, shoved away from the table. “I’m going to get another beverage. Can I get anyone anything?”
“Well, my dad is fishing for grandkids—wanna pop one out really quick?” Gavin snickered.
“Gavin, what the fuck has gotten into you?” Myla barked from across the room.
I leaned toward Karla and whispered, “Now do you see why I didn’t want to come?”
She squeezed my thigh gently. “I will listen to you next time.”
Gavin started to stand to go after Myla, but I slapped my napkin onto the table and raised my hand. “I’ll go. You might make this worse.”
Gavin dropped back into his seat with a helpless shrug.
“Karla, you should go with him,” Gavin added.
“Fantastic idea,” Karla said, practically leaping up. She grabbed my hand, and we headed into the foyer to find Myla pacing in the corner, breathing hard.
“Hey sis,” I muttered softly. “You okay?”
Her face was beet red, and she was wiping tears with the desperation of someone trying not to ruin her mascara. “They hate me,” she whispered harshly.
Karla immediately wrapped her in a hug. I tried to think of something comforting that didn’t sound like I was reading it off the side of a cereal box.
“Coach hates everyone,” I breathed out finally. “I think that’s his way of showing he cares.”
Myla gave me a look like I’d told her the earth was flat. “I don’t think that’s how it works. He loves Grif. But with Gavin and me? For some reason we’re treated like we only exist to annoy him.”
I sighed. “Don’t let him get under your skin. The only way to beat him is to act like it doesn’t affect you.” I exhaled. “I’m not defending Gavin’s foul remark, but at least he… tried to lighten it?”
She threw her hands in the air. “How embarrassing was that though?”
“You’re telling me,” I muttered. I could still taste the whiskey I’d spit out.
“Not helping,” Karla scolded gently. She looked between us, calm and steady. “Let’s go back in there and make the best of the rest of this dinner.”
Myla sniffed. “Do you see now why I begged you to come?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”
We returned to the dining room just in time to see Gavin and Coach squared off like two roosters in a barnyard.
“You are going to apologize to Myla,” Gavin growled, jaw clenched.
“For what?” Coach barked, flecks of spit launching across the table. “You’re the one making smartass comments.”
“Only because you ask the most intrusive shit imaginable,” Gavin fired back.
I honestly thought they were going to start swinging.
Myla jumped between them, hands up. “Can we all blame that on the alcohol and get back to having a pleasant evening? It’s Gavin’s birthday, and I haven’t even given him his present yet.”
Everyone reluctantly sat back down—Coach with stiff shoulders, Gavin with storm clouds still brewing over his head.
Myla reached into her bag, cheeks still pink but eyes sparkling with determination. She handed me a card, then one to Griffin, and finally one to Gavin.
“Open,” she instructed.
I pulled the envelope apart and read her handwriting, and my jaw dropped.
“Well?” Mrs. Hayes asked eagerly.
Myla beamed. “Gavin didn’t get a bachelor party, and Brayden is about to be a dad, so I figured a guys’ trip was in order.
There’s a ticket for Sean too. The four of you are going to Costa Rica to fish for black marlin.
And while the boys are away, Karla, Jordan, McBee, and I are having a spa weekend.
It’s all set up for three and a half weeks before the baby is due. ”
Gavin leaned over, kissing her cheek softly. “How’d you pull all this off?”
Myla turned her smile to me—proud, loving, relieved. “Simon is an amazing resource and a master at planning stuff like this. You should really be thanking him.”