Chapter Twelve #2
A beat later the door swings open, and she’s standing there in leggings and a light blue blouse that’s too big for her, hair twisted into a messy bun. She looks as beautiful as ever, even while sporting an expression somewhere between flustered and apologetic.
“Sorry,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I tried to make breakfast. It went… poorly.”
I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, fighting a smile. “You’re feeding two people now. That’s practically a sport.”
She huffs a laugh and steps aside so I can come in.
The place smells faintly like burnt toast and coffee.
The studio’s small–so small that when I shift to close the door, my duffel nearly bumps the corner of her couch.
But it’s her. Soft gray blankets, stacks of medical journals, a few framed photos of the Hawkeyes, and in the corner, still in the box, a folded bassinet.
She notices me looking. “It’s temporary,” she says quickly, like she’s been rehearsing it. “My lease is up in six months. I’ll find somewhere bigger after the baby gets here.”
“Looks cozy,” I offer.
“It’s small,” she insists.
“Small can be cozy,” I counter, earning a tiny smile that makes my chest ache.
She’s nervous. I can see it in the way she keeps straightening things that don’t need straightening. A stack of mail, her coffee mug, a blanket that’s already neat.
When she reaches for her purse, I grab it first. “Got it.”
“I can carry my own bag,” she protests.
“I know,” I say, slinging it over my shoulder. “But I want to.”
Her eyes flicker to mine like she’s not sure what to do with that, then she sighs and lets it go. It’s a win. One small step in the right direction to show her that I’m here to support her. I’m going to keep showing it until she believes it–feels she can count on it.
We walk out together, the hall echoing with the faint mumbles of her neighbors’ TVs.
She buckles her seatbelt, notices the pile of books on the backseat, and blinks. “Some light reading before bed?”
I glance at the stack–What to Expect When You’re Expecting, The Expectant Father, Crib Safety 101. “Trying to catch up,” I admit. “I want to be ready before the baby gets here.”
She arches a brow. “You realize most first-time dads panic their way through this, right?”
“I’m not panicking.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me.
“Okay,” I say, giving in. Lying won’t get me anywhere with her. Honesty is the only way to win her over, “I’m preparing so I don’t panic. You know me… I like to know the facts.”
That earns a soft laugh, the first real one I’ve heard from her in weeks. It feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. But when the laughter fades, silence slips back in–comfortable and heavy all at once. There’s still a lot we both have to say but neither of us are saying it.
“I’ve never done this before,” I say quietly, eyes on the road. “I don’t want to screw it up.”
Her gaze turns toward the window, watching the blur of the city roll by. “You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you care too much to get it wrong,” she says simply, glancing over at me. “You don’t do halfway, Aleksi. Not with hockey. Not with people. Not with me.”
That last part hits me. It’s exactly the thing I want her to see in me. It’s the way my father treated everyone and how he did everything before he passed. He never did anything halfway and I don’t want to either. I swallow hard, unsure what to say, so I just nod.
At a red light, I reach across the console and rest my hand gently on her belly. “I can’t wait for this little one to get here,” I say.
Her lips part slightly, breath catching, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she places her hand over mine, letting it linger there. The world outside the windshield goes quiet. It’s just us for a moment.
When the light turns green, I reluctantly pull my hand back, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
“Like I said before. You don’t have any obligation to do anything,” she says softly, like she’s trying to protect me from my own heart.
“Is it okay with you that I want to?”
She nods. “But that doesn’t mean this is going to be easy. Or that there won’t be consequences to both of our careers for this. We need a plan.”
We drive the rest of the way mostly in silence, broken only by her humming along to the radio. Every now and then, she presses her hand absentmindedly against her stomach, and I catch myself watching her reflection in the window instead of the traffic ahead.
She’s glowing, even if she won’t admit it.
Not the cliché kind–more like a quiet light that lives under her skin, something she built herself out of resilience and stubbornness.
I park in front of the clinic, shift into park, and glance over. “Ready?”
She exhales through her nose, fingers gripping her seatbelt. “As I’ll ever be.”
As we walk inside, I think about how strange this all is. How a month ago I was halfway across the world convincing myself to let her go, and now I’m walking beside her toward the first glimpse of the possible future ahead of us.
And somehow, I already know that whatever happens after this appointment, I’m never going to be able to walk away again.
“Dr. Rodriguez will be right in,” the nurse says, smiling before she slips out.
The door clicks shut, leaving us alone in the exam room.
Kendall climbs onto the table, tugging her blouse up to reveal the small curve of her belly. I sit in the chair beside her, my knee bouncing before I can stop it.
She notices. “Are you nervous?”
I huff out a laugh. “A little bit.”
Her mouth quirks. “You’ve faced down NHL defensemen twice your size and you’re nervous about an ultrasound?”
“Defensemen don’t have heartbeats A\as far as I’m concerned. They’re heartless robots sent to destroy my season.”
That earns a soft laugh. It’s small, but real, and for the next few minutes we sit there in comfortable silence.
Dr. Rodriguez knocks lightly to warn she’s entering and then comes in . She greets Kendall first, asking a few routine questions before glancing at me. “And you must be the dad.”
My chest tightens at the word. Dad. It’s the first time anyone’s said it out loud.
I don’t say anything in response, giving Kendall the option here. I want her comfortable and I don’t know where we’re landing when it comes to telling everyone yet. Even if half the team already knows.
“Yes, he is. This is Aleksi,” Kendall says, looking at me and then the doctor.
“Great. I’m so glad you could make it this time, Aleksi.
I’m Dr. Rodriguez, and I’ll be Kendall’s OBGYN through the entire pregnancy.
I’ll also be the doctor on call when Kendall gives birth—assuming she delivers within two weeks of February twentieth.
Otherwise, one of my partners will cover if I’m in another delivery. ”
Kendall turns quickly, as if something just occurred to her. “Just so you know, he may or may not be here when I give birth.”
“Not here for the birth? I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her, not understanding why she’d think I wouldn’t show.
She glances over at me. “The season. You might be out of town for an away game.”
Her explanation hits like a slap of cold air. She’s right. I might be on the road when she goes into labor. The idea of not being there to drive her to the hospital, to hold her hand, to cut the cord—feels like a foreign concept I’ve never had to consider until now.
She sees the shock on my face. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “I knew that was a possibility.”
No… it’s not okay. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
“Doc, do you travel for patients?”
“Aleksi…” Kendall warns.
“I can pay double. Triple. Name your price.”
“Oh my God.” She slaps her forehead and looks at the doctor. “Ignore him.”
Dr. Rodriguez just smiles. “We’re a little far away to worry about that right now. Once we’re closer to delivery, we’ll talk about options, okay?”
Kendall nods, calm as ever, but it doesn’t touch the anxiety tightening my chest. I hate the idea of missing any of this.
“Now, are we ready for the fun part?” the doctor asks, warming up the monitor. “Seeing the baby?”
“Yes, we’re very excited,” Kendall says.
Then the doctor glances at me. “You’re welcome to move closer, and you can hold her hand if you’d like.”
I look at Kendall. She doesn’t say yes, but she doesn’t say no either. So I slide my chair closer until I’m beside the table, and when I reach out, she takes my hand.
“And how do we feel about finding out the sex of the baby today? Or are you planning to wait?” Dr. Rodriguez asks.
Kendall’s eyes dart to mine, wide and uncertain. “I thought we found out at the twenty-week ultrasound?”
“Yes, typically,” Dr. Rodriguez says with an easy smile. “But since you didn’t know sooner, we’re a little behind, which means we should be able to tell now. That is, if the baby cooperates. It’s entirely up to you.”
Kendall looks at me like a deer in headlights. I can practically see the calculation behind her eyes. The part of her that lives by rules, schedules, and plans suddenly dropped into something unpredictable.
And this is the moment I get it… what all those parenting podcasts meant about support. It doesn’t always come with big speeches or perfect timing. Sometimes it’s as simple as being the steady one when the other person can’t find their footing.
She doesn’t know what the right answer is. But she’s looking at me like maybe I do.
I clear my throat, trying to soften the tension in the room. “I’d like to know… that is, if you’re okay with it. Unless you were planning some big gender reveal?”
Her shoulders drop a little. “God, no. No gender reveal,” she says, and then turns back to the doctor. “Okay, we’ll find out now.”
Dr. Rodriguez grins. “Perfect. Let’s see if the baby will give us a good look today.”
Dr. Rodriguez spreads the cool gel across Kendall’s stomach, then turns the monitor toward us. The screen flickers, gray static swirling until—there.