Chapter Twelve #3
A small shape emerges, hazy at first, then sharpening with each adjustment of the probe. The rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of the heartbeat fills the room, steady and sure. My chest tightens. That sound—our baby’s heart—is somehow louder than everything else.
“Here we go,” the doctor says gently. “Right there… That's the head. You can see the curve of the skull here… and those are the hands sort of covering it up. We might not get a good look at the face today.”
Tiny fingers wiggle on the screen like they’re waving. Kendall lets out a shaky laugh, covering her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“And there are the feet,” Dr. Rodriguez continues, sliding the wand a little lower. “All ten toes accounted for.”
I can’t stop staring. It’s grainy, surreal, but the outline is perfect—tiny limbs, a beating heart, movement that feels impossible and miraculous all at once.
“Everything looks great,” the doctor says, her tone brightening. “And… you don’t have to look long before you see this—” She points to the screen with a grin. “That’s a penis. Congratulations, it’s a boy.”
Kendall gasps softly, eyes darting to mine. For a second, she looks stunned. Then she laughs—a breathy, teary sound that knocks the air right out of me.
A boy.
The word sinks deep, spreading warmth through my chest until I can’t help but smile.
“Guess he’s not shy,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Kendall wipes at her eyes, still smiling through the tears. “Just like his dad.”
She squeezes my hand just a little tighter and then I pull her hand up to my lips and press them against her skin for a kiss.
Kendall’s eyes turn glossy. “He’s perfect.”
I smile when her eyes find mine for just a moment. “Of course he is. He’s ours.”
The doctor narrates as her wand moves, crown-to-rump length, heart rate, early bone structure, but I barely hear her. I can’t stop staring at the little blur pulsing on the screen. That’s the moment it all becomes real.
Not theoretical. Not a list in my phone. He’s real and in six months, we’ll be holding him.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She nods, voice thick. “Yeah. I just… didn’t expect to feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s already real? Like he’s already ours. It was all theoretical, until now.”
“Would you like a picture to take home?” the doctor asks.
Kendall nods, and the printer hums softly, spitting out two small black-and-white photos. She hands one to Kendall, then offers the other to me.
I stare down at it, feeling something in me rearrange completely. “Thank you,” I say, but my voice comes out rough.
When the doctor leaves, silence settles again. Kendall sits up slowly, wiping off the gel with a towel. I hand her a tissue, still staring at the photo in my hand, and then when she’s done, I help her off the bed until her feet touch safely to the ground.
Neither of us speaks for a while. It’s not awkward. Just heavy–full of everything words would ruin.
I reach for the door but stop, turning back to her. “Thank you for letting me come.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m glad you were here too.”
Then her stomach growls. Loudly.
She freezes, eyes widening, cheeks flushing pink.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “How about lunch?”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, reaching for her purse, voice light but deflecting.
“You didn’t eat breakfast,” I remind her. “And you’ve got a baby to feed now.”
That earns me the smallest smile. “Actually, you're right. And I’m starving.”
The moment our food arrives, Kendall cuts into her omelet like she’s as starving- as I figured she would be. We eat in silence for a few minutes before I say it.
“Trey and Hunter know you’re pregnant.”
Her fork pauses midair. “How did you—”
“They’re not as subtle as they think.”
She sighs, setting the fork down. “Well, I haven’t exactly been able to hide it that well from the team for the last few weeks.
Pretty much everyone knows I’m pregnant, and anyone with a girlfriend or wife in our girls’ group knows it’s yours.
Just the people inside the franchise,” she says quickly.
“Outside of that…” Her eyes drop to her plate.
“Gossip is still going around that it’s Tarron’s.
Which has kept the medical board from suspecting anything. ”
My fingers tighten around my sandwich, maybe harder than I mean to. “And you’re just letting people think that?”
Her head snaps up. She sees the flash of anger before I can hide it. “I haven’t confirmed it or played into it at all,” she says carefully.
“But you haven’t denied it either,” I counter, voice lower now.
I don’t want to get in a fight over this. Especially when everything today has been going well, but the idea that anyone thinks Tarron is my kid’s father is going to give me an ulcer if I don’t say anything.
She licks her lips, guilt flickering across her face.
“For right now, I need to make the best decision for my license. For the Hawkeyes. For you.” Her hand drifts unconsciously to her belly.
“And most importantly, for this baby. The less stress I have, the better. I just want this baby to come into the world with as little turmoil as possible. If I lose my job and you get traded or benched, it’ll make everything harder. ”
“Kendall,” I say quietly, trying to keep my voice from shaking, “I don’t care what happens to my career. I want to claim this baby as mine. I don’t want to hide it away like it’s a dirty secret.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. But I need more time to figure things out.
Penelope thinks the longer we lay low, the less media attention I’ll get for the pregnancy.
And Tarron… he got what he wanted out of it.
The small press interview already made him look good, and he hasn’t said another word.
If we don’t draw any attention to this, people might forget about it soon enough. ”
I take a deep breath, trying to swallow the frustration that’s crawling up my throat. She’s right–on paper, she’s right. Her license is at stake. The team could be fined or forced to trade me depending on the sanctions the NHL would come down on them with.
But it still feels wrong.
“Okay,” I finally say. “So how do you want to do this?”
“We tell as few people as possible. The ones closest to us already know, but anyone outside of that can’t be trusted until after the baby’s born and we figure out the best course of action.”
“I’m a public figure too, Kendall. Just as much—maybe more—than Tarron.” I meet her eyes. “And I want my kid to come to watch me skate. Don’t you think people are going to find it strange when I’m holding your baby and it’s wearing my jersey number?”
Her lips twitch into a grin.
“What?” I ask, a little confused.
“Just the thought of our baby in your jersey, pounding on the plexiglass.”
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.
I shift the car into drive, merging back into the slow stream of city traffic, the late-day sun breaking weakly through the clouds. My phone buzzes in the console, but it’s not her yet.
Not yet.
At the next red light, I open my messages, thumb hovering over Trey’s name. He just bought a house in the suburbs of an expensive gated community once he realized that Adeline couldn’t grow up in the commons.
Then I type:
Me: Hey–any houses for sale in your neighborhood?