Chapter Twenty-Three
Kendall
I wake up tangled in sheets at my apartment. I was going to send the thirty-day notice to my landlord, but I always found an excuse not to.
The light filtering through the blinds is thin and gray—the kind of Seattle morning that can't decide if it wants to rain or just threaten to. My studio apartment is smaller than I remember, the walls pressing in like they're trying to remind me of something I've been working hard to forget.
This is what safety used to look like.
Small.
Contained.
Predictable.
My life in a nutshell. And then I wished for too much. I let my heart want things.
I blink at the ceiling, my hands sliding over my belly. Niko shifts beneath my palm, a lazy roll that feels like he's settling in for the morning. At least one of us slept.
I didn't.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it: the hallway, the cameras, Tarron's hand on my arm–tightening, Aleksi's face going hard and dangerous in a way he does right before he takes out an opponent on the ice. The sound of bone on bone. The flash of phones lifting, capturing, recording.
"Get your hands off her."
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory doesn't fade. It just loops, over and over, until my stomach churns with acid about the whole thing.
For a second, one reckless and foolish second, I wasn't alone. I knew Aleksi wouldn't let anything happen to me. I felt it in my bones, in the way he moved, in the way he said my name like it was the only word that mattered.
And then he didn't let anything happen.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
Tarron said that the medical board already has my file open. What the hell does that mean? And from the press coverage of what happened last night, it won’t help anything.
I push myself upright, my body heavy with exhaustion and something so deep it throbs, something that feels like grief for a future I can already see slipping through my fingers.
The apartment is too quiet. The movers are coming tomorrow to take the last of my things to the house, Niko’s house… but right now, my life still fits in boxes and half-packed closets. A true visual for how my world feels right now. Unsettled and a little chaotic.
If I look at it, I'll remember the rooftop. The telescope. The way he kissed me like I was something worth keeping.
And I can't afford to remember that right now.
The shower runs hot enough to hurt.
I stand under the spray, letting it scald my shoulders, my back, the places that ache from a night spent curled too tight, my muscles never really relaxing. Steam fogs the mirror, erasing my reflection until I'm just a shape, all blurry.
Niko rolls again. He's bigger now, more insistent, his movements less like flutters and more like declarations.
I'm here. I exist. You can't pretend I don't.
"We're okay," I whisper to him, my voice cracking on the words. "You're okay."
I don't know if I'm trying to convince him or myself.
When I step out, the air is cold against my damp skin.
I dry off slowly, methodically, like if I do it right, I can piece myself back together.
I tie my hair up, braid it tight, the way I used to when I needed to feel in control.
During med school, during first year residency, when my drunk mother would call me needing something…
mostly just to get her more booze since she was too drunk to get up and get it herself.
I pull on leggings and an oversized sweater. Aleksi's sweatshirt, but I realize too late, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. I almost take it off. Almost.
But it's warm, and I'm cold, and the thought of having him close is still comforting.
Breakfast is a ritual of normal and mundane. No fancy blueberry pancakes, or ones he poured to make them look like animals. They were getting better too.
I have to practice before Niko gets here. He claimed, but I know he did it for me too.
Toast, lightly buttered. Scrambled eggs I don't want but force myself to eat anyway. Coffee I pour but won't finish, because the baby has opinions about caffeine and heartburn and my ability to keep anything down past noon.
I sit at the tiny table—the one I bought secondhand when I first moved to Seattle, the one with the wobbly leg I keep meaning to fix—and stare at the food like it's a test I'm failing.
"You have to eat, Doc. Two mouths, one stomach."
Aleksi's voice in my head, warm and teasing, the way he always sounds when he's trying to make me take care of myself.
I hate that he's right. I hate that it makes me smile, even now, even through the tears I'm too stubborn to let fall.
I force down a few bites, chewing mechanically, tasting nothing. The eggs are dry. The toast is bland. Everything feels like cardboard, like my body is rejecting the act of trying to be okay when nothing is.
Niko kicks—sharp, insistent—and I press my hand to the spot.
"I know," I murmur. "I'm trying."
My phone buzzes.
Once. Twice. A cascade of vibrations that makes the table shake.
I ignore it at first, but the buzzing doesn't stop. It builds, relentlessly, until I can't pretend anymore.
I reach for it, unlock the screen, and my stomach drops.
Notifications explode across the display—texts, emails, social media alerts, all of them screaming for attention.
Photos from the tunnel.
Headlines: "Hawkeyes' Aleksi M?kelin Defends Pregnant Team Doctor in Tunnel Brawl."
Another: "Love Triangle Scandal Brewing Between Team Doctor and NFL Ex."
A third: "Mystery Baby Daddy Drama: Who's the Father?"
There are screenshots of Tarron being escorted out, his face bloody, his expression twisted with rage. There are close-ups of me—my hand on my belly, my face pale, my eyes wide with something that looks too much like fear.
And there are photos of Aleksi—jaw locked, fist still clenched, his body angled between me and the cameras like a shield.
He protected me, and now I have only one chance to protect him. I need to create distance between us. Save Aleksi’s career if I take my punishment and go quietly- giving up my license.
It’s the only choice I have at this point.
Last night, Penelope agreed to “lay me off” putting me on maternity leave. As of this moment, I no longer work for the team. We’re hoping the distance and my face no longer being associated with the team, will slow down the gossip and maybe the board will look the other way.
It’s not a great plan, but it was the only few thoughts we could come up with in the middle of the press hurricane last night.
I have to do whatever I can to protect him, but I know that if I tell him my plan, he won't agree to it.
He won't agree to more space in order to save his career. I know now what I didn’t know when I found out that I was pregnant and I thought he had a girlfriend–he would have dropped everything for me.
If the last few months have told me anything, it’s that Aleksi won’t stop protecting me, no matter what.
And now it's my turn to do the same.
My phone dings with the email I’ve been quietly expecting all morning.
National Medical Sports Board Inquiry – Notice of Review
My vision blurs. I read it once, then again, my brain struggling to make the words stick.
"…we are opening a preliminary ethics review based on recent media reports regarding your conduct with Seattle Hawkeyes personnel…"
"…you are required to submit documentation and appear for an interview within 30 days…"
"…failure to comply may result in suspension or revocation of licensure…"
The room tilts.
I grip the edge of the desk, forcing myself to breathe—four counts in, hold, six counts out—the way I coach patients in the quiet room when their world is spinning out of control.
My hand goes to my belly again, steadying myself.
This is what I was afraid of.
This is why I have rules.
This is why I should have walked away.
Now the board is coming for me, and Aleksi's career is collateral damage, and Niko is caught in the middle of a mess I created by daring to believe I could have something good.
I call Penelope.
She answers on the second ring, her voice tight. "I was about to call you."
"I got the email," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“We discussed this last night. We knew this was coming.” she says, as cool and calm as the badass GM she is. “Now, we’re going to stick to the plan and see how it all shakes out.”
Last night, I went to the owner’s box, I told her what had happened in the hallway and then she quickly escorted me to her office for privacy.
I offered to take Coach Evans up on his deal but that doesn’t help me with Tarron being on the team, or the scandal.
Though I have to admit that the temptation to run is overwhelming.
Unfortunately, medical board reviews aren’t something you can out run.
The relationship that could possibly get me in trouble is the one between me and Aleksi. That’s the one I have to manage right now. So we came up with the idea of maternity leave instead. It was already in the works and truthfully, I can’t be out on the ice at this stage of my pregnancy.
It doesn’t feel like enough to go to the board with, but it’s better than no plan at all.
“I know, you’re right. Were you able to get a hold of the hospital and get my fill-in scheduled?” I ask.
Penelope had already advised them that I would need a fill-in during my maternity leave but that wasn’t supposed to start for another few months.
“I did and they agreed. He’ll start next week and Theo will keep doing what he's doing from now on.”
“Thank you…” I tell her, disappointed in myself that I put her in this position.
“I know this is hard but you have me and the girls. We’re going to help you get through this. Do you need a lawyer for the review? Mine is really good,” she offers and I’m grateful but it’s unnecessary.
“That is very kind of you, but no. My medical insurance through the hospital will assign me a lawyer who deals with these sorts of infractions all the time.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says. “What are you planning to do about Aleksi? He’s been going crazy with you not being at the house. He’s texted and called everyone to see how you are since you’re not giving him much information.”
The guilt hits hard and straight through the heart. “I can’t tell him what’s going on Penelope… you know what he’ll do. He’ll try to ride in on his white horse, say all the right things, give up anything he has to, buy me a mansion—”
“Okay, okay, you're right,” she concedes. “He’s not going to let you take the fall to keep him out of it.”
“I just can’t let him. Not again. Not after everything he’s done for me. He’s worked his whole life for the NHL and a Stanley Cup win. His father died before he got to see it happen. If there is any chance, even a small one, that I can protect him and the Hawkeyes from sanctions, I have to try.”