Page 13 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Leighton

T he appointment I scheduled today with David probably looks insignificant to anyone glancing at my calendar. On the surface, it’s just another interview. But it’s anything but. This conversation could change everything. His life, mine, and maybe even Andy Webb’s and Shane Jacobson’s.

I’m ninety percent sure about David. Ninety . But the other ten percent gnaws at me. And if Andy or Shane are involved too, I’ll have to figure out how to tell them. If they prove themselves worthy, maybe, just maybe, they could eventually be a part of Luna’s life. But that’s a big if.

I won’t let Luna get caught up with anyone who talks shit about me, gets nasty, or tries to wreck my career. I’m her mother. My job is to protect her first, last, always.

So today, I’m starting with this first, awkward conversation about what happened that night three years ago, and then we’ll see where things land.

If it’s not David, I’ll survive the humiliation.

Better to be red-faced than tied to a man who shares a locker room with the others.

Because mixing personal drama with professional boundaries? HR nightmare.

This is on me. I know that. But a tiny voice keeps whispering, it’s their mess too. We all made the choice to sneak away that night. We all got reckless. God, what a disaster. A beautiful, out-of-control disaster with their stupid, perfect bodies—

No.

Focus, Leigh. Get your head out of the gutter.

We’ve been back from San Jose for twenty-four hours, and it’s already business as usual at Ball Arena. The familiar buzz is everywhere—players gearing up, staff locked into routines, management buried in meetings. With the NHL season about to hit full throttle, everything is moving fast.

And if I’m going to catch David, I need to move faster.

I knock lightly on the door jamb of his office, but he’s not here. I wait. Five minutes, then ten. With each passing minute, my nerves tighten.

Where the hell is he?

Cecille passes by, her dark hair swishing like a raven’s wing as she greets me. She stops, her sharp gaze pinning me in place. A frown forms beneath her glossy red lips.

“Leighton, you look… pale.”

Under normal circumstances, I might quip with something sarcastic like, “Thanks, trying on corpse chic to match the mood. ”

But these aren’t normal circumstances. Not yet. I won’t know until I meet with David.

So I squeak out, “I’m fine,” then clear my throat and say it again, sounding a little more like myself. “I’m fine. Seen the captain around anywhere?”

“Last time I saw him, he was in the video room.”

“Okay, thanks.”

The video room’s about five doors down. I peek inside and spot him, locked in on game footage, probably studying the Avs’ next opponent. He looks completely absorbed, barely blinking.

This room’s tucked farther away from the rink and the other offices, out near the edge of the arena. With the volume turned down low, it’s almost unnervingly quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of the overhead lights and the soft scratch of a pen against paper.

“David?”

“Yeah?” he answers, voice rough like gravel.

He sounds distracted as he glances over with a squint, but the second his gaze lands on me, something changes. His eyes sweep over me in a slow, deliberate pass, like he’s cataloging every detail. Not just seeing me, but taking me in.

I can’t decide if he’s trying to devour me whole or push me right back out the door. Either way, heat prickles up the back of my neck, and I fight the urge to squirm. God, why does he have to be so damn hot ?

I clasp my hands behind my back, grounding myself, locking everything down tight to keep from visibly trembling. Trying not to let the nerves or the way he’s looking at me win.

“Forget about our 10:00 AM meeting?” I ask, aiming for nonchalance, but I can hear the slight shake in my voice.

For a second, his face twists in confusion. Then he blinks, like something clicks. “Right. Sorry about that. Mind if we just meet in here?”

I glance around. The room’s bigger, but it’s private enough with the door closed. Besides, it’s not like I’m in any shape to be picky. My heart’s thudding way too hard already.

“In here is fine.”

“Give me just a sec,” he says, turning back to the monitor.

I linger at the doorway, forcing my breathing to stay steady like we do in yoga. In, out. In, out. Every cell in my body is screaming to bolt, to shove this off another day, another week, forever, but that would only make it worse.

I have to face this. I have to know the truth.

And if David turns out to be the man I think he might be, if he’s one of the three who changed my life that night, then he’s got some consequences to face too.

“So…” I start, my hand fumbling for the door handle even after I’ve already shut it.

My heart is hammering so loud I’m convinced he can hear it.

But he’s still hunched over a battered yellow notepad, scribbling something down, utterly oblivious to my anxious movements.

I just stand there, fidgeting, shifting my weight between my feet like some kind of criminal waiting for judgment, until he finally looks up again.

“Come in. Sit wherever,” he says, waving a hand toward the rows of maroon leather chairs, enough for the entire team. His voice is casual enough, but there’s a flicker of curiosity sharpening his gaze. Maybe even suspicion.

Maybe because I’ve had more reasons to hover nearby. He’s noticed, I can see it. He’s studying me, like he’s trying to piece something together. His pen taps once against the notepad, thoughtful.

“You’ve been… around a lot lately,” he says finally, his tone careful. “More questions for me than the other guys? If this were any other setting, I’d think you had ulterior motives,” he adds, half teasing, half testing.

I choke on a breath before forcing out a weak laugh. “Well, you are the captain,” I say, shooting for breezy but landing somewhere closer to mortified. “It makes sense for the team leader, right?”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t quite smile.

The tension stretches between us, taut and brittle. I cross the room and sink into a chair, feeling his eyes track me the whole way. The air feels too thick in here. The walls too close.

Or maybe it’s just me .

“So.” He leans back, resting one arm lazily along the back of the seat, the other still holding that damn pen. “What’s this about, really?”

Oh, nothing major. Just maybe about to drop the biggest bomb on your life. I scrape together whatever remains of my courage.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” I blurt out, the words tumbling out before I had a chance to think them through.

David tilts his head, his smirk turning into a frown. “Come again?”

“The first time we met,” I say again, slower this time, my voice cracking slightly.

His brown eyes narrow, intensely searching. He’s dissecting the cracks in my voice, seeing the nerves bleed through, reading between every unspoken line.

“I’m guessing you don’t mean your first day here,” he says.

“No,” I breathe out. “What if it was… before that?”

The crease between his brows deepens. “You’re gonna have to help me out here.”

I tug down the hem of my skirt like it needed fixing—knowing damn well it didn’t—and press my palms flat against my knees to stop them from visibly shaking.

“Were you at the masquerade ball after the Avs won the Cup three years ago?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper .

David stiffens. Not just a blink or a double-take. He goes completely, unnaturally still. Like someone hit pause on time itself.

“Yes…” he says, dragging the word out like it hurts to admit it. He drops the pen and rubs the back of his neck, a gesture of pure discomfort. “Why?”

The air grows so thick it feels like I’m breathing through water. I can see something brewing behind his eyes, too. Maybe the slow, dawning realization that whatever he’s about to hear isn’t good.

And he’s right. Because things are about to get very real.

Suddenly, he drags the hand resting at the back of his neck across his forehead, rubbing hard lines from temple to temple before dropping it. Then he closes his eyes, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Um. Are you all right?”

He winces. “It’s nothing.”

“Judging by your facial expression, I don’t believe you. Is this the hockey player bro code or something?”

“Is this what? ”

“Some sort of bro code. You know, for any time a player is in pain but is too macho to admit it.”

For the second time in as many minutes, he narrows his dark gaze at me. At first, I think he’s going to bite my head off, but he doesn’t.

“Sometimes I get tension headaches. That’s all. ”

“Big man to admit that,” I say with a smirk, pushing off the chair and striding over to him. I tip my head toward his notepad, leaning in just enough to catch his attention. “Is that why you’re taking notes on paper like an old man?”

He looks up at me with mock offense, raising an eyebrow. “Old man? I prefer the term classic . Paper has a certain… authenticity. Not everything needs to be on a flashy screen.”

“Oh, please. We spend half our time glued to our phones, watching TV, dissecting game footage—”

“Exactly,” he interrupts with a smirk. “One less thing to add to the digital overload, the better.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes, but the smile that pulls at my lips betrays me as I step closer, letting my hand brush lightly over his left shoulder.

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to know a thing or two about a quick fix for headaches and stiff shoulders. My friend is… well, was a masseuse.”

And now apparently I am too? What the hell am I doing? Touching this man was not part of the plan. Follow the damn script, Leighton. Come in. Tell him. Leave. For fuck’s sake.

He glances at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “Careful, Leighton. We don’t want anyone catching you getting handsy with the captain,” he teases, but he gestures toward the spot anyway. “But you don’t have to ask me twice. It’s right around here. ”