Page 20 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Why am I such a goddamn moron? I could have just talked to them. You know, like a normal human. Not fucked my way through it without even saying a word about our one-night stand… or the little mini-me they left me with.

It’s a miracle no one wandered into that locker room. Even on the quietest days around that arena complex, there are always dozens of employees and staff milling about. Anyone could’ve stumbled upon us and demanded to know why such a large, frequently used room was locked. Anyone.

Because my afternoon schedule is mercifully clear, and I’ve got a game later this week that’ll eat up my evenings, I leave work early. I can’t talk to anyone about my poor choices right now. I need a solid hour or two to get my head on straight.

Ava has Luna until five, so I go home alone.

I take a long, scalding shower, scrubbing off every trace of what happened with Andy, my eyes tracing each fingertip bruise and mark left on my skin.

For all my recklessness, though, I’ve confirmed one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: Andy Webb is Jester.

Whether that revelation was worth the price of admission? Well… that remains to be seen.

I have to believe I can still fix this. Just because I’m drawn to both David and Andy doesn’t mean I’ve wrecked everything beyond repair.

At least, I hope not. I mean, they wanted it as badly as I did, right ?

I throw on some shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes and head out for a brisk walk through my neighborhood.

I pass by Pocket Park over on Beeler Street, admiring the bursts of street art and the lush greenery.

Trees arch overhead on both sides, and when I inhale deeply, the scent of freshly cut grass fills my lungs. It really is gorgeous here.

There’s something about getting outside, breathing fresh air, and losing myself in nature that helps me think more clearly.

No, none of my problems are magically solved. And yes, I’ve added layers of complication by having sex with two of the three men I desperately need to talk to. But still, the walk clears my head.

Feeling a bit more centered, I head over to pick up my precious baby girl.

“You’re early,” Ava greets when I arrive, and I catch sight of Luna playing on the plush carpet with her boys.

“I am,” I say with a soft smile. “Figured I’d take her off your hands.”

“Girl, please. You know she’s no trouble at all,” Ava assures me. Soon, Sven appears in the distance behind her, stretches out on the floor, and is instantly ambushed by a pack of toddlers, mine included.

Watching my daughter giggle and throw herself at him, her little hands tugging at his shirt, something tightens in my chest. My eyes blur with tears .

God, I’m so ashamed of myself. Not for the sex itself. Never. But because I’ve let the chemistry I have with these men distract me from telling them the truth. The thing that matters most.

“Leighton.” Ava’s voice hums with gentle sympathy as she steps outside, quietly closing the door behind her. “What happened?”

I can’t bring myself to spill every gritty detail, but I give her the gist of it—enough to paint the picture.

“So now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself,” I say, choking back another tear, “I still have to sit down and have the talk with David. And Andy. And… ugh, Shane too.”

“I get it,” she says, calm and steady, and I know she does. Ava’s had her own storm with Sven, Eric, and Levi.

“But listen,” she continues, “the best thing you can do now is be honest. Tell them the truth. If they’re good men, they’ll show up.”

“I want to believe they’re good men,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “But what if they want nothing to do with her?”

Ava reaches out, squeezing my hand.

“Then you’ll know you gave them the chance,” she says softly. “And honestly? That’s all any of us can do.”

Once I’m home with Lu-lu, I feed her dinner and we settle into our nightly ritual of singing nursery rhymes together before bed.

“Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man,” I sing, clapping our palms to the rhythm. She’s getting better at it every night, her tiny voice more confident, more in sync with mine. “Bake it up as fast as you can…”

“Fas’ as you can…” Luna echoes, beaming up at me.

Watching her, so full of life, so eager, steadies something inside me. This little girl deserves everything. Every chance. Every truth.

She deserves to know her fathers. And I have to be the one to give that to her.

***

The next day, I walk into my office and find a red box tied with a satin bow sitting on my desk. A small note is tucked beneath the ribbon:

Leighton,

Something to match.

– AW

I open it, and my breath catches. Inside is a stunning sapphire bracelet.

My heart dips, heavy in my chest. I reach for the earrings my mom gave me.

This bracelet… it matches perfectly. As much as I want to find Andy, throw my arms around him, and kiss him senseless, I can’t. Not yet. I need to stay focused.

So instead, I carve out a block on his calendar. He has a gap late in the afternoon, so I schedule our meeting there. Then I keep myself pointedly busy, pulling together articles from other interviews, refining notes, and building a more structured list of talking points to guide the conversation.

Truth is, before our last meeting went off the rails and veered into completely inappropriate territory, he was giving me solid content. Now, I’m going to follow up the right way.

As expected, Andy greets me with that wide, flashy grin as I step into the locker room. I’m sure he’s expecting a thank you for the bracelet, but I don’t give him that. Not yet.

“Follow me, please,” I say, gesturing with a dramatic flair. “I’d like to meet somewhere else today.”

We end up sitting in the stands, side by side, overlooking the ice. A lone goalie—not Levi, but his backup, I think—is down on the rink running drills solo. I make sure to keep a solid five feet of space between us at all times.

I can’t let what happened before happen again.

“Can you tell me about some of the challenges you face with your teammates on and off the ice, Andy?”

If he’s disappointed by the return to professionalism, he doesn’t show it. He answers my questions clearly and succinctly. When I shift gears and ask about his position more broadly, my legs crossed tightly, posture rigid enough to snap, he responds without a single term of endearment.

No “darlin’,” no flirting. Just facts.

Exactly how I planned it.

But it’s what’s next on my agenda that sends my heart into a full-on breakaway. “Do you mind accompanying me on my next interview?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “With who?”

“David Decker.”

I catch Andy’s reaction from the corner of my eye as we leave the stands behind. He walks like he knows something’s coming—he just doesn’t know what.

“Thank you for the bracelet,” I say softly, low enough that no one else can hear. “It’s beautiful. But you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cuts in, a quiet smirk tugging at his mouth. “And you’re welcome.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just follows me the rest of the way, our footsteps echoing in the cold, cavernous stretch of the stadium.

But I can feel his eyes on me. Once. Twice. Maybe more. And each time I glance back, I catch him squinting, like he’s trying to read a secret off my skin.

But he has no idea that this is it. It’s wrong of me to hold onto this by myself any longer. This moment will change his life. All of their lives. Forever.

Maybe.

Stepping into the press room with Andy in tow feels surreal. The elevated dais, the neat row of mics. This space has always belonged to Coach Henley, Penny, and Barb.

Not me. Not us . And yet, here we are .

I can’t stop the flashbacks: being with both of them in the darker corners of this building.

Right here. Right under everyone’s nose.

And in the library of that mansion. I never meant for any of this to happen.

It was supposed to be one wild night. A celebration.

A memory I’d keep tucked away forever. They were mine. And I was theirs for the taking.

Before that night, I wasn’t reckless. I wasn’t the kind of woman who chased chaos or lived for thrills. But the truth? My actions shattered that illusion.

Andy shuts the door just as David rises from his seat at the dais. His gaze flicks from me to Andy, confusion already knitting into his brow.

I don’t allow myself to hesitate. It’s now or never. The band-aid needs to be ripped off.

“There was a masquerade ball three years ago,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. “At a mansion. And I did something bold. Risky. In the library that night.”

I swallow, then look between them.

“I’m convinced you two were part of it.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Thick. I glance at the clock just above David’s head. Five seconds. Six. Seven. Eight.

Then, finally, David blinks. “Phoenix?”

"That's right."

“Killer red dress,” Andy says, softer now. “Sequined mask. You. ”

“Lion and Jester. So that just leaves Wolf.” I don’t say the name. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.

David is already moving, patting himself down like he’s lost his wallet.

“Where the hell is my phone?” he mutters, hands diving into his pockets before he crouches to look under the table.

“I’ve got mine,” Andy offers, pulling it out.

“Text Shane. Make it a 911 so he knows it’s serious.”

Shane Jacobson. My suspicion is finally confirmed.

Andy types fast. “Done.”

David keeps pacing, still looking for his phone, until Andy’s buzzes with a ping. David grabs it before Andy can even blink, typing furiously before tossing it back.

“Stop asking questions and get your ass in the press room, pronto,” he mumbles, sending the message.

The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. My nerves betray me. I’m tapping my foot, jittery and restless, like I might take off running at any second.

Get it together, Leighton. Breathe. You’re about to tell them about Luna.

But being here, with them, all of them, again? It’s suddenly too much. Too close. Too loud, even in the silence. The air feels too tight. Too real.

When Shane bursts through the door, breathless and flushed, and handsome as ever, I know before he says a word. It’s the way he smells. Rich spices tangled with musk, warm and earthy. That same scent clung to me when he fed my mouth his cock with his hand around my throat.

I don’t wait.

I step in close, grab his collar, and yank it down, exposing the unmistakable grid-like scar carved along his chest and shoulder. Hell, I'd pull his pants down to check for that birthmark, but I don't need to. This… this is enough.

Wolf.

The man with the biggest cock I’ve ever taken. The one who made me come so hard I couldn’t stop shaking, and then came so deep inside me, we both ended up dripping down my thighs. A wet, messy trail all over that velvet chaise.

Shane stares at me, stunned. “What the hell is—”

“Shane,” David interrupts, his voice like gravel. “Leighton… is Phoenix.”

Shane’s mouth parts. His gaze slowly travels over me, recognition crashing in. “It’s really you?”

I nod, giving him a small, closed-lip smile. There’s still so much more to say. So much I haven’t explained. But for now—

“It’s really me.”

The moment hangs in the air, fragile and electric. Three men staring at me like I’m some ghost plucked out of their past. Well, honestly? I am.

And even though every nerve in my body craves a taste of Shane again, all I can do is fight the sting rising behind my eyes.

Because this? This is the easy part.

What comes next… is the truth.