Page 35 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Leighton

I try not to panic, but it’s a losing battle.

Especially once I realize that not only has my father trekked all the way from New Jersey to Colorado without a heads-up, but he’s brought my brother Wyatt along for the ride.

Why Wyatt tagged along? No clue. Dad was supposed to come out in a couple of months, alone. At least, that’s what he told me.

I can only assume this is their idea of a fun ambush. Because, of course, they both know I hate surprises. Especially the kind that are unplanned, inconvenient, and leave me scrambling to play catch-up.

And boy, did they pick the absolute worst time to pop in. These two are the most overprotective, if admittedly loving, men on the planet. Having them show up unannounced would be bad enough if it were just me and Luna here.

But we are so not alone.

The thing is, I never gave them the full download about the masquerade ball.

You know, the part where I had three men.

One, because it’s nobody’s damn business.

And two, because for a long time, I didn’t even know who David, Andy, and Shane were.

Only in the last couple of months have I managed to wrap my head around it and figure out how we might move forward in a way that’s healthy for Luna. I’ve been careful. Super careful.

And now? Here I am, in my townhome with three guys from the team I commentate for—guys I’ve repeatedly slept with. One of whom gave my gorgeous daughter. And yeah, Dad and Wyatt are definitely going to pick up on at least some of that.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, forcing what I hope passes as a smile.

It’s the best I can manage under the circumstances. But who am I kidding? It probably looks more like a grimace.

“We wanted to surprise you, pipsqueak,” Wyatt says with a grin, breezing right past me like he owns the place as he drags a giant suitcase behind him.

Dad saunters in right after, lugging his behemoth of a suitcase, the kind that screams we’re staying for a while .

Internally, I groan in horror.

Only once they’re inside do my dad and Wyatt finally stop in their tracks, eyes locking on David, Andy, and Shane like they’ve just spotted something suspicious crawling across the ceiling. Their foreheads wrinkle in unison, matching twin furrows of pure confusion.

It doesn’t take long for that confusion to shift gears. Wyatt’s bewilderment hardens fast into a scowl. Dad’s a little more restrained, his brand of suspicion quieter, but his eyes are sharp as ever as he sizes them up. At least he starts politely.

“Hello,” Dad says with uncertainty, while Wyatt attempts to burn them all to a cinder using nothing but his eyeballs.

Fantastic.

There’s a lot of whose got a bigger dick energy happening right now, and I can already tell that I’m going to be caught in the middle.

The aggression is especially thick between Shane and Wyatt. Dammit. The last thing I need is a pissing contest breaking out at this hour when my sweet daughter is just trying to get her beauty sleep down the hall.

With no other choice, I do a round of introductions. “Shane, Andy, David, this is my dad, Dan Jennings. And this is Wyatt, my older brother. Dad, Wyatt, this is Shane Jacobson, Andy Webb, and David Decker. They’re all hockey players for the Colorado Avalanche.”

I say it with what I hope is optimism, but while my family does watch sports, hockey isn’t exactly their wheelhouse. As far as I know, the likelihood of them being able to identify these three as anyone they’re familiar with is slim to none.

“Avalanche, huh? You must know Sven Hinter. Stand-up guy.”

David nods, his voice polite but a little guarded. “Yes, sir. Sven was the team captain before Shane and I joined. ”

Dad lights up even more. “He’s about to have another kid, you know. With Ava, Leighton’s best friend. Great family.”

The conversation stays surface-level nice, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. And even though no one’s raising their voice, Wyatt is still shooting daggers at the guys, and Shane’s matching him stare for stare, his jaw clenched.

Shit.

And just to make the evening perfect, I hear Luna fussing from the room. Great , we’re on a fucking roll tonight. The testosterone cloud in here must be thick enough to wake a sleeping toddler.

I wait, listening, hoping she’ll just settle herself and go right back to sleep. But that instinct isn’t something the men have developed as much, because they keep circling each other like puffed-up roosters.

“Who they are doesn’t matter, Leighton. What I wanna know is why they’re here.” Wyatt hurls the question into the room like a grenade.

I grab the first excuse I can. “We were talking about moving some of my things. They offered to help.”

Not exactly a lie. But not exactly the truth, either.

“Well, Dad and I are here now,” Wyatt says, voice hard. “We’ll handle it. What’d you buy, new furniture?”

Nope. And this is where my paper-thin excuse starts to disintegrate. But I’m in too deep to back out now .

“I was just rearranging,” I say, waving vaguely at the sofa, chair, and coffee table, avoiding specifics like my life depends on it.

Wyatt crosses his arms, setting his feet wide. “At ten o’clock at night?”

Shane mirrors him, crossing his arms too. But where Wyatt looks tough, Shane’s muscles flex like they’re sculpted for war, and when he steps forward, it’s impossible not to notice the size difference.

“What of it?”

Wyatt doesn’t flinch. “I just find it weird that this is all happening at such a late hour. And that it takes three of you to move a couch. Thought hockey players were supposed to be strong.” His eyes sweep over Shane, David, and Andy, slow and dismissive. “Maybe not.”

David keeps it cool, not even blinking. Andy’s face remains unreadable, dead calm. Shane, though. Shane looks ready to explode. His eyes narrow into slits, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched so tight I swear I hear it crack.

And right when I think this is about to turn into a full-on pissing contest, Luna’s soft fussing shoots into a piercing wail from her room.

I pivot toward her door, ready to bolt, but hesitate.

If I leave, who the hell knows what might go down in here?

Wyatt was born to stir the pot. Black eyes were practically a hobby when we were kids.

And sure, now he’s got a badge instead of bare knuckles…

but I’m not convinced he’s grown out of brawling.

Not one bit. Worse, I’m not sure I can trust Shane not to respond to his taunts.

Luna’s full-on shrieking now, leaving me no choice. Maybe it shouldn’t piss me off even more, but it does.

“Awesome, guys. Thanks for waking Luna,” I snap, my voice sharp.

I storm out, letting my anger crash over them like a wave. Will it shut them up? Who knows. But it’s worth a shot.

In her room, I scoop up my scarlet-faced daughter, bouncing her against my chest. Her cries taper off to whimpers, and I take a second to breathe with her.

Diaper—check. Change—done. Once she’s calmer, I stride back into the living room.

Even Wyatt’s got to have the sense to tone it down with a baby around.

To be sure, I plop her straight into Wyatt’s arms. “Hold her while I grab her some milk.”

With Luna nestled up to him, Wyatt’s immediately sucked into her orbit, cooing and making faces. Bless him for being distracted, because I need a damn minute. I dart into the kitchen, grab her favorite sippy cup, and fill it halfway with warm milk.

“Who’s all grumpy, huh? Who’s all grumpy today?” Wyatt’s voice goes full cartoon character, his thick Newark accent on display like he’s starring in Jersey Shore: Baby Edition. It might be funny… if my blood pressure wasn’t still pegged in the red .

I come back to the table. “Shoot,” I mutter, catching myself, no swearing around Luna. “I forgot some napkins. Wyatt, would you grab it for me?”

Yeah. I didn’t forget. I need him out of the way, even for thirty seconds, as I get Luna settled on the table. Thankfully, she’s already heavy-lidded again. Then, casual as hell, I call out, “Oh, and if you guys are hungry or thirsty after your trip, the fridge is stocked. Help yourselves.”

And seriously, take a damn chill pill while you’re at it.

When Wyatt’s back, soda in hand and napkins in the other, I pounce on the chance to keep the air light.

I hand her over to Dad so he can finish feeding her and launch into a running commentary on everything Luna’s been up to lately—her new words, her obsession with stacking blocks, her dramatic fake sneezes. Every adorable little detail.

Notably leaving out one word in particular. No way in hell am I bringing up “Dada.” That would be the biggest trigger for my brother right now.

The strategy actually works. For about five whole minutes.

Then Dad hands Luna over to Wyatt so he can hit the bathroom. I don’t know why that moment is what lights a fire in my brother’s brain, but sure enough, as he glances from Luna’s slate-gray eyes up to Shane’s identical ones, my stomach plunges straight through the floor.

And when Wyatt literally lifts Luna up next to Shane’s face like he’s lining up a damn police sketch ?

Fuck.

I see it happen, the exact second Wyatt’s brain connects the dots between their matching eyes and noses. He’s never been subtle, and now is no different. His head snaps toward me, his expression hard and accusatory.

“Wait. Is this the asshole who knocked you up?”

“Language, Wyatt,” I hiss, my voice deep, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

“Fucking answer me,” he demands, his voice rising, and I catch Shane moving, fast. Three long strides and he’s nearly on top of us.

He’s got that same furious expression he wore the night I told him Luna was his, but this time? He stops just short of reaching Wyatt. And this time, he’s different.

“I believe she asked you to watch your mouth,” Shane says, his voice low. Icy.

And suddenly, I realize, this isn’t like last time. That night was all heat and fire, blowing off steam. Scary, yeah, but loud and messy. This?

This is controlled. Cold. Razor-sharp. And way, way more dangerous.

Wyatt’s nostrils flare as he snaps, “You are, aren’t you?”

Before I can wedge myself between them, and let’s be real, that would be stupid, Shane answers, his tone dropping even lower.

“Yes. Yes, I am. So why don’t you hand me my daughter? ”

Instead of doing that, Wyatt basically tosses Luna at me, the handoff rough and careless. The sippy cup falls, and Luna and I land on the couch.

I yelp in protest, Luna’s startled squeal echoing mine. Shane sees it all, his eyes flash, and when he speaks, it’s quiet enough to freeze the whole room.

“Maybe you and I should step outside.”

Wyatt rolls his neck, first one way, then the other, cracking it like he’s warming up for a damn street fight. “Maybe we should.”

“Or maybe you should both stop,” I snap, my voice sharp with exasperation. “You’re seriously gonna show your butts in front of Luna? Really?”

Andy and David don’t move, but they’re both on high alert, tense, watchful. Like they’re trying to stay out of it, but ready to step in if fists actually start flying.

David and Andy are stiff as boards, eyes wide. Even Dad cuts in, his tone wary: “Now, Wyatt—”

“That’s why we’re headed outside, lil sis.” Wyatt’s eyes cut to me, his mouth twisting. He mouths the words mother fucker, then adds, “This guy has had it coming for two damn years.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

But then Shane steps back. His shoulders tense, jaw tight, but he says, “Maybe I have. But maybe Leighton’s right. This shouldn’t happen around Luna. My daughter doesn’t need to see this. ”

The word daughter seems to hit Wyatt like a sucker punch. I can see it in his eyes—that flicker of something dark and unsettling. I’ve only seen that look a couple of times before, and both times ended with Wyatt defending my honor in ways that left someone bleeding.

He’s not your typical donut-munching cop stereotype. Wyatt’s lean, but solid, and he’s had years of combat training on the job. He’s lankier than Shane, but when he wants to, he can move with lethal precision.

And even though Shane’s more muscular, it’s Wyatt who grabs him first, clamping a hand around Shane’s arm and shoving him hard toward the door.

And just like that, it all goes to hell.