Page 6 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Leighton

Three Years Later

A s I peer out the living room window of the slightly worn duplex my dad inherited from my late grandparents, I take in the scene outside.

A group of teens shoots hoops under the afternoon sun, sneakers squeaking and the ball thudding against the cracked asphalt.

A shorter boy darts between two much taller opponents, trying to outmaneuver them with quick footwork and determination.

The backboard’s glass shattered years ago, and the hoop itself leans at a sad angle—clear signs that this neighborhood has seen better days. Still, with my older brother regularly parking his police cruiser out front, crime doesn’t exactly run rampant on our block.

This part of Newark may be a little rough around the edges, but it’s home.

Or at least, it has been. But I’m happy to move on to greener pastures, literally.

The employment gods must’ve finally tuned into my late-night manifesting, because I’m moving to Colorado as the newest—and youngest ever, at just twenty-five years old—sports commentator for the best team in the NHL, the Colorado Avalanche.

A fresh start, a new city, and a shot at something bigger.

Back at my apartment, my roommate and unlikely close friend, Brianna, doesn’t quite know how to feel about me leaving.

We were college roommates once, part of a chaotic crew of five girls packed into a one-bedroom apartment.

Somehow, despite being complete opposites, we’ve always gotten along.

She’s quiet, methodical, and thrives on structure. I’m… just not any of those things.

Lately, though, her patience has worn thinner than the walls between our bedrooms. Sharing space with a toddler can do that to anyone.

She says she’s looking forward to the peace and quiet now that she’s working from home full-time, but I know she’ll miss us, too.

I saw it in her face this morning, that tug-of-war between craving calm and already mourning the absence.

She wants the silence… but she’s going to miss Luna like crazy.

My daughter is a walking whirlwind, a tiny force of chaos who wormed her way into Brianna’s life with crayons, glitter, and unfiltered affection. That apartment is about to feel way too quiet, and I think she knows it.

Truth is, I’ll miss Brianna too. She’s been more than a roommate. More than a friend. She’s been part of the small, cobbled-together village helping me raise my daughter when things felt like too much .

And saying goodbye to her was harder than I thought.

Between Brianna, my dad, and my brother, I’ve managed to raise Luna the best I can while chasing my career with everything I’ve got. It hasn’t been easy, but all that effort is finally starting to pay off. And speaking of my brother—.

“Yo, Leigh, you in here?” Wyatt yells at his usual roar, his Jersey accent thick enough to cut with a knife. My older brother knows nothing about inside voices despite his niece’s need for a nap during the day.

Fortunately, my two-year-old toddler is already up and about.

I roll my eyes, but can’t help smiling. “Living room,” I call back at a far more reasonable decibel level.

Wyatt comes barreling in, his navy police uniform freshly pressed, but only because he sends it to the cleaners.

If it were left to him, he’d have shrunk his shirts and dyed his socks pink by now.

I love the guy, but he’s been hopeless with chores since we were kids.

After Mom passed, it was just the three of us—Dad, Wyatt, and me—and let’s just say housework didn’t exactly come naturally to either of the men in my life.

Maybe because, since the age of twelve, I’ve been the one doing it all.

Cooking, cleaning, grocery lists, doctor’s appointments—you name it.

I stepped in where Mom would’ve been, not because anyone asked me to, but because someone had to.

At least until I moved out and went to college.

That felt like freedom and survival all wrapped into one.

One of the best decisions I’ve ever made, even if, since then, my ability to be “responsible” has been called into question more than once.

My dad and brother are as old-school as they come.

And by their standard, single women don’t get pregnant from one-night stands at twenty-one years old, especially not their daughter or baby sister.

When I told them I was having a baby, the air practically froze.

Their disappointment wasn’t quiet either. And it sure the hell wasn’t brief.

That day pissed me off more than I can describe. I’ve always been the responsible one. The overachiever. The good girl who followed every rule. I never skipped school, got straight A’s, picked the most affordable local state college, and graduated with honors. I did everything right.

Except, apparently, that one night.

And yet, I don’t regret it. Not for a second. Because Luna is mine. The best thing that’s ever happened to me. My bright-eyed, wild-haired, opinionated little hurricane. The only gift I’ll ever have from that unforgettable night, even though some details of it are frustratingly hazy.

Was it hard? Hell yes. Being a single mom in her early twenties isn’t for the faint of heart. But I got through it. With Luna on my hip and ambition in my blood, I clawed my way toward a career. And to be fair, I couldn’t have done it without Dad and Wyatt stepping in where they could.

When Dad switched his editing job to remote four days a week, it was a godsend. Wyatt covers the fifth day when his shifts allow. If I’d had to put Luna in an expensive daycare all this time, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t be going where I’m going.

For that, I’m endlessly grateful. Even if they still can’t keep their mouths shut about her father.

Wyatt’s the one who gets the most worked up. When he’s feeling especially fired up, he calls Luna’s father “just a sperm donor.” And while I get the sentiment, it’s not exactly fair. The truth is, he doesn’t even know she exists.

If I’m being brutally honest, I’m pretty sure her father is Wolf.

I didn’t notice at the time, too lost in the ecstasy, but later, the truth crept in.

He never used a condom. And with my nonexistent sex life, I wasn’t on birth control.

I was leaking him all night, our beautiful, messy mix soaking the chaise.

And even though deep down I feel it’s him, I don’t know . It could’ve been any one of them.

That’s on me. I drank way too much at that masquerade ball, and the hazy memory is the price I pay. I never saw their full faces. Just flashes of flawless abs, distinctive tattoos, a scar here, a birthmark there… but nothing recognizable from the neck up. The masks saw to that.

To be fair, they didn’t see much of my face either. I told them they could leave afterward. No real names. No numbers. Just heat, anonymity, and a night that changed everything .

So yeah. Here I am. Twenty-five. Single mom. Moving to a new city for a fresh start and a dream job… with no clue who my daughter’s father actually is.

But it’s okay. Moving will be good. Better than good.

Because I’ll be near Ava and her growing family.

She might not be blood, but she’s my sister in every way that matters.

Through heartbreak, finals, baby blowouts, and career milestones, she’s been there.

No matter the distance, we never drifted.

We still talk at least once a week, especially since we want our kids to grow up close.

And now, for the first time in a long time, we won’t need a screen between us.

In the meantime, I’ll be doing my best to make a good impression at my new job. The new owner of the Avs, along with Coach Atticus Henley, liked my resume and experience. It’s reassuring and feels like a step in the right direction.

“Say bye-bye to Uncle Wyatt, baby girl,” I encourage my daughter, and she waves her tiny hands about in her excitement.

My family may give me shit, but at least they’re great with Luna. She adores them.

“Wight,” she calls out, beaming. She’s still developing her language skills, so this pronunciation is as close to his name as she can get. “ Wight .”

“Hey, hey, hey, Lu-Lu.” He scoops up my daughter, as if she weighs less than a feather, and tosses her into the air, just as he always does, despite my constant and very mature requests that he not do so. “Why don’t you tell your mommy that she needs to stay here where she belongs, eh?”

Here we go again. The relentless campaign to try to make me second-guess my decision to leave, even though it’s been final for months.

My dad doesn’t like it, but it’s my brother who won’t shut up about it.

As usual. I’ve already told him a thousand times that I’m going, so that’s it.

Period. No amount of stubborn grumbling will change it, no matter how often he gets his way.

I try to brush it off. Some days, it’s easier than others, and today is definitely one of the harder days.

I’d hoped that this last goodbye would be nice, civil, perhaps even warm and fuzzy.

But no, I’m being subjected to a one-man protest parade in the form of Wyatt’s whining. I just want to get out of here already.

But I bite my tongue. Luna’s too young to take sides, though let’s be real, she’s already learned to roll her eyes at his antics, and I’m not about to leave this place on a feud that could land us all in therapy.

As tempting as it is to grab my brother by the ear and give him a piece of my mind, I’ll hold off.

I’ll let my impending departure deal with him.

The moving truck guys are waving at me, a clear sign that they’re ready to hit the road, and thankfully, my Uber is pulling up right on time. A minivan with the all-important “meets requirements” sticker on the front bumper.