Page 7 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

I wave at the movers. “All right, guys, you’re good to go,” I shout over the dull roar of their last-minute loading—some important memorabilia from Dad’s, of course.

A few old family photos, some of Mom’s blazers that now fit me like a glove, and her simple gold and silver jewelry we’ve been saving for the right moment.

And now? It feels like the right moment.

New beginnings in Denver and all. I definitely get my fashion sense from her.

“I’ll meet you in Denver whenever you get there!

Take it easy on the speed limits… and my furniture.

I don’t wanna open the truck and find a mess of abstract art. ”

One of them gives me a thumbs-up, the other just nods and climbs into the driver’s seat like he’s about to cross the country for the hundredth time. Which, honestly, he probably is.

“Our ride is here,” I sing-song to Luna in the way I know she loves. She can’t understand the sarcasm, but I sure as hell hope Wyatt catches it. “Time to go. Say goodbye to Grandpa and Uncle Wyatt.”

I shuffle her stroller, my suitcase stuffed with enough clothes to last us through an apocalypse, or at least a delayed flight, and the biggest carry-on bag I can cram into the overhead compartment, which mostly consists of a change of clothes, diapers, wipes, and a good solid supply of snacks. Priorities, right?

I glance back one last time at the scene of the chaos and give a dramatic sigh for effect.

Dad is still pretending not to be misty-eyed, and Wyatt is pouting like he just lost his favorite toy.

It’s touch and go for a second as I make sure Wyatt knows exactly what’s coming next.

He takes the hint. Barely . He hands Luna over to me, grumbling under his breath like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

I flash him my brightest, fakest smile and say, “Love you, too, bro” in the most sarcastic tone I can muster. I know it stings him, but again, no effect. I’ve been immune to his grumpiness since I was thirteen.

With Luna buckled safely into the Uber and me finally flopped into the seat beside her, it’s like my shoulders suddenly realize they’ve been hauling a boulder all day and decide to stage a full-blown revolt.

And that headache that’s been slow-cooking ever since Wyatt launched into his signature guilt-trip routine?

Yeah, it’s officially graduated into a pulsing, full-throttle masterpiece.

But… we did it. We actually left.

Now, it’s just a flight and then a whole new beginning in Denver. A fresh chapter. A clean slate. A city that doesn’t come with family drama baked into every street corner.

And honestly? I’ve never been more ready.

***

Five hours, a layover, and one extremely fussy toddler later, we finally make it.

And by “make it,” I mean we stumble off the plane looking like we’ve barely survived a war.

Luna’s sticky, I’m sweaty, and our carry-on exploded somewhere over Kansas.

But hey, Denver air hits different. Clean. Fresh. Full of possibility.

Waiting just past baggage claim is Sven, tall and Viking-y as ever, standing next to a very pregnant Ava, glowing and radiant at six months along. Their second child, a girl this time, is apparently just as eager for her debut as Luna was.

“Leighton…” Ava practically throws her arms around me, and I return the hug as best I can without jostling the baby belly.

“It’s so good to see you,” she breathes out, holding me like I’m her long-lost limb.

“It’s good to be seen,” I say, and I mean it. Every single exhausted, overwhelmed bone in my body means it.

It’s been a long day, but we’re here. Back in the city I’ve come to adore. The city where my precious daughter was conceived… in a private library… during one absolutely unhinged night with three strangers I couldn’t identify now if my life depended on it.

Yeah. That city.

Sure, there were some wildly questionable choices wrapped in tuxedos and expensive cologne, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing. This city handed me the greatest thrill of my life… in more ways than one. And now, Luna is the most perfect little human to ever destroy a living room with yogurt.

And this time around, I get to raise her here on my terms, without Dad’s micromanaging or Wyatt’s constant side-eye.

I’m still doing the single mom thing, sure, but I’m not doing it alone.

Ava’s stepping in as my village now, and Luna’s already used to me heading off to work.

So yeah, it’ll be a transition, but between the pay bump and the clean slate this move offers? I’d call that a win.

After staying at Ava’s that Thursday and Friday to rest up from the trip, Luna and I finally move into the loft I rented over the weekend.

Thankfully, the movers handle the unloading and unpacking—shout out to that white glove service—so there’s minimal left for me to do.

The place isn’t in the ritziest part of the city, but it’s an upgrade from where we lived in Jersey.

The square footage is tight, and eventually I’ll need to level up to a two-bedroom so Luna’s not in a crib at the other end of the room.

But for now, it’s cozy, it’s ours, and it’ll do just fine.

It feels so damn good to finally be out on our own, just me and Luna.

Living back in Jersey always felt temporary, like a stopover until we could get to where we were meant to be.

Perhaps it was the combination of my hometown and my overly opinionated family that made it feel suffocating. Or maybe I just always wanted out.

Thankfully, Luna handled the move better than expected, at least at first. That first night at Ava’s, she crashed hard.

She even made it through the second night without a peep, probably thanks to having Ava’s son Trevor to run around with.

But apparently, the lucky streak is over.

Because right now, just as I’m trying to crawl into bed, she’s wailing like her tiny heart is broken, and nothing I do seems to help .

It’s 2:00 AM before she finally tuckers herself out on my bed, and I immediately slide in next to her.

I have to be at my new job by seven this morning, and I need to make a fabulous impression.

I set my alarm and fall instantly into a doze, but despite being exhausted, I sleep fitfully.

My mind is too busy buzzing with anxiety to let me rest.

When my alarm goes off, I feel as if I’ve gotten exactly zero Zs, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Ava surprises me by showing up with Sven, ready to drive me to Ball Arena.

“You guys,” I protest, but secretly, I’m so glad. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“We wanted to,” Sven says, his blond hair becoming golden in the early sunlight. “You’re family.”

“Yeah, we’re taking Luna anyway,” Ava chimes in. “Why not make sure you have a great first day?”

The original plan was for me to drop her off.

I don’t want to take advantage. They’ve already done so much.

Still, I nod and offer a grateful smile, silently promising them, and myself, that I’ll get the hang of the light rail system soon.

I’ll bring Luna over, then head to work on my own.

I’ll get a car eventually, but for now, this works.

I smooth back the wispy blonde strands on Luna’s head and kiss her cheek. “Mommy loves you,” I say, going through my usual routine, even though it feels different this time. Maybe it’s just my nerves .

As I force myself not to sprint into the arena like a kid in a candy store, my mind flashes back to when I watched the Avs win the Stanley Cup three years ago.

Being there for the victory, feeling that electric energy live, was unforgettable.

I was used to Ava’s enthusiastic cheering, but watching Sven roar with that same intensity was eye-opening.

As a player and captain, he made history on that ice.

And now, as a fan, no one is more fiercely devoted to his old team than he is.

As I approach the security station that separates the professional wing of the arena from the public, tension twists in my stomach like a live wire. I half-expect the burly guard to toss me out on my ass, credentials or not. But instead, he barely glances at my ID before waving me through.

Waiting just beyond is a petite Asian woman with glossy red lips and a tablet tucked under one arm, none other than Cecille Chang, the team’s office manager.

“Leighton!” She exclaims, reaching out for a hug.

“So good to see you again. It’s been a while,” I say.

“Looking forward to working with you. Ted Cosgrove, the new team owner, is here to meet you in Coach Henley’s office. Let’s go. Don’t want to keep him waiting. He has a long day ahead of him.”

“Oh, right.”

As I follow Cecille through a wing of the building I’ve never stepped foot in, she leads me to a sleek office decked out in bold, unmistakable colors.

The carpet is a vibrant orange, three of the four walls are a solid, punchy blue, and the fourth—a dramatic black accent wall—displays a framed team jersey and last season’s official photo in place of traditional art.

Every metal detail, from the doorknob to the file cabinets, gleams in polished silver.

Of course he’d design it in team colors. That tracks.

Still, stepping into a room with both of my new bosses makes my palms itch. I have to resist the urge to smooth imaginary wrinkles from my skirt or fuss with my hair, which is tucked neatly into my usual swirled bun.

“Ted, this is the new half of our commentating team, Leighton Jennings,” Cecille says. “Leighton, this is Ted Cosgrove, owner of the Avalanche, and you’ve met Head Coach Atticus Henley.”

Coach Henley gives me a warm nod. “Welcome back, Leighton. And please—just call me Coach.”

We’ve crossed paths before through Ava and her boys, so his laidback vibe doesn’t surprise me. I smile, feeling more at ease than I expected. “Thanks, Coach.”