Page 63 of Her Hat Trick Daddies

In Jersey, I had Dad. I had Wyatt—overprotective, nosy, sometimes a pain in the ass—but still, her uncle. Her family. Our safety net.

Here, I have Ava. Thank god. And Sven, Levi, and Eric, sort of. But it’s not the same. That’s her family. And while I lovethem all, while I know they love her… it’s different. It feels different. Like I’m borrowing warmth from someone else’s fire instead of building my own.

But going back would feel like quitting. Like waving a white flag. I moved out here to be brave. To give us something more. And even if it didn’t go perfectly, I’m still standing. Still trying.

After Ava’s, I take Luna home. I feed her breakfast, give her a bubble bath, and when I’m drying her off, she snuggles against me in her towel, laying her head on my shoulder and murmuring, “Mama, mama, mama.”

My heart cracks a little wider.

“Wanna play in your bouncy after we get dressed?” I sing to her, brushing my lips against her damp hair.

Her feet kick excitedly, and she beams up at me. “Bow-sy!” she claps.

I bite back the sting in my throat and blink hard before getting her dressed. I strap her into the bouncy swing and gulp a glass of water to steady myself, then head to the kitchen to make some iced coffee.

“Mama,” she calls.

I turn around, bracing myself.

“Yes, baby?”

She points at her swing. “More.”

I hadn’t even realized it had stopped. And even though my chest feels like it’s caving in, I smile. A big, wide, bright smile just for her, and I walk over to start it again.

“More bouncy for my girl,” I whisper, kissing her forehead.

Because whatever storm I’m weathering, she doesn’t need to feel it.

***

My mood hasn’t lifted much by the time I trudge into work that afternoon. With a game tomorrow night, I’ll be working late, and while I used to look forward to commentating NHL games, now I’m dreading it. I won’t be speaking directly to the players, but David, Andy, and Shane will be front and center. Just the thought of being near them feels like trying to walk through a minefield blindfolded.

I duck my head as I enter Ball Arena, caught in a spiral of thoughts. A couple of texts sit unread on my phone—one from Andy, one from David. It’s nice. Maybe it’s a sign that they meant what they said?

David:Hope you’re okay.

Andy:Thinking about you.

They should help, but they don’t. Not completely anyway.

Should I start thinking about what comes next? Should I start making plans to go back to Jersey? I’m so deep in my head, I almost miss Cecille coming around the corner.

“How are you this fine day?” she chirps with unusual pep.

I force a smile, one I hope passes for optimistic. “It’s almost game day.”

“Yes, it is,” she replies, falling into step beside me as if she means to follow me into my office. Not typical Cecille behavior, but maybe she’s just headed in the same direction.

“You need anything?” I ask, gently nudging her toward wherever she’s actually going.

Her smile widens. “Not really.”

Okay then.

I unlock my office and step inside.

And freeze.