Page 14 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
“I get it,” she said gently, patting my hand. “You can always borrow one of mine if you’re desperate.”
We both laughed until tears pooled in our eyes, and the tension eased.
I smiled at her, but beneath it, the truth tugged at me: finding someone who genuinely wants to step into Luna’s life, not just mine, was going to be hard. Really hard. And how would I even know the difference? It’s not like guys our age are lining up, eager to play daddy to a baby that isn’t theirs.
Before my thoughts could spiral too far, I changed the subject. “I’m just so glad to be here. Luna and I… we’re going to have a hell of a time in Colorado.”
Ava went from a gentle pat to holding my wrist, her big, bright eyes sparkling under the night sky. “If this place could work its magic on someone like me? You two are golden.”
Trevor’s sweet voice jolts me back to the present. “Hi, Aunty Leigh!”
I glance down to find him wrapped around my leg like a little koala. Smiling, I carefully lower Luna and scoop Trevor up into a big hug, giving him a squeeze that pulls a bubbly giggle from his chest.
“Thanks for being the best big brother to Luna,” I whisper in his ear.
He giggles again as I set him back down, his arms clinging to my neck for a second longer. “Go on, buddy. Mommy’s waiting.”
Waving to Ava and the guys, I gather Luna in my arms and head home, her soft weight nestled against me and my heart feeling just a little fuller.
***
The first scrimmage of the season takes place away in San Jose, CA, a face-off against the Sharks. I’m finally back in the commentator’s seat, perched next to Wilson, mic in hand, and it’s a rush of pure adrenaline. The energy of a pro hockey game is electric, chaotic in the best way, and there’s something extra intoxicating about watching two players I know personally tearing up the ice. Eric and Levi are on fire tonight, and while I can’t cheer from the booth like a die-hard fan, calling their every move feels just as exhilarating.
But during the third period, the high gets ripped out from under me. A shockwave crashes through me like a slapshot to the chest, jerking me completely out of the rhythm of the game.
Coach Henley is down at the bench, giving some rapid-fire instructions I can’t quite catch. He leans over David, who casually tugs his sleeves up to stretch and rub his arms. Just ordinary movements.
But then I see it.
Tucked beneath the cuff of his glove, where no one’s supposed to see, is a flash of color—orange and blue.
I freeze. My pulse skids. No one else around me notices—I’m the only one staring, eyes narrowed, brain scrambling to process.
David moves slightly, and I see it again. Clear as day this time. A tattoo. On the inner side of his right wrist. Orange and blue ink. The exact colors. The exact placement.
My stomach turns to ice.
Because that’sexactlywhereLionhad his tattoo.
But… no. No, it’s impossible. David Decker wasn’t even on the Avalanche roster back then. He wasn’t at that masquerade. Hecouldn’thave been.
This has to be a coincidence. Right?
I try to focus. Really, I do. But my brain is fogged with disbelief, clawing for logic, for some version of the story that makes this make sense.
Maybe he knew Lion. Played with him. Partied with him. Hell, maybe they got drunk one night and got matching tattoos as some twisted inside joke. That would explain the ink, wouldn’t it?
But my gut doesn’t buy it. My instincts, those same instincts that screamed something familiar the moment I locked eyes with David during my first week with the team, are suddenly howling. That voice of his. Too familiar to look past now.
How did I not notice this during training camp? During the interviews?
Ugh.
Out on the ice, bodies crash against the boards. Sticks clatter. Skates carve angry lines in the rink. Wilson keeps the commentary flowing with the same smooth cadence that usually lives in my own throat. But right now? I can barely string a thought together, let alone a sentence.
If it’s really him…
If David Decker is the man from that night, the masked stranger who made my body forget how to say no, who held me down, caressed my hair, and whispered filth in my ear like it was scripture, then everything changes.
