Page 73 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
Still, through it all, Leighton’s kept a little distance. She’s kind. Patient. Funny. But not flirty. Not open like she was the night she came back into our lives.
I don’t blame her. We’ve got to earn her heart back. And that’s if she’s even interested in giving it again.
But there was one good sign—she told us she talked to Cecille about the video. And when she looped in Barb, the two of them handled it like it was just another Tuesday. The footage got pulled, the search terms scrubbed, and the whole thing locked down tighter than Fort Knox.
No more worries. No more threats. Just handled—clean, calm, efficient. Like Leighton, honestly. It made me want to cheer. Or kiss her. Or both.
One night midweek, Luna starts wailing like a siren. Teething, maybe. We take turns trying everything—walking with her, back pats, pacifiers, lullabies I didn’t even know I knew. Nothing works. It’s exhausting in a way that seeps into your bones, makes the hours blur.
And then it hits me. A dull, throbbing ache right in the center of my chest.
Leighton did this alone. For two years. No teammates. No bench to rotate in. No one to pass the baby off to at 3:00 a.m. when the world feels like it’s closing in.
And she’s still standing. It's humbling. I thought I understood strength. I didn’t.
When Luna finally quiets and falls asleep against my chest, her tiny breaths warm against my skin, I just sit there, not ready to let go. Eventually, I ease her into the crib and stare down at her like she’s made of stardust and prayers.
I’ve played championship games in front of roaring crowds. I’ve taken bone-crushing hits and kept going. But this? This is the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
She’s so small. So fragile. And I’d die for her without blinking.
When we all crash in Leighton’s living room that night, it becomes glaringly obvious. This space isn’t built for three grown men, a woman, and a toddler.
And, of course, David brings it up.
“This place works for you and Luna,” he says gently, “but it won’t work for all of us long term.” He sighs. “Why don’t we take this to my place? I’ve got room. We could easily convert one of the eight bedrooms into a playroom. I’ve got a big kitchen. A backyard.”
Leighton narrows her eyes. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” David says. “We’re all trying to figure this out together. Let’s at least be comfortable while we do it.”
She’s reluctant, torn. Maybe this is her safe place. Maybe giving that up feels like giving up control.
“How about just a trial weekend?” I suggest. “We can get to his place on a Friday night and leave Sunday. No pressure. Just see how it feels.”
Andy shrugs. “I travel light. I’m game.”
David softens his tone. “It’s your call, Leighton. You and Luna come first.”
She folds her arms, clearly overwhelmed. “I’ve never lived with anyone outside of family. Not long term.”
“But… we are a family now,” I murmur.
Andy, keeping the mood light, says, “Think of it this way. This isn’t about barging in or controlling. It’s like hockey. You win as a team. We’re just trying to give you the assist.”
She burst out laughing, playfully bumping his shoulder. “Not quite, but I get what you mean.”
“We’re not trying to take anything from you,” I add. “Just sharing what we’re building together in a bigger space.”
She steps toward me, something unspoken in her eyes, like maybe she’s about to say yes—but then there’s a knock on the door.
Her head jerks toward it. “Well… that’s weird.”
David rises, on alert like a faithful dog. “You expecting someone?”
“No. Might be my neighbor.” She checks the peephole, and her expression drops. “Well, this is about to get uncomfortable.”
“Honey, will you open up?” a deep male voice calls through the door.
