Page 51 of Hat Trick Holidate

“It just means she was more than I expected.”

“In a good way?”

I shrug. “I thought so, but now I don’t know. I’ve had some time to reflect. Not sure she’s into the real me.”

No fucking sparks.She could have said dozens of other things.

“Aww, sorry, man. Brooke was hoping she made a love connection. She’s so happy being here with someone whoknows our history and wants you to be happy.” He knocks against the table before we head to the arena to start our pre-game walkthrough.

Coach shows us some film in the locker room to remind us of a few of the opposing players tendencies. The Nashville Notes are no pushover, and it’s early in the season and easy to underestimate your opponent. Snow, our goalie, seems nervous. One of my old Kentucky Stallions teammates, Corbin Shearer, has been ripping holes in the goal with fourteen goals. I was two years ahead of Corbin, but he always worked hard, wanting to land on the second line. When Reed was moved back up to first line, he moved in behind him.

I’ll see if Shearer wants to go out after and reminisce. I’ll talk to Reed and ask if they can spare a drink before his alone time starts with Brooke.

As always, I lace my skates before everyone else. I do a light skate around the arena before the rest of team comes out, so I can connect with the opposing team’s arena. Some call it a superstition, I call it my routine. My coaching staff and teammates know to give me ten minutes. It’s my thing. My time to become one with the ice. I think about my brother every night while my blades slide across the surface. It’s my time with him. Where I funnel Andri’s energy into mine. Except today, all I can think about is the woman who walked out on me my rookie season. And the same woman who pushed me in a closet to hide. No woman has ever wanted to hide me. I’m fucking Bryce Wynward, Cup Champion, League MVP.

She’s my nanny, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Last night was a lapse in judgement. She’s my former rival’ssister and off limits anyway. Now if I could just tell the organ in my chest to let her go because this could get messy. If she doesn’t want to admit to her brother that she likes me and wants to be with me then fuck it.

Before putting on my pads,I check my phone and have a message from Emmaline. She and Jolie made it to the hotel, which is a block away from the arena. While I’m glad they’re here safely, I’m not sure how to approach Emmaline.

When I lead my team onto the ice for pre-game warmups, a line of puck bunnies yells our names, even Reed Cross’ who everyone knows is married and has a ton of children. It makes me nauseous that not long ago, I was dipping my stick in these hockey sluts.

I purposely go to the other side of the frozen ground to do my butterfly stretches so I can scan the stands, hoping Jolie and Emmaline are here early, and I can meet my daughter at the glass. For years, I’ve been on the outside looking in at players with families. A family is something I’ve always wanted and even though Emmaline isn’t family, she’s the one taking care of my daughter.

I’m no one’s to hide. If she doesn’t want her brother to know about our hot as hell rendezvous, then I’ll keep her secret, but I won’t continue to be someone’s secret.

Roman and Reed flank me on each side when the Nashville Notes hit the ice, and the crowd erupts. Reed and I hop up and skate toward Shearer, our former Stallionsteammate. We exchange embraces and shoot the breeze for a minute.

“How are Brooke and the kids?” Shearer asks.

Reed smiles like he saw a girl’s boobs for the first time. “They’re perfect. They’ll be here soon. No matter the outcome tonight, I’d love for you to meet our newest addition, Christina.”

They bump gloves. “Sure thing. What about you, Wynward? Still pucking the bunnies?”

“Nah, no time for a sex life,” I mumble, and Shearer’s jaw drops. That’s when I spot Emmaline. She’s hard to miss with that damn thick, shiny, auburn hair. In her arms is my little girl wearing a Jets jersey. I point in Emmaline and Jolie’s direction. “That’s my daughter.”

“You married a woman with a child? Shit, man, I thought I would be invited to the wedding.”

Reed says, “No. The woman is Roman Rustavelli’s sister, and she’s…”

“My nanny.”

I skate off to see the girls in their jerseys. But when I reach the glass partition, I notice Jolie’s jersey isn’t generic; it’s a pint-size replica of mine. Emmaline brings her down, and I grin. She’s in leggings, my jersey, and her Nikes instead of a damn dress. Momentarily, all the hurt vanishes.

“Thank you,” I say to Emmaline, who’s wearing the exact same outfit as Jolie. Well, not exactly; she’s wearing her brother’s jersey. And damn if jealousy rolls up my spine. He’s her brother. She should be wearing his jersey, but that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about her wearing number nine.

“Just using your black card, like you asked.” She smirks.And just like that, I forget about her pushing me in a closet like a nudie mag you don’t want your mom to see. “Should we go back to the hotel after the game or wait for you… and the team?”

“Wait.”

Snow meets me at the glass. “Ready.”

I nod.

Emmaline takes Jolie’s hand, holding it up and waving it. “Wave good luck to Daddy.”

Who knew a little girl could make a grown and perpetually grumpy man melt? Their matching outfits make my stomach flutter at a single thought as I push off the boards, skating backward.

Emmaline could be Jolie’s mommy.

---