Page 1 of Hat Trick Daddies

CHAPTER ONE

Ally

The secondI step out of the Uber, I feel it.

A sharp tug at my waist.

I try to move forward, but I can’t. Something is holding me back.

For a second, I have no idea what’s happening. Did I get lassoed? Mugged? Pulled into another dimension?

Nope. My dress is stuck in the car door.

The Uber driver, blissfully unaware, hits the gas.

“WAIT! STOP?—”

The tires let out a tiny, guilty squeak as the car jerks to a stop.

For a second, everything is still.

Then, with the grace of a newborn deer, I yank my dress free with a muted shriek, and step back like nothing happened.

The Uber driver glances in the rearview mirror, looking mildly horrified.

I give a tight, no-you-didn’t-almost-drag-me-to-my-death smile and wave a frantic PLEASE GO motion.

The car peels away like it can’t escape fast enough.

I stand there, panting, trying to will my soul back into my body.

Then, as if the universe is in on the joke, I glance up and lock eyes with the grinning macaw on the Minnesota Marauders’ banner.

The bird beams down at me like it just watched the whole thing.

Its bright red feathers fan out in streaks of blue, yellow, and green, its wings stretched wide in a mocking, feathered high-five to my humiliation.

Fantastic.

The banner flutters in the breeze, a snapping sound punctuating the otherwise quiet morning.

The image feels almost ridiculous against the weight pressing in my chest—a brightly colored bird ushering me into a place that holds so much personal history.

The contrast is almost funny. Almost.

I inhale deeply, smoothing my dress like that will somehow iron out the embarrassment. Then, grabbing my purse that fell to the pavement, I throw the strap over my shoulder and march forward like I totally meant for all that to happen.

The tall trees along the parking lot are ablaze with autumn colors, golden yellows, deep oranges, and fiery reds.

The city of Minneapolis rises in the distance beyond the rink. The jagged skyline reflects the dim light of the overcast day, the Mississippi River winding through the city like a shimmering ribbon.

This is where I’m meant to be.

This town, this rink, this life; each of them are pieces of a puzzle I’m trying to put back together.

Despite briefly being taken hostage by my own clothing, I take a step forward.

Coming home feels strange, even a little bittersweet.

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