Page 54 of Hat Trick Daddies

“Come on, sit down,” Dad says, gesturing toward the dining table.

I glance into the kitchen, where the oven light glows warmly, casting a soft golden hue over the countertops. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, mock-serious. “You’re the guest tonight.”

I laugh, shaking my head as I take a seat at the familiar oak table. The grooves and scratches on its surface bring back a flood of memories, family dinners, homework sessions, and countless games of cards.

“So,” Dad says, setting a heaping plate of lasagna in front of me. “How’s the fellowship going?”

As we eat, Dad leans back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “So, what’s it like working with a bunch of hockey players? I bet that gets old fast.”

I pause, my fork hovering over my plate. “It’s fine,” I say lightly, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine it’s easy. You let me know if any of those guys try to get fresh with you, all right? I’ll take care of them.”

“Dad,” I groan, rolling my eyes, though my stomach churns slightly at the thought.

“I’m serious,” he says, pointing his fork at me like he’s making a proclamation. “I don’t care how big they are. They mess with my little girl, and they’re done for.”

I force a laugh, but guilt seeps into my chest. If only he knew. Not one, not two, but three hockey players already…

“I can handle myself,” I say, taking a bite of lasagna to distract myself.

He nods, his expression softening. “I know you can, sweetheart. Your mom always said you had a good head on your shoulders.”

The mention of Mom sends a pang through me, but I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

He changes the subject, asking about my coworkers, and I breathe a little easier. For now, my secret is safe and I can enjoy the warmth of home.

The night winds down with the familiar comfort of lingering at the table, chatting about nothing and everything. The lasagna is long gone, the plates cleared, but Dad keeps me talking, his laughter filling the cozy dining room.

Eventually, I glance at the clock and sigh. “I should probably get going. It’s getting late, and I’ve got another busy day tomorrow.”

Dad nods, standing up and walking me to the door. His steps are a little slower than I remember, but his energy is still as warm and reassuring as ever.

As I slip on my coat, he pulls me into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “You take care of yourself, okay?” he says softly.

“I will,” I reply, my cheek pressed against his shoulder.

He pulls back slightly, looking at me with that familiar mix of pride and affection. “Your mom would be so proud of you, you know. She always knew you’d do great things.”

His words hit me straight in the chest, and I blink rapidly, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. “Thanks, Dad,” I manage, my voice thick with emotion.

He hugs me one more time before opening the door. The cold air rushes in, and I step outside, turning back to wave. He stands in the doorway, watching until I’m halfway to my car, before finally closing the door.

The drive home is quiet. My dad’s words replay in my mind, warming me just as much as the lingering scent of lasagna clinging to my coat.

He’d said I seemed happy. It surprised me at first, but as I think about it, I realize he’s right. Despite everything, the whirlwind of emotions, the questionable decisions, I do feel…lighter.

Freer.

The city lights blur past my window, casting soft shadows across the dashboard.

My thoughts drift to the house I just left, the comforting presence of my dad.

I think about how much he’s done for me and how hard he worked to keep things together after Mom died.

I was too young then to fully appreciate it, but now, I can see the sacrifices he made, and the love he poured into making sure I had a good life.

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