Page 55 of Hat Trick Daddies

As I pull into the driveway of my apartment, I sit for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me.

I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude, for him, for the life he built for us, for the way he always makes me feel like I can handle anything.

“I love you, Dad,” I whisper to myself, smiling as I grab my things and head inside.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tyler

The cold airbites at my face as I glide across the ice, my skates cutting sharp, clean lines into the frozen surface.

The sound of blades slicing and sticks tapping against pucks fills the rink, a rhythm as familiar as my own heartbeat. Nick skates ahead of me, his movements smooth and deliberate as he blocks one of our teammates attempting to pass.

“Right here!” I shout, tapping my stick against the ice.

Nick doesn’t hesitate.

He intercepts the puck with precision, a quick flick of his wrist sending it my way. I grip my stick tightly, my eyes locked on the small black disk as it slides toward me.

The opposing players close in fast, their skates spraying icy mist as they maneuver to block me. I shift my weight, feinting left before darting right, my body moving purely on instinct.

Nick is already repositioning himself behind me, a solid wall of defense in case I lose control. “Go for it, Ty!” he yells.

I push forward, weaving between the last two players before locking my focus on the goalie. My muscles tense as I pull back my stick, calculating the angle.

With a sharp snap, I send the puck flying. It sails cleanly into the top corner of the net, past the goalie’s outstretched glove.

The goal horn blares, and a grin spreads across my face as I raise my arms triumphantly. “That’s game, boys!” I shout, circling back toward Nick.

It’s just another practice game, but we are just about to start playing for the season, and it feels good to know that I’m as ready as I can be.

Steam billows around me as I rinse off under the hot spray of the locker room shower later. Nick’s voice echoes over the sound of the running water as he chats with a couple of teammates nearby.

“Hell of a shot, Ty,” one of them calls out, his words bouncing off the tiled walls.

“Thanks,” I shout back, turning the knob to shut off the water. I grab my towel from the hook and wrap it around my waist, stepping out onto the slightly damp floor.

Nick follows close behind, smirking as he towels off his hair. “You gonna be this sharp during the game?” he teases.

“You know it,” I reply, grinning as I open my locker to grab my clothes.

By the time we’re dressed, pulling on well-worn jeans and tailored shirts, the locker room is buzzing with energy. A few teammates slap us on the shoulders, congratulating us on the play.

“Remember that setup,” one of them says. “We’re gonna need it during the game.”

“Already locked in,” Nick replies, tapping the side of his head.

Revved up from practice and the camaraderie, I glance at Nick as we head out. “Cigar and whiskey bar tonight?”

Nick nods, his grin matching mine. “Hell yeah.”

The drive to downtown Minneapolis is smooth, the city lights gradually growing brighter as we leave the quiet suburbs behind.The roads are lined with snowbanks, the remnants of a recent snowfall glinting under the streetlights.

“All right,” Nick says, tapping the dashboard rhythmically. “What’s the game plan for Saturday? Got any tricks up your sleeve?”

“Always,” I reply, my hands steady on the wheel. “I’ve been thinking about trying that backhand pass fake. You know, the one we pulled off last season against the Stars.”

Nick leans back in his seat, nodding thoughtfully. “Good call. If I can block their right-winger, you’ll have a clean lane.”

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