Page 65 of Hat Trick Daddies

I grit my teeth, pushing through the burn in my legs. The digital timer on the treadmill ticks down, and as it hits zero, Steve motions me off. “All right, let’s move! Grab the ropes!”

I head to the heavy battle ropes lying coiled on the floor like sleeping snakes. Picking them up, I feel the coarse texture bite into my palms. Steve counts down, and I throw myself into it, whipping the ropes up and down in powerful, rhythmic waves.

My shoulders scream in protest, but I keep going, sweat dripping down my temple and onto the mat below.

“Nice! Keep that form!” Steve shouts, pacing behind me.

The circuit continues, moving from cardio to burpees, then to weighted squats. Each movement is a new challenge, but I feelalive, every fiber of my body firing on all cylinders. The music blasting from the gym speakers is upbeat, driving me forward.

Finally, we finish with weights, and I slam the barbell in my hand onto the rack, breathing hard but feeling accomplished.

As I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face, my thoughts wander.

Things have been…different since we all hooked up. Ally, Nick, Brooks, and I have this group text going, and honestly, it’s been getting more intimate by the hour.

Ally’s playful wit shines through her texts, making it impossible not to smile when I read them. Nick’s always throwing in some sarcastic comment to make her laugh, and even Brooks, who’s usually gruff and reserved, has been opening up in ways I didn’t expect.

I think about Brooks for a moment, how he’s always been there for Nick and me, taking us in when we joined the team. He’s like the older brother we never had. Seeing him loosen up and embrace this crazy dynamic we have with Ally? It feels like we’re giving him something back, something he didn’t even know he was missing.

I chuckle to myself as I scroll through the group text on my phone, rereading Ally’s last message about how she can’t wait for game day. My grin widens as I type a quick reply, teasing her about bringing pom-poms to cheer us on.

Steve walks over, clapping me on the shoulder. “Great work today, man. Hit the showers, and I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Thanks, Steve,” I reply, tossing the towel into a nearby bin. As I head to the locker room, the thought of Ally lingers, her laugh echoing in my mind like a favorite song.

The warm spray of the shower hits my back, washing away the sweat and tension from my workout. The steam fills the air, curling around me as I lean against the tiled wall, letting the water cascade over my shoulders.

My thoughts drift, unbidden, to Ally. The memory of her, soft and warm in my arms, flashes in my mind. The way her lips felt against mine, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at me like I was the only one who mattered.

I let out a low sigh, running a hand through my wet hair. The whole dynamic between Ally, Nick, Brooks, and me? It’s wild, sure, but it works. And it’s not just the sex, it’s something deeper, something that makes me feel…whole.

I close my eyes, the water continuing to stream down my body as I wrestle with the thought that’s been nagging at me. Am I falling for her?

It’s not like me to catch feelings. Hell, I’ve spent most of my adult life making sure things stayed casual, easy, fun. But Ally? She’s different.

I shake my head, trying to clear away the thought. Falling for her means risking everything, our dynamic, my friendship with Nick, my own sense of control. But even as I try to push the thought away, it lingers, stubborn and persistent.

The sound of water splashing against the tile snaps me back to reality, and I quickly finish up, shutting off the shower and grabbing a towel.

The drive home is quiet. My mind shifts to the upcoming game. The first few games of the season are always crucial, but this year feels different. The competition is fierce, and the pressure to start strong is heavier than usual.

Brooks has been pushing himself harder than anyone, and I know why. He’s worried about being traded, about being labeled “too old” for the game. But anyone who’s seen him on the ice knows he’s still a beast, a brick wall on defense with a sharp hockey IQ to match.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about the plays we’ve been working on in practice. If we can execute themas well as we’ve been handling them in practice, we’ll be in good shape.

Pulling into the driveway, I feel a sense of comfort settle over me. Brooks’ house looms ahead, familiar and welcoming.

I park the car and step out, the cool evening air nipping at my skin. The sound of music filters out from the house, and I grin, knowing Nick probably has his playlist blasting in the kitchen.

As I step inside, the smell of whatever Brooks cooked earlier hits me, and I feel gratitude. This is home, messy and chaotic as it might be.

The house is quiet, the kind of calm that comes after a long day. I glance around, taking in the open floor plan, the high ceilings, and the warm glow from the recessed lights.

Brooks’ place is damn nice, modern but not flashy, with big windows that let in the city’s evening light and enough space to make it feel like you could stretch out forever.

A thought nags at me. What if Brooks really does retire? Would Nick and I stay here? Could we? The three of us have built a rhythm living together, but it feels fragile, like one change could knock it all out of place.

My eyes land on the big leather couch, the one where we’ve always sprawled out after games, beers in hand. I imagine Ally here with us, curled up in the corner, laughing at one of Nick’s bad jokes or tossing a pillow at me for teasing her.

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