Page 7 of Hat Trick Daddies

That night, it had felt thrilling—forbidden.

Now, the memory makes me cringe.

I can almost feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I remember how I hung on his every word, thinking he was larger than life.

He wasn’t.

He was just a boy, and I was just a girl swept up in the romance of hockey.

I’m grateful I never let it go too far.

The relationship had fizzled quickly, leaving nothing but a bittersweet reminder of how young and foolish I’d been.

In hindsight, I could see it for what it was: not love, not even a real connection, but a reflection of my obsession with the game itself.

Dennis keeps talking, his voice a low drone I barely register as I shake off the memory.

I adjust my bag again and take a steadying breath. Back then, I had dreams of playing hockey professionally. I wasn’t bad, either, quick on my skates, intuitive with the puck, and always ready to give it my all.

But reality had caught up to me quickly. I wasn’t big enough, strong enough, or fast enough to compete at the level I dreamed of.

Still, the ache lingers. The dream never truly leaves. Working with the Marauders now feels like a second chance, even if I’m no longer the one holding the stick.

I straighten my shoulders, pushing the memory aside as we approach a set of heavy double doors. Beyond them, the sound of voices and laughter grows louder.

My stomach twists again as Dennis pulls the door open.

The warm air inside the locker room envelops me instantly, thick with the mingling smells of sweat, damp gear, and the medicinal tang of liniment.

The lively chatter and laughter that had been echoing out into the hall abruptly stops.

The silence is absolutely deafening.

Every head turns toward me, a sea of curious, skeptical faces. Their eyes feel like spotlights, scanning me from head to toe.

My chest tightens, but I lift my chin and force myself to walk inside.

And then I see him.

The man from earlier, the one who slammed into the boards, is sitting on a bench near the center of the room. His broadshoulders are slightly hunched, his dark hair curling against his forehead, still damp with sweat.

His eyes, sharp and piercing, lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a jolt through me.

Next to him, two other men sit casually, their postures relaxed but their attention unmistakably fixed on me as well.

They’re strikingly handsome, their identical features impossible to miss. Dark hair, chiseled jawlines, and the kind of easy confidence that turns heads. Twins.

My heart flips unexpectedly, and I curse the involuntary reaction.

This is work. These are patients, not distractions.

Dennis clears his throat, breaking the tension. “Everyone, this is Dr. Ally Perry, our new team doctor. She’ll be taking over from Dr. Martins when her fellowship is over.”

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the group.

I nod politely, trying to appear confident and collected, but the weight of their stares presses heavily against me.

I remind myself why I’m here, planting my feet firmly and standing tall. It’s time to show them and myself, that I belong.

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