Page 84 of Hat Trick Daddies

Inside, Nick and Tyler are pacing the living room. The soft lights cast long shadows across their tense faces. Tyler is the first to speak, his voice tight with frustration. “She’s not answering, is she?”

I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “Nothing. Straight to voicemail.”

Nick runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “We screwed this up, didn’t we?”

I look between them, their worry mirroring my own. “I have an idea,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “But I need to know you’re both on board.”

Nick and Tyler exchange a glance, their faces etched with concern. “What’s the plan?” Nick asks cautiously, his voice soft but resolute.

I take a deep breath, the weight of my idea pressing down on me. “We need to show her that she’s not alone in this. That we’re all in this together.”

Tyler frowns, crossing his arms. “And how exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“I’ll explain,” I say, my tone firm, “but this isn’t just about words anymore. We need to prove it. Actions speak louder.”

Nick nods slowly, his brow furrowed. “All right, Brooks. We trust you.”

Tyler hesitates for a moment before sighing. “Yeah, okay. Whatever it takes.”

Their agreement eases a fraction of the tension in my chest, but it doesn’t erase the uncertainty.

Ally’s hurting, scared, and shutting us out.

But I’ll be damned if I let her carry this burden alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ally

The cold airhits me as I step into the stadium, my boots clicking softly on the tiled floor.

Filing through the entrance with the crowd, I feel a fleeting sense of comfort, just another person blending in, anonymous.

The rink sprawls before me, the boards gleam white, dotted with sponsor logos, and the players glide across the surface in warm-up drills, their skates carving smooth arcs.

The slap of a puck against the boards echoes sharply, followed by the crunch of blades on ice.

Finding an empty seat near the edge of the stands, I slide in and settle down, pulling my coat tighter around me.

The chill seeps into my body, but I barely notice it, my thoughts are far too loud.

My coat feels snug, uncomfortably so, and my hand instinctively brushes against my stomach. My pregnancy is impossible to ignore now, not just physically but mentally.

Every small sensation reminds me that there is a life growing inside me.

I glance around nervously, scanning the faces of those nearby.

Nobody’s looking at me. Nobody knows. But I can’t shake the paranoia that someone could know, maybe from the way I walk, the way I look.

It’s irrational, I know, but my mind won’t let it go. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but it only settles me for a moment.

The crowd is a blur of coats and hats, faces alight with anticipation as they chatter and laugh. I’m surrounded by people, yet I feel so isolated, a single point of anxiety in a sea of excitement.

As I sit waiting for the game to start, my mind drifts to Tiffany and the blackmail.

The email. The pictures. The demands.

Even though Brooks handled it, the memories crawl back, wrapping tight around me like a vice. The thought of those images going public makes my chest tighten, and the paranoia sets in again.

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