Page 25 of Hat Trick Daddies

They’re living life, enjoying every moment, while I’m staring down forty with nothing to show for it but a hockey career and a house that feels more like a mausoleum than a home.

I take the long way back, needing the extra time to clear my head. The twins’ voices have died down, leaving just the muffled beat of a quiet song on the radio.

When Nick and Tyler got drafted, they were raw talent with no sense of direction. I’ve seen it before—bright-eyed rookies drowning in the temptations of this life. The booze, the women, the drugs—it’s a graveyard for careers if you’re not careful.

I wasn’t about to let that happen to these two. They were too damn good, too full of potential, to burn out like that.

Taking them in had felt natural. They needed someone to guide them, and I needed something to anchor me in that big, empty house.

They’re knuckleheads, sure, but they’re my knuckleheads.

The road winds ahead, the streetlights casting intermittent halos of gold onto the asphalt. My thoughts drift to the first night Nick and Tyler moved in.

I can almost see it: the kitchen lit by the soft glow of pendant lights, the smell of fresh pizza mixing with the tang of the beer they brought over.

We sat around the big wooden table, their wide-eyed excitement giving way to something deeper as we talked about where we came from.

Nick and Tyler grew up with parents who couldn’t keep their lives together long enough to raise kids. They bounced between grandparents and the foster system until hockey became their saving grace.

I could see the relief on their faces as they talked about their college scholarships. Hockey gave them structure and a sense of purpose, and it kept them out of trouble.

I could relate. My dad was a deadbeat, more interested in the bottom of a beer glass than raising a family. My mom worked herself to exhaustion trying to make up for his absence, juggling three jobs to keep the roof over our heads.

I’ll never forget how tired she always looked, her hands rough and calloused from years of hard labor.

My mom’s been gone for nearly a decade now, and my dad’s still the same selfish bastard he always was. Nick and Tyler might not share my blood, but they’re the closest thing I have to family now.

My thoughts circling back to Ally and Tyler’s impulsive move tonight.

Tyler’s always been a bit reckless, especially when it comes to women. He doesn’t stop to think about the consequences; he just acts. That kiss might’ve been a dumb move, but I can’t entirely blame him.

Ally’s…different.

Tyler kissing her was a bonehead move, but I’ll deal with it. It’s what I do: clean up their messes, make sure they stay on track.

The house looms ahead as I pull into the driveway, its dark windows reflecting the glow of the headlights.

“Home sweet home,” Tyler mutters, his voice low and a little slurred as he opens the passenger door.

Nick snickers, shoving him lightly. “Don’t act like you pay the mortgage.”

They climb out, their footsteps crunching on the gravel as they head toward the front door.

I sit in the truck for a moment, watching them stumble their way inside.

Nick fumbles with the keys but manages to get the door open, and they disappear into the warm glow of the entryway.

Tonight was a mess, but I know what to do to make it right.

A plan forms in my head, and a small smile creeps onto my face.

Tyler might’ve made the first move, but I’ll make sure this doesn’t blow up in all our faces.

CHAPTER NINE

Ally

I adjust my chair,stretch my back, and straighten the stack of paperwork I’m steadily working through.

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