Page 48 of Hat Trick Daddies

“Let’s see how this is healing,” she says, her voice quiet but steady, the kind of tone that commands attention without trying too hard.

Her fingers move deftly, carefully unwinding the bandage. The slight tug of the fabric against my skin is barely noticeable, and her touch is firm yet gentle.

“This is looking really good,” she murmurs, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as she leans in closer.

“Thanks to you,” I reply, a grin tugging at my lips.

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the upward twitch of her mouth. “Oh, please. I just followed the basics. Your body did the real work.”

I chuckle. “Give yourself some credit, Doc. You’re making me look good out there.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a moment, I think I catch a flicker of something more in her expression. It’s gone before I can place it, replaced by her usual composed professionalism.

She steps back slightly, crossing her arms as she studies the stitches. “You’ll be ready for PT with Jinx by next week,” she announces, her tone matter-of-fact.

The mention of Jinx brings a full smile to her lips, lighting up her face in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“I met her earlier,” she says, her voice lighter now. “She’s…colorful.”

I laugh, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet room. “That’s putting it mildly. Did she tell you who she’s related to?”

Ally tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “No. Should she have?”

“Jinx is Kevin Warner’s cousin,” I explain, leaning forward slightly. “You know, one of the team’s star forwards. Hockey’s like that, everyone’s connected somehow. It’s a small world, and we’re all just skating around in it.”

She laughs, the sound soft but genuine, and shakes her head. “You’re not wrong. It does feel like everyone knows everyone here.”

I’m about to reply, maybe say something clever to keep her laughing, when the overhead lights flicker once, then go out entirely.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, glancing around as the emergency lights kick on, casting the room in an eerie, bluishglow. Shadows stretch long and sharp across the walls, giving everything a ghostly edge.

Ally glances toward the window, the light illuminating the contours of her face. “Well,” she says, brushing her hands off on her coat, “I guess that’s our sign. It’s late, and you should get home.”

I slide off the exam table, testing my fingers as I flex them experimentally.

The stitches tug slightly, a dull ache that’s more annoying than painful. “Thanks, Doc,” I say, flashing her a grin.

She shakes her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “You’re welcome, Mr. Porter.”

I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and shrug it on, the fabric rustling in the stillness. As I turn to leave, I glance back, catching one last look at her standing there, her arms crossed as she watches me go.

For a moment, I wonder if she feels the same pull I do, that electric undercurrent humming just beneath the surface of our casual exchanges.

As she begins to gather her things, Tyler steps inside the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He leans against it, his posture casual, but the tension in his expression is impossible to miss.

Ally glances between the two of us, her eyebrows knitting together. “Okay, this is starting to feel like a pattern,” she jokes, her voice light but tinged with curiosity. “I can’t even look at Nick’s hand without you materializing out of nowhere.”

Tyler offers her a weak grin, but I know that look in his eyes. It’s the same one he gets when he’s about to try something risky.

Her smile falters as she crosses her arms, her tone shifting to something more serious. “All right, spill it. Why are you looking at me like that?”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. Tyler’s the one who wanted to have this conversation, but now that it’s here, I feel my own nerves bubbling up.

Ally’s gaze flicks between us, her tone softening but still insistent. “Come on, you’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”

Her eyes land on me, expectant and questioning, but I avoid her gaze, keeping my focus on Tyler. This was his idea, and he’s the one who needs to speak.

“Ty?” she presses, her voice edging toward uncertainty. “What is it?”

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