Page 84 of Hooked On Them

Miles stepped in without a word to grab his own bag along with Dominic’s. The trunk door closed with a solid thud as the front door opened.

All six-foot-two of the retired NHL goaltender turned head coach stood with his arms crossed over his chest like he was facing down a rival team during playoffs.

My heart jumped to my throat. I hadn’t exactly been clear with my dad about everything. He knew about the baby. He knew Dominic was the father. He knew Miles was my fake boyfriend. He knew Carter owned part of the team. But I hadn’t explained that I was embarking on a relationship with all three of them.

How do you even tell your dad that? Like, “Remember when you caught me playing spin the bottle at thirteen? Well, now I’m playing the adult version with three men.”

“Do we bow or something?” Carter whispered loudly enough that the entire block probably heard him.

“Shut up,” Dominic and Miles hissed in unison.

“Hi, Dad.” I walked toward him with what I hoped was casual confidence and not the panic of a woman who’d just realized she needed to figure out sleeping arrangements for three grown men in her childhood home.

Behind Dad was Mateo, tall, calm, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a kind professor vibe. “Nora!” Mateo stepped forward with a warmth that immediately eased some of my worries. He wrapped me in a hug and I almost started crying. My dad deserved to find love and happiness again, and he’d found it after meeting Mateo in a grief support group.

Dad finally moved, coming down the walkway with measured strides. He hugged me briefly, his eyes never leaving the trio of men standing awkwardly in the driveway. “Welcome home, kiddo.”

He turned his attention to my… entourage? Lovers? Support system? What exactly was the correct terminology here?

Miles stepped forward first, extending his hand. “Coach Hastings, thank you for having us. I’m?—”

“Miles Collins.” Dad’s handshake was firm but not the bone-crusher I’d been expecting. “I’ve watched your game since juniors.”

Miles nodded, relief partially softening his expression, though he shifted his weight from one foot to another, like he wasn’t quite sure where to position himself. His shoulders relaxed by maybe two millimeters, not enough for anyone else to notice, but I was too tuned in to him now not to catch it.

I wanted to reach for his hand, to somehow telegraph that he didn’t need to prepare for peacekeeping duty or worry about his place at my side, but touching him now seemed like dropping a match into a gas tank.

Carter stepped forward next, extending his hand. “Carter Campbell, sir. An honor to meet an NHL legend. Nora speaks very highly of you.”

Dad assessed Carter with the same look he gave rookies during training camp, searching for weaknesses. “You bought into the Titans recently.”

“Minority stake, yes, sir. But only because they wouldn’t let me buy the whole team. At least not yet.” Carter’s smile never faltered, though a bead of sweat formed at his temple.

I stared at him in disbelief. He’d intended to buy the whole damn team? Tossing around the idea of buying a pro sports team like it was a rare trading card made my head nearly spin off. I’d known he was wealthy, but the nonchalance with which he admitted this to my father made me wonder if I truly understood the scope of his resources. Part of me wanted to kick his ankle for showing off, while another part admired the sheer audacity.

Then came the moment I’d been dreading. Dominic stepped forward, tension radiating off him. “Coach.” He gave my dad a tight nod.

My dad’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Wilson.”

The air between them crackled. Apparently, the bad blood between our fathers had trickled down to us. Plus, the fact that Dominic got me pregnant probably didn’t help matters.

Mateo, thankfully, broke the standoff. “Why don’t we head inside?”

“I’ll show everyone where to put their bags.” I was desperate to escape the testosterone-charged atmosphere.

Dad finally took his eyes off Dominic. “I’ve set up the guest rooms. Three of them.” His emphasis on the number wasn’t subtle.

My cheeks burned. “Great, thanks.”

As we shuffled inside, my dad put his hand on my arm, holding me back. “You didn’t mention all three men were in love with you,” he whispered.

My eyes widened. “What? No!”

“They all look at you like you won the Stanley Cup all by yourself.” His eyebrows arched. “Something you want to tell me about this situation?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “It’s... complicated.”

His expression softened slightly. “I figured. We’ll talk later.”

---