Page 63 of Playing for the Hat Trick
Tonight, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t walk back from.
I unlock my phone again.
The message thread is still open.
Her last reply—“Sounds doable. I accept. Just don’t confuse therapy with foreplay, Tate. Even if you come out of it healed, I might not.”
I should leave it there.
Should.
Instead, I type:
Jason: When do we start?
The three dots appear almost immediately.
And fuck if I don’t feel every single one.
Scottie: You free tomorrow night?
I stare at the screen. Thumb hovering. Free? I’m available right now if she’d have me, but I don’t answer that. Nope. I’ve waited this long. I have a little self-control left.
Jason: Send me your address. I’ll be there at seven.
Scottie: Nah, send me your address. I prefer to be the guest.
Somehow, that part makes me feel uneasy, but I send her my address. This woman is going to make me work overtime, and I’ll do it because it’s her. Scottie.
Chapter Twenty-One
Scottie
The Pre-Fuck Emotional Debrief
It’s not like me to text anyone asking for an emergency coffee—or, you know, a fixing intervention. Nope. That’s not my role in the group chat hierarchy. I’m usually the one who gets those texts. You’ve got a crisis? A breakup? A deadline? You contact Scottie, and I show up with caffeine, baked goods, and solutions so effective it makes any private investigator weep.
But this?
This is different.
I’m outside Leif and Hailey’s penthouse with a four-slot coffee carrier in one hand and a tight grip on the fragments of my mental health in the other. My breathing’s shallow. My heart is in my throat. My skin’s too warm and not in a glowy, post-yoga way. No, this is more of a pre-apocalyptic, I-might-actually-have-a-breakdown-on-this-marble-floor warm.
Hailey opens the door, baby Luna on hip, hair in a soft twist, bare feet padding on hardwood like she was born for this whole domestic goddess thing. Luna stares at me with big, curious eyes like she can sense the fact that I’m two seconds away from combusting.
“If you’re here claiming the godmother spot,” Hailey says, lifting a brow, “the answer is still: we don’t know.”
I sigh so hard it feels like my ribcage deflates.
“Okay, yes, I’ve been pestering you and Leif about that, but can you blame me? She’s a literal marshmallow with eyes. We’re going to have ‘Auntie and Me’ zoo expeditions, aquarium days, donut shop adventures, and mini-hikes followed by matching pedicures. I already have the onesies picked out for when we start doing yoga together in Central Park.”
Hailey gives me that Hailey-smirk with a side of suspicion.
“You don’t have to be her godmother to be a badass aunt,” she mutters and moves aside so I can walk into her home.
“Fine, we’ll set the whole godmother on the side today. Though, you should add some bonus points since I came bearing gifts. Your favorite hibiscus concoction, and that lavender matcha chai with those rosemary scones you were obsessed with last month.”
Her expression softens. “Interesting,” is all she says, and I’m not sure how to take that one word.
