Page 32 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
Just when I think she’s going to say something or start the interview, her hand snaps out so fast it shocks me. My body stiffens, ready for impact. A slap, a shove, something sharp. But it never comes. All she does is grab my sleeve, her grip tight, dragging the fabric up over my bicep with fast, deliberate focus. Her touch is rough, her gaze intense as it lands on my arm where my old ARMY BRAT tattoo sits. Her eyes go wide, locking onto it like it’s just answered a question she didn’t even know she was asking.
This sudden change in her demeanor hits me square in the gut. Instinct kicks in, and I slowly pull back, slipping out of her grip. Not because I’m embarrassed. Never. It’s old as dirt, inked by my brother’s buddy in his garage when we were just a couple of dumb teenagers. Jagged, faded, not winning any beauty contests. But the way she’s looking at it hints at a missing puzzle piece.
“Homegrown tatt,” I say lightly, even though the uneasiness crawling up my spine is anything but casual. “Not much to look at, I know.”
She keeps staring, like she’s searing the image into her memory. Finally, she blinks hard, snapping out of it like someone justclapped at the end of a Vegas hypnotist show. “I apologize for staring. That was rude.”
Maybe. But why does she still look so flustered? Part of me wants to reach out and wrap my hands around her, whispering in her ear that it will be ok. The other part of me wants to do what I always do in situations like this. I start babbling, throwing a bunch of nonsense her way just to fill the awkward silence.
“Got it when I was a teenager. It hasn’t exactly stood the test of time. The black ink has been fading for years now. I’ve thought about getting it removed, but I've never been able to bring myself to do it. It’s part of my checkered past.” I pause, smiling wryly. “Not that my past has much to do with my job now. Or… maybe it does. Isn’t there a saying? Something about how your past shapes who you are today?”
She sits up a little straighter, like she’s trying to shake off whatever’s got her rattled. “Yeah, that’s the one. Can you tell me more? About the tattoo… and that checkered past?”
My mind spins back to my older brother, my shadow, my rival. “Well, it started with my older brother, Kenny. Growing up, everything I did was about chasing him. He joined the Army while I carved my own path on the ice, but that bond between us? Complicated as hell. He was my hero and my biggest obstacle all at once. But… I guess that’s normal between brothers, right?” I chuckle. “Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed competitive to this day.”
Her features soften, the air between us finally shifting to something normal, something real. “Was?”
I take a deep breath. I didn’t expect this interview to dig up old scars. “Yeah. He went to the Army and didn’t make it back. The last time I saw him was over an unstable video connection.” I pause, my fingers smoothing over the tattoo on my bicep. “So now, when I look at these words, the ones he dared me to get during one of our wild summers, they burn like a brand. I don’t know how to explain it very well. But, no matter how far I skate, he’s always there with me, just under the skin.”
“Mr. Webb. I’m so sorry to hear that. And those words. They’re really powerful,” she says, voice gentler now, full of genuine sympathy.
I crack a grin, trying to ease the weight of the conversation. “Oh, you can call me Andy. No need for formalities.”
“Andy…” Her cheeks tint pink. “So, is it fair to say that you like your job?”
“I do,” I say, rambling about my favorite things—first memories on the ice, injuries, comebacks.
“This is all really good stuff,” she says. “I think I’ve gotten more out of you than any other player. It’s refreshing. So, I think I’ve got just one final question.”
“Shoot,” I say, hoping it’s not something out of left field.
“So… what about your friends? Are you close with any of the guys here, or do you try to keep work and personal life separate?”
Oh, good.
“Well, it all starts to run together after a while. I’ve got a few friends outside the org, but I’ve grown really close to David and Shane these last few years. We just… click, you know?”
She nods, shifting slightly on the bench when I mention their names. She doesn’t know I know about her and David, but honestly, that doesn’t matter right now.
“I get that,” she says softly. “I love my best friend. I couldn’t imagine life without her.” She glances to the side, tucking her hair behind her ear, and I catch the sparkle in her lobe.
“I have to say… your earrings bring out the light in your eyes. Sapphire studs?”
She tilts her head up, smiling. “Yeah, thank you. My mom gave them to me, actually. I don’t really take them off.”
“They’re gorgeous,” I say, holding her gaze. “So… tell me something. All this tattoo talk earlier has got me curious. Do you have any tattoos of your own?”
A soft laugh slips out, and she shifts in her seat, a little flustered. “I… I don’t really have strong feelings either way.”
I grin, loving the way her voice wavers just a bit. A shy one? My favorite kind of challenge.
“So, I’m guessing that means you don’t have any?”
I’ve asked questions like these more times than I can count. Usually, the girl either flirts right back or gets a little huffy and indignant. But with Leighton? Hard to tell. She’s not giving me much to go on.
“I don’t,” she admits.
“But if you wanted to get some ink, where would it be?”
