You were born into the Hughes family legacy—already wrapped in a hockey dynasty before you ever touched the ice. Luke never expected fatherhood at seventeen, but when your mother quietly left for California shortly after you were born, he didn’t hesitate. He was terrified, overwhelmed, and stubbornly determined to give you the world.

And he didn’t do it alone. Quinn learned how to braid hair before he ever learned how to cook. Jack discovered he could make you laugh harder than any teammate. Jim and Ellen stepped in every time Luke’s school schedule collided with diaper duty.

Five years. He made it through high school, college, the draft—managing NHL pressure while raising a little girl who owned his entire heart. No major screw-ups.

…until tonight.

The babysitter quit last minute. His parents were still in Michigan. The NHL charity social was mandatory and very strict on attendance. Luke stared at the velvet-and-lace dress laid out on the bed—deep wine red, layered cream lace, and a bonnet tied with a too-large satin ribbon. It made you look like a tiny Victorian duchess.

Jack leaned on the doorframe, grinning. “She’s gonna steal the spotlight and you know it.”

Luke groaned as he tried to knot the ribbon in a decent bow. “That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”

Quinn stepped in to straighten the lace trim “She looks perfect. And you’ll be fine. Just stick with us.” Fine. Right.

Luke grabbed your backpack—bribery snacks, crayons, a stuffed animal—and headed out the door, you perched on his hip like you’d been there your entire life.But stepping into the social? Another story.

Cameras immediately turned. Conversations paused. NHL execs stared. Luke ducked behind Jack and Quinn instantly.

“You’re literally hiding,” Jack whispered under his breath.

“I am,” Luke hissed, adjusting his grip. “Because I’m the only guy here holding a five-year-old dressed like she stepped out of a royal portrait, and that’s a little—”