Page 101 of Shootout Daddies
“Which leaves us in a bind. You’ve been doing a decent job, better than we expected considering you didn’t want this in the first place. So we’re willing to extend you. Stay on for the season. Full contract. Salary bump, benefits, the works.”
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
If I was one to believe in miracles, I might think this is one. Just two weeks ago, the deadline to leave Miami felt like it was carved in stone.
Now?
Now I could stay.
I could stay through the season. Stay close to her. To Ivy.
The thought detonates inside me like fireworks, too bright to look at directly.
Halpern’s voice is still going, outlining details, throwing numbers, terms, things that normally would take all my concentration. But my brain is already a step ahead.
If I take this, it means I can be here. When she moves back to New York, I’ll have the paycheck to hop on a flight, to follow her for weekends, to keep her close. I won’t let her slip away, not after everything.
But I’m still a lawyer, which means I know better than to jump without calculating the risk.
“I’ll need time to think about it,” I say, and it comes out calm even though my chest is full of static.
Halpern grunts. “Don’t take too long. We want an answer this week.”
The call ends.
I fist pump the air like a fucking teenager and catch myself grinning in the reflection of the hallway mirror.
The man staring back looks nothing like the one who stepped off the plane months ago.
I’m barefoot, in dark jeans that hang low on my hips, plain gray T-shirt clinging to my shoulders because I’ve been hitting the gym more than I ever did in Chicago.
My hair is cropped the same, but the beard—yeah, the beard is new. Dark, a few flecks of gray in it, trimmed but thicker than I’ve ever let it grow.
I used to keep everything clean, sharp, unyielding. Now there’s softness edging in, a shift I can’t deny.
This city is changing me. These people are changing me.
The vibration on the dresser pulls me from the mirror. I grab my phone. The name flashing on the screen makes my pulse skip.
The custody lawyer.
The one I’ve been trying to get on the line for weeks, chasing leads for Hunter and Rhett so we could figure out Chloe’s future. I swipe to answer instantly.
“Mr. Davis?” the voice says.
“Yes, speaking.”
We dive into it, talking statutes, jurisdiction, which judges lean which way, what we need to prepare in terms of Macy’s abandonment.
My pen scratches over the notepad, my mind running at its sharpest when it’s slicing through details like this. Every answer, every tidbit is a piece of the puzzle for Chloe.
Then—
A knock at the door.
I freeze. The lawyer is still talking in my ear.
The knock comes again, sharper this time.
