Page 103 of Shootout Daddies
Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet, and she looks so small that it hurts to watch. I keep my hand cupped around her shoulder because if I let go, she might slide right through my fingers.
“Sweetheart,” I say carefully, the lawyer in me cutting through the panic, “we don’t have to tell the others yet. Not until it’s confirmed. We can keep this between us until we know for sure.”
Her lips part, trembling, but she nods. The relief that flickers across her face is faint, but it’s there.
“Call your friend and tell her we’re all heading to the hospital. Is there anything we need for Chloe?”
“Just diapers for now.”
I grab one of the diaper bags we keep at my place and fill it, then I make formula and finally get dressed.
“I’ve got everything ready. Let’s tell Brooke to meet us downstairs.”
By the time Brooke arrives, rallying like a general with twins in tow and her new nanny close behind, Ivy is pale but holding herself together.
Chloe is strapped against Brooke’s chest, content and chewing on her fist. Sage and Skye are in carriers carried by their nanny, who looks like she was hired straight out of finishing school.
The hospital parking lot smells faintly of salt and asphalt. Ivy hovers at my side, her arms wrapped tight around herself.
Brooke is already directing traffic. “We’ll take both cars. Ivy, you’re riding with Landon. Claire and I have the twins. We’ll meet you at the hospital entrance.”
Ivy doesn’t protest. She barely speaks.
When we arrive, Brooke insists she’ll take Chloe, but then Chloe squirms, fussing, her small lips rooting. Hungry. Of course. She’s always on her own schedule.
“I’ll stay with her,” I offer before Brooke can juggle three babies at once. “Go. Ivy needs you in there.”
Brooke hesitates, eyes flicking between us. I hold her stare.
“I’ll manage,” I say, firmer this time.
She nods, pressing Chloe into my arms. The weight settles against my chest like it was made for me. The little girl calms instantly, her face nuzzling into my shirt. The trust of it makes something in me ache.
They disappear through the sliding glass doors, and I’m left pacing the sidewalk with a baby against my chest. Chloe breathes steadily, her tiny hand curled into my shirt like a hook.
But ten minutes later, the automatic doors open again and Brooke is waving me over, her expression harried. “Ivy’s asking for you,” she explains. “She’s already in with intake.”
Inside the clinic, the air smells like disinfectant and plastic. I keep my stride steady even though every set of eyes flicks to me and the baby. I don’t care. Chloe coos softly, warm and happy in my arms.
The nurse behind the reception desk looks up, her smile immediate. “You must be Dad,” she says, tapping at her keyboard. “Go ahead, exam room three.”
Dad.
The word punches through me like a fist. I don’t correct her. I don’t even want to.
I knock lightly before nudging the door open. Ivy sits perched on the paper-covered exam table, her legs dangling, hands twisting in her lap. She looks up and her face crumples a little when she sees Chloe.
“Heard you were asking for us,” I murmur, stepping forward.
Ivy takes her, holding Chloe close. Her eyes flutter shut as rocks the baby, a shaky breath escaping her. “I needed my emotional support.”
I sit down beside her, not on the chair but on the edge of the table so our shoulders brush.
“You’re calm,” she whispers, eyes flicking up to mine.
I shrug. “That’s my job. Someone has to be.”
Her laugh is fragile, almost a sob. She strokes Chloe’s hair with trembling fingers.
