Page 104 of Shootout Daddies
The doctor comes in, brisk and professional. There’s the routine of questions, vitals, blood draw, the promise that results will take some time.
Ivy answers softly, sometimes not at all. I fill in where I can, steady as a stone. The doctor doesn’t look at me twice when she assumes we’re together. It’s easier that way.
When it’s over, I lead Ivy out into the waiting area, Chloe back in her car seat with Brooke and Claire.
“You need a distraction,” I tell her. “Come on.”
The hospital cafeteria smells of coffee and fried food. I buy her a sandwich and a cup of tea she doesn’t drink, and for myself, just water. We sit at a corner table, the hum of strangers around us a shield.
Ivy stares at her tea, her hands clenched. “Brooke’s been through so much with me. She’s carried me for years. And now this? It feels like one more thing for her to worry about.”
Her voice is sharp with shame.
I lean back, folding my arms, studying her face. “You think she sees you as a burden?”
She doesn’t answer, but her silence is enough.
I let the quiet stretch for a beat. Then I ask, “Have I told you about Teresa?”
“Your ex-wife? What about her?”
“Years ago,” I say simply. “It didn’t work out. She wanted kids. I wanted them too, once. But work came first. Always work. Always my name on contracts, my hours logged in billable time. She waited. I kept pushing. Eventually she left.”
The memory tastes bitter, even now.
“At first, I told myself I didn’t care,” I go on. “That marriage wasn’t for me, that I was better off without ties. But that was a lie. What I really couldn’t stand was the weight of failing someone who trusted me to show up. So I buried it. Buried the thought of kids, of family. I told myself I didn’t need it. And I kept moving.”
Ivy’s eyes are locked on mine, wide and wet. “And now?” she whispers.
“Now I’m sitting here watching you twist yourself in knots because you think the people who love you will see you as too much.” I shake my head, jaw tightening. “Sweetheart, they don’t.Brooke doesn’t. Hunter doesn’t. Rhett doesn’t. And I sure as hell don’t.”
Her breath stutters. A tear slides down her cheek, silent.
I reach across the table and catch her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Her palm is cold, damp from nerves. I squeeze gently.
“I’m not saying it isn’t scary,” I admit. “It is. It’s terrifying. But it’s not something you carry alone. Not anymore.”
She stares down at our hands, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. The cafeteria hums around us, the smell of coffee hanging heavy. Somewhere, a machine beeps.
But here, at this small table with her, the world feels narrowed down to just her hand in mine and the future ahead of us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hunter
Practice runs long.Too many new plays, too many missed passes, too much Coach drilling us like it’s already the middle of the season instead of pre.
By the time we finally hit the showers, it’s nearly nine. My legs feel like they’ve been swapped with lead pipes, my gear bag digging into my shoulder as I slump into the passenger seat of Rhett’s car.
He looks about as wrecked as I feel, his hair still damp, hoodie thrown on like an afterthought.
“That’s a lot,” he mutters suddenly, shaking his head like he’s been stewing.
I glance at him. “What’s a lot?”
“The party idea.” His voice is low, but I can hear the edge of fatigue behind it. “Chloe turning one, Ivy leaving, and now you want to throw some grand blowout? I feel like it is going to be too much.”
I grin despite how tired I am. “Not a blowout, man. Just one party. You know, kill two birds. We celebrate Chloe’s first birthday early since it’s only a couple days before Ivy leaves for New York anyway. And we send Ivy off right at the same time. She gets memories, we get cake, and Chloe gets spoiled.”
