Page 112 of Shootout Daddies
“For the woman I love.”
The words hang there, electric. His head jerks like he realizes what he just admitted.
I don’t move. Just watch him. “That’s how you feel?”
He looks at me, eyes wide, guilty, but he nods once.
A laugh bursts out of me, rough but genuine. Relief slams into me so hard I almost stumble. “Thank God. I was starting to think I was crazy.”
Hunter blinks. “What?”
“Because I love her too.”
The air shifts, taut, the kind of silence that can break open into something irreversible.
“You love me?”
Both our heads whip toward the doorway. Ivy stands there, her hand on the frame, eyes shining with unshed tears. Her voice cracks on the question.
Hunter and I both straighten, like kids caught red-handed.
Her lip trembles. “You love me?”
“Of course we love you,” I say, stepping toward her. “How could we not?”
Hunter’s voice threads through mine, low and certain. “We do. Both of us.”
She shakes her head, a wet laugh bubbling through her tears. “I love you too.” Then she presses a hand to her belly and groans softly. “God, this is hormones. Ignore me.”
“Not hormones,” I say firmly. “Truth.”
Her tears spill over then, but her smile blooms anyway.
“Why are you up, sweetheart?” I ask gently.
She wipes at her face. “I was hungry.”
That earns a laugh out of me, shaky but real. “Come on. Sit. I’ll cook.”
“It’s late,” she protests weakly.
“It’s breakfast somewhere.” I head for the fridge, pulling out eggs and bacon. My hands find the rhythm without thinking.
Hunter leans against the counter, eyes still glassy from earlier. “I’ll call Landon over. He’s probably still up.”
Ivy frowns. “At four in the morning?”
“Trust me.” Hunter smirks faintly. “The man doesn’t sleep.”
Sure enough, ten minutes later, Landon appears in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair mussed, beard shadowing his jaw. He takes one look at us gathered in the kitchen and shakes his head, but he doesn’t comment.
By the time the clock ticks toward five, the four of us are crammed around the kitchen island. Plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. Coffee brewing strong enough to jolt the dead. Chloe stirs faintly on the baby monitor but settles back down.
Ivy eats slow, tucked between me and Hunter, Landon across from us with his mug in hand. There’s a strange peace in it—this little family we’ve cobbled together, awake when the rest of the world sleeps.
And as I watch her lean her head against Hunter’s shoulder, laughing softly when Landon grumbles about the bacon being overcooked, I feel it settle in my bones.
I love her.
