Page 124 of Shootout Daddies
Her breath catches. More tears. Then her hand cups my cheek, her thumb brushing my jaw, and she whispers, “I love you, too. All of you. I didn’t think I could, but I do. I really, really do.”
Hunter groans softly, pressing his face into her neck. Rhett lets out a rough exhale, leaning his forehead to hers. Brooke smiles like she already knew, like she’s been waiting for Ivy to finally let herself believe it.
The compass glints against her skin as she clutches it, the sapphire catching the last flicker of the string lights.
I wrap my arms around her, and this time, when the tears come, she doesn’t hide them. She lets them fall. Because now she knows she doesn’t have to choose. She can have all of it.
And we’ll be here, every step, to make sure she does.
Epilogue
HUNTER
“This is nothing like prenatal class.”The thought slips out before I can stop myself, loud over the chaos of beeping monitors, nurses moving like lightning, Ivy’s guttural cry echoing through the delivery room.
“Shut up!” Rhett, Landon, and Ivy all snap at me in unison.
I wince, raise my hands in surrender, but my heart’s thundering so hard I swear it might shake the floor.
She’s pushing. Our girl. Sweat slicks her temples, her hair plastered to her forehead, her nails digging crescents into my bruised knuckles. I don’t care if she breaks the skin. I’ll give her my whole damn hand if it helps.
Brooke is here, steady and calm, a hand on Ivy’s shoulder, murmuring encouragement because she’s been here before. She’s radiant, strong, the exact kind of presence Ivy needs when everything feels impossible.
Her husbands are outside with Chloe, wrangling sugar and bedtime, standing guard like the family we’ve all become.
“You’re almost there, Ivy,” the doctor urges. “One more push.”
Her scream rips through me, but the sound that follows?
The tiny, raw cry of life.
Our first baby.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until my vision blurs. Rhett’s hand lands heavy on my back, Landon’s voice breaks on a laugh, and Ivy collapses against the pillows, sobbing and smiling at once.
The nurse places a wriggling, pink, furious bundle on her chest. Ivy’s arms come up instantly, instinctively, her tears dripping onto our daughter’s cheeks.
“She’s perfect,” Ivy whispers, voice wrecked but reverent. “She’s perfect.”
And because my mouth moves faster than my brain, I blurt, “We got you a beach house for the push present.”
The room freezes.
Rhett groans. Landon drops his face into his hands. Ivy blinks up at me, laughter breaking through her tears. “What?”
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to backpedal. “Surprise? I was supposed to wait—dammit, this is like the custody papers for Chloe all over again. And the baby shower. I swear I’m not built for secrets.”
Ivy’s laugh breaks into a sob, but it’s happy. She kisses the baby’s head, her voice trembling. “You’re ridiculous. But I love you.”
I press my bruised knuckles into her palm again when the next contraction hits. My knuckles—busted from last night’s game against the Rangers.
We won in overtime, Rhett and I grinding out a brutal third period that left me bleeding and grinning. Now my fingers ache, but I let her squeeze.
Let her break me. I’d give her every bone in my body if it meant she didn’t have to hurt alone.
She pushes again. And again.
Another cry splits the room.
