Page 30 of Shootout Daddies
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She’s curled up on our sectional at home, a throw blanket over her bare legs, but not much else. Just one of my long-sleeved practice shirts—oversized, sleeves hanging past her hands, neckline slouching over one shoulder like she pulled it on half-asleep and didn’t bother adjusting it.
Her legs are bent up on the couch, her hair a halo of soft waves. Storm’s curled up across her lap, asleep with his nose tucked into her thigh. The sunlight filters through the penthouse windows behind them, golden and easy.
And she’s smiling.
Not a posed smile. Just that soft little thing she does when she’s trying to pretend she isn’t as happy as she is.
My chest tightens.
I heart the photo immediately and start to type something—“You two look cozy”or maybe“That’s my shirt”—but before I can, Hunter walks in from the locker room, tugging his hoodie over his head.
“Yo,” he says, flopping down beside me on the bench. He smells like eucalyptus shampoo and laundry soap, and his hair’s still damp.
I tilt the phone toward him. “She sent us something.”
He leans in to look. The second he sees the photo, he breaks into a grin. “Damn.”
“She’s really settled in,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” he agrees, dropping his elbows to his knees and giving a low whistle. “That looks like someone who belongs on our couch.”
I glance around the locker room—mostly empty still—and lower my voice. “You think it was too much? Adding her to the building security?”
Hunter shrugs. “She’s stayed over three nights in a row. It would’ve been weirdnotto.”
I nod. He’s right, but still. The whole thing is moving fast.
We’d only known her a day when I offered to adopt a dog for her.
The next day, she’d spent the night again. Then again. Now she has her own toothbrush at our place.
And having her in our space doesn’t feel like too much.
It feels… comfortable.
“Good thing you let her have the Range, too,” Hunter adds. “Makes it easier on us. We only ever use the black truck to get to practice.”
“I figured she’d need it if she was taking Storm to Brooke’s.”
“She texted Brooke last night about it. Said Jackson was already asking to keep the dog.”
That makes me smile. That kid’s a good one.
Hunter stretches then turns his head toward me. I’ve seen it before—his clenched jaw, the hollowness around his eyes like sleep never really came.
“How bad?” I ask, keeping my voice low, casual.
“What?”
“You know what.”
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the laces of his skates. “Just one. Woke me around three. Didn’t go back under.”
I nod slowly. “You take anything?”
He shakes his head. “Missed my melatonin a couple nights in a row. It’s whatever. I’ll sort it.”
