Page 37 of Shootout Daddies
I stare at them. “Seriously?”
“She used to hang around after games,” Rhett adds. “Groupie. Hot. I guess this is what happens when you don’t use a condom.”
I shake my head. “Shit. How long ago was this?”
“Eighteen months,” Hunter says. “Give or take.”
I walk forward and gently take Chloe from Rhett’s arms. She smells like formula and baby powder. Her diaper’s sagging. “When’s the last time she was changed?”
“We don’t know,” Rhett admits.
I sigh. “Okay. I’ve got this.”
They stare as I carry her down the hall to the guest bathroom and change her. She wiggles and kicks, but she calms when I sing softly. I come back out with her bundled in a towel from the bag.
“She’s clean, but we need a doctor to check her out. Just in case. How did you guys just let her leave her baby here?”
“I don’t know what to do,” Rhett says honestly. “We called the woman. She answered.”
“And?”
“She cried. Said she was sorry. That she can’t go to jail. Then she hung up.”
I blow out a breath. “Alright. I’m calling Brooke.”
“Wait, Brooke?” Hunter asks.
“She knows everyone. She’ll recommend a pediatrician. That’s our first step.”
Rhett nods. “Okay.”
We pile into the car. Chloe sits in my lap, wrapped tight, and makes gurgling noises. Hunter drives, quiet and stiff. Rhett keeps glancing at the baby like she’s going to explode.
At the clinic, the pediatrician confirms she’s healthy. A little underweight. No signs of illness or abuse. I hold her the whole time.
The guys stand awkwardly near the corner, shoulder to shoulder, like they’re facing off against a rival team. One nurse tries to hand Chloe to Rhett and he panics so hard I nearly laugh.
“She won’t bite,” I say, smirking. “Here.”
I ease her into his arms again. He holds her with his arms locked straight out, like he’s about to pass her off to the first person who asks.
“She’s a baby, not a grenade.”
“She’s sticky,” he says defensively.
“She’s a baby,” I repeat.
Hunter watches it all like he’s bracing for disaster, but when Chloe sneezes into Rhett’s shirt, he bursts out laughing.
“You’re done for now,” he says, grabbing the wipes.
We finally get home, exhausted. I place Chloe in a makeshift bed of blankets and couch cushions. She looks around, eyes huge, then starts to wail.
Rhett looks like he might cry, too. “What do we do?”
“I’ve got it,” I sigh.
I scoop her up, press her to my chest, and sway gently. She quiets almost instantly.
