Page 44 of Shootout Daddies
She laughs. “Don’t be such a baby about the baby.”
“Have you seen what comes out of those tiny bodies?”
Rhett drags a hand down his face. “She blew out her onesie last night. I thought it was nuclear waste.”
“You survived,” Ivy says. “Barely.”
I gesture toward Chloe. “Teach us, oh wise one.”
She turns to the baby bag, thankfully stocked with wipes, diapers, and at least one backup outfit. She moves with a calm certainty, not rushed or annoyed, just focused.
While she’s pulling out supplies, Rhett catches my eye. “Do you think we should tell Brooke?”
Ivy glances over her shoulder. “Honestly? She’s married to two of your teammates, but she knows how to keep a secret. And if anyone can give practical advice, it’s her.”
“Alright,” Rhett says, nodding. “Let’s talk to her tonight.”
Ivy turns back to us with a fresh diaper. “First lesson. Someone hand me the child.”
I offer Chloe over. “Here. Take her before she leaks.”
Ivy takes her and lays her on the blanket on the coffee table. She’s fast but careful, talking through the process as she peels back the onesie and unsnaps the diaper.
“She’s asleep,” Rhett whispers, as if we’re in church.
“She’s fine,” Ivy says. “Babies don’t care. They’ll sleep through a fire drill.”
“She moved,” I hiss.
“She twitched,” she corrects.
I let out a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“You’re going to learn this by doing, not by watching.”
“Don’t you have any trust in my observational skills?”
She lifts her eyes. “You couldn’t even find the pacifier last night.”
“That pacifier was in stealth mode.”
She doesn’t smile at my lame joke. “Take this wipe.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Because you’re doing the cleanup.”
I groan but take it. Rhett leans on the back of the couch, grinning like this is the best show he’s seen all week.
“Here,” Ivy says, handing me a fresh diaper. “Slide it under her. Make sure the frills go out, not in.”
“Frills?”
“The little ruffle edges. Keeps leaks in.”
By the time we’re done, Chloe’s still asleep and looking more angelic than before. I lean back, hands in the air.
“Boom,” I say. “I know how to handle my shit.”
