Page 56 of Shootout Daddies
“She’s for protection,” he argues, grinning despite himself. “Kiss me before you open the door?”
I roll my eyes but oblige, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.
“Me too,” Rhett says from behind me, already moving closer. His kiss lingers longer. When I pull back, his eyes soften.
In the last few days, we’ve carved out something like a rhythm. Waking up at 3 a.m. for feedings, tag-teaming laundry and bottle sterilization, sneaking kisses in the kitchen while Chloe naps in her portable bassinet.
The late-night sex has been... unreal. Just last night, they bent me over the balcony railing, the city below, their hands on my hips, my body trembling between them.
I shake the memory away as I head for the door.
This is not the time to be horny. This is the time to confess a life-altering secret.
I open the door.
Brooke stands on the threshold, holding an iced coffee in one hand, hair pulled into a sleek bun, wearing a loose blouse and sandals that probably cost more than my rent used to. She opens her arms before I can speak, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Hey,” she says. “So... are we finally going to stop being cryptic, or what?”
I glance back at the guys.
She follows my gaze—and freezes when she sees Chloe in Hunter’s arms.
There’s a long pause. Her face doesn’t give much away. She takes a sip of her coffee, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I know that’s not your baby,” she says, looking at me.
“No,” I admit softly. “She’s not.”
Hunter clears his throat. “Uh... okay, so...”
“You’re doing the explaining,” I whisper to him out of the side of my mouth.
He steps forward. “Last week... we found her. She was left at our door. Her name’s Chloe. There was a letter from someone I—we—hooked up with. She said she couldn’t take care of her anymore.”
Brooke blinks. Then her gaze swings back to me.
“So when you told me the pediatrician recommendation was for one of Hunter’s cousins, you were lying?”
I wince. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I panicked.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Not angry, just… thinking.
Rhett, ever the fixer, steps in. “We wanted your advice. We don’t know what to do. Do we talk to the lawyer? Do we go to the team?”
Brooke exhales slowly, setting her coffee down on the entryway console as both men ramble rapidly. “Okay. First of all, take a breath. All of you.”
We do. Even Chloe, somehow, lets out a tiny sigh, like she’s absorbing our collective stress.
“You need a plan,” she continues. “But before that, let me ask you—does anyone on the team know yet?”
Hunter shakes his head. “No one.”
“Then listen to me,” Brooke says, stepping into the living room, now fully in strategist mode. “You tell the team first.Thenthe lawyer.”
“Wait, what?” Rhett frowns. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to the lawyer first? Cover ourselves legally?”
“Sure. If the lawyer wasn’t working for the organization,” she shoots back. “Landon Shaw might be the best, but he’s stilltheirguy. What if he tells management before you have a chance to explain it yourself? Or worse—what if he assumes the worst and goes straight to PR?”
