Page 58 of Shootout Daddies
I didn’t realize how much it had been weighing on them. The secrecy. The fear of what it might mean. But seeing them now, I know this was the right move.
We clean up slowly, talking in easy rhythms, passing napkins and sipping coffee, pausing every few seconds to peek over at Chloe. Brooke helps me rinse out the bottles and stack them in the drying rack, humming something soft under her breath.
When it’s time for her to go, she glances at me. “Walk me down?”
I nod, grabbing my keys and sliding into my sandals.
She presses a kiss to Chloe’s cheek and gives the guys a quick wave. “Take care of the girls.”
“She’s in good hands,” Rhett says. “They both are.” And then he winks at me.
I wink back and pull the door shut behind us, the latch clicking quietly. The hallway smells faintly like someone’s breakfast. We head for the elevator.
The second the doors close, Brooke slaps my arm.
“What the hell, Ivy?”
I wince. “Ouch. What?”
“You kept all of this from me?”
I stifle a laugh. “I was going to tell you?—”
She narrows her eyes, but she’s smiling now. “You’ve been living like some secret hockey housewife and I had no idea. That’s not just hiding tea. That’s full-on espionage.”
“I was protecting you from the mess.”
“I’m your best friend. I live for the mess.”
That makes me laugh, soft and breathless. “Well, now you know. And thank you. For not freaking out. Or judging them.”
She softens. “I’d never. They’re clearly trying. And you love that baby.”
“I do.”
We step out of the elevator and into the cool marble of the building’s lobby. The morning crowd is thinning, residents filtering out for their days. Suits and gym gear and earbuds everywhere.
And then… him.
Landon.
Coming in from the parking garage entrance, a manila folder tucked under one arm and phone to his ear. He’s dressed in another perfectly tailored suit—dark navy, crisp collar, no tie today—and his silver hair is swept back like he just stepped off the set of a courtroom TV show.
I recognize the scent first. Sandalwood and something spiced. Subtle but unmistakable.
He looks up and sees us. His jaw tightens. The phone slips into his pocket.
“Hey,” I say awkwardly.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. Just gives a curt nod and enters the elevator we just left.
Brooke stares after him. “Who the hell is that?”
I sigh. “Our neighbor.”
“He’s kind of hot.”
“Yeah. But he’s also the team lawyer.”
