Page 65 of Shootout Daddies
“We’ll handle it,” Rhett cuts in. He reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. “We always do.”
I can see the protest on her face, but then Chloe lets out a small coo, babbling in that half-formed language that only babies seem to understand. She pats at my chest, eyes wide, then blurts out a string of syllables that sound suspiciously like “da-da.”
I freeze, staring down at her.
Ivy smiles, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little. “She likes you,” she says softly.
That one simple line makes my throat tight.
I kiss the top of Chloe’s head, whispering, “I like you too, Peanut.”
Her tiny giggle bubbles up, and for a moment the world feels less complicated.
But it is complicated. More than Ivy knows, more than even Rhett wants to admit. Because inviting Landon into this—into us—could open a door we may not be ready to walk through.
He could tell his bosses about it, and I’m not sure how well that’s going to go. We all had a strong talking-to about avoiding scandal this year.
Still, as we push through the exit doors into the parking lot, the decision feels already made. I just hope we’re not making a big mistake by trusting the lawyer with information that could basically have us in trouble with the higher-ups before the season even begins.
The sun’s low, painting the skyline orange, and I feel the weight of the day dragging at my shoulders. Shopping sounded like a decent idea in the morning, but hours of it, combined with hauling bags, weaving through crowds, and keeping Chloe entertained, is enough to sap every ounce of energy out of me.
Even Rhett looks worn, his jaw tight as he drops the last bag by the entryway. Ivy sighs in relief the second she kicks off her shoes.
It’s close to six by the time I carry Chloe inside. She’s rubbing at her eyes, yawning against my shoulder. Rhett stretches, rolling his shoulders before tossing out an idea.
“We should watch some tape. Last season’s games. Catch up on form.”
I grunt an agreement, though my head isn’t exactly in hockey mode. Still, tape is tape. And Chloe is more than ready for bed.
Ivy crouches on the floor to unpack formula and snacks, her movements careful as she lines things up on the counter like she’s already building a rhythm here.
I take Chloe to the bathroom. My hands don’t shake anymore when I undress her. I’ve gotten good at this—filling the tub with just the right amount of warm water, holding her while she splashes.
She kicks happily, her squeals bouncing off the tile, tiny fists smacking the surface until the water froths around us.
“Easy, baby girl,” I murmur, laughing softly when she splashes me straight in the chest.
She doesn’t care. She just giggles, soap bubbles clinging to her hair like a crooked crown. My chest tightens at the sight of her.
Somehow, each time I do this, it feels less like a task.
I rinse her off, bundle her into a towel, and carry her to her crib. Ivy’s already set up the monitor.
I tuck Chloe in, stroking her soft cheek with my knuckle. Her eyelids are heavy, her little mouth slack with exhaustion.
“Goodnight, Peanut,” I whisper, brushing a final kiss to her temple before switching on the nightlight.
She drifts off quickly.
When I step back into the living room, Rhett’s sprawled on the couch with Ivy curled up against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. She looks like she belongs there, the sight so natural it makes me pause at the threshold.
They both look up at me at the same time. “Is she down?” they ask in unison.
I nod, heading over to drop onto the other side of Ivy. She shifts automatically, and I lift her legs up onto my thigh. She doesn’t fight it, but I catch the faint flush spreading up her neck.
Rhett notices too. His lips twitch. “What’s that look for?”
Her face reddens further. “Nothing.”
