Page 87 of Shootout Daddies
The room is quiet for a moment, filled only by the faint static hum of the baby monitor on the table. Ivy shifts again, her hand still resting on my arm like she’s grounding me in place.
I glance at her, at Hunter, then back to the paper in my lap. “So what now?”
“We move forward,” Hunter says simply. “We do what we said we’d do. Guardianship. Custody. We make sure Chloe is safe and secure, no matter what.”
I nod slowly, the words settling inside me. Guardianship. Custody. Legalities that will bind us the way love already has.
“There’s a team event tonight,” I say after a moment. My voice is rough, but steady. “Afterward… maybe we could invite Landon over for drinks. Talk through options with him. Figure out the next steps.”
Hunter meets my eyes, then nods once. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
Ivy looks between us, her expression soft but certain. “We’ll figure it out together.”
The words sink deep. Together.
The sound of Chloe stirring crackles through the monitor, followed by a soft little cry. I push to my feet before either of them moves.
“I’ll get her.” My voice is steady now, stronger than it was a few minutes ago.
When I return with her, she’s warm against my chest, her tiny fist gripping my shirt. Her eyes are heavy with sleep, her mouth puckered in that way that makes my heart feel like it’s splitting open.
I carry her back to the sofa where Hunter and Ivy are waiting.
We all stretch out together, pulling blankets over us, Chloe in the middle. She blinks up at us, yawns, then nestles down, her cheek pressed to my chest.
Hunter tucks himself against her other side, his hand resting gently on her back. Ivy curls near my shoulder, her fingers brushing over Chloe’s tiny hand until it wraps around her pinky.
The three of us are quiet, breathing her in, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. And it hits me again—sharp, undeniable.
I’m her father.
Me. Rhett Collins. The guy who spent most of his life with a wall around his heart, convinced that love was temporary, that family was fragile, that he was better off keeping everything at arm’s length.
The guy who thought his past was proof that he wasn’t cut out for this.
Now I’m lying here with my daughter on my chest. With my best friend at my side. With Ivy wrapped into us like she belongs.
It feels terrifying. It feels impossible.
But mostly, it feels right.
I press a kiss to the top of Chloe’s head, breathing her in. My voice is a whisper, just for her. “I’ve got you, Peanut. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her tiny body shifts against me, and Hunter’s hand covers mine, firm and steady. Ivy sighs, resting her head on my shoulder.
The bonfire crackles, flames snapping high into the dusk air, throwing sparks against a sky streaked pink and orange. The beach is packed tonight.
Teammates spread out across the sand in loose clusters, beer bottles in hand, laughter carrying over the wind. Someone set up a speaker near the coolers, music humming under the crash of waves.
I haven’t put Chloe down once.
She’s curled in my arms, soft weight pressed to my chest, her little head tucked beneath my chin.
The smell of salt air mixes with baby shampoo, and even surrounded by noise and movement, my entire world is right here in the crook of my elbow.
“Rhett.”
I glance up. Brooke is stepping toward me, the firelight catching in her hair. She has both Skye and Sage in a baby carrier, and I catch Ace and Tanner lingering just behind them, both already half-engaged in some loud argument over who’s faster off the line. Typical.
