Page 91 of Shootout Daddies
The TV hums low in the background, some old sports commentary filling the silence between us. Chloe’s monitor glows faintly green in the center of the table, her small breaths a steady rhythm anchoring us all.
It’s close to midnight, yet no one seems ready to move.
Landon leans back, one hand loose around his bottle, the other resting against his thigh. The light catches the edge of his jaw, sharp and unyielding. “I know a lawyer who specializes in custody cases,” he says, his voice even. “She’s in Chicago, but I can put out feelers here. I’m sure I could find a strong lead within a week.”
Every word sounds like a verdict already handed down, as though the matter is settled simply because he’s spoken it. I nod, because I don’t know how else to respond. He makes everything feel inevitable.
Rhett clears his throat, setting his fork down with a soft clink. “I was raised by a single mother,” he says, tone low but steady. “I know how hard it is to do it alone. And Macy…” His mouth tightens. “She hasn’t called. Hasn’t checked on Chloe once since she left. Not a text. Not a word.”
The admission settles between us, heavy and sharp.
Hunter shifts beside him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an only child, but I come from a big family. Cousins. Nieces.Nephews. I’ve always been the fun uncle.” He glances at the monitor, his face softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “Never the dad. Until now. And it feels different. Like responsibility I don’t want to walk away from.”
Landon’s gaze flicks between them. “I wasn’t raised by my parents at all. Group homes. Foster houses. No names. No stories. I never knew who they were, still don’t. So Chloe having you…” His chin lifts toward Hunter. “She’s lucky. More than she’ll ever realize.”
The silence that follows is thick, almost reverent. Even Hunter looks caught off guard.
And me? I tuck his words away. Because now I see it—the reason behind his sharp edges, the restraint that always seems to crack under pressure. The way his eyes soften when they land on Chloe. It all makes sense.
Then, suddenly, Landon’s gaze swivels to me. “What about you, Ivy? Do you have siblings?”
The question surprises me. “No,” I say quietly. “Only child.”
He holds my eyes for one beat too long before looking away.
The conversation shifts back to logistics—names of doctors, NDAs, custody paperwork. Their voices weave together in low tones, measured and rational. Rhett eventually flips the remote, pulling up an old highlight reel.
His own name flashes on the screen, his younger self skating across the ice before landing a perfect shot. He exhales a soft laugh, embarrassed, like he can’t quite believe that was once him.
“I don’t really understand hockey,” Landon admits, squinting at the screen.
Both Rhett and Hunter groan, launching into an explanation that grows animated fast—pointing at the TV, pausing the replay to diagram plays with their hands. Their voices rise and fall, therhythm familiar and easy. Landon listens, his mouth quirking like he’s both amused and actually taking mental notes.
I let their voices blur into background hum. My mind drifts, unspooling in directions I don’t want it to.
I picture Rhett behind me, big hands steadying my hips as he pushes me forward, that growl in his throat when I clench around him. I imagine Hunter in front of me, slower, more teasing, his mouth at my ear whispering every filthy thought he wants to turn real.
And then Landon—rougher, unyielding, that lawyer’s precision turned into something darker. Would he hold me down? Would he let the others watch? Would he even want to share me?
The image of all three of them tangled with me, their hands, their mouths, their bodies moving in sync until I’m wrecked and begging, makes my thighs press together under the table. I bite down on my lip hard enough to sting. Heat rushes low, slick and insistent, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe evenly.
A nudge at my side startles me.
Hunter’s elbow brushes mine, his voice pitched low. “You okay?”
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the table like it might split open and swallow me. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.” I force a small smile, push back my chair, needing space before I give myself away. “I’m going to check on Chloe.”
They’re too caught up in their hockey lecture to question it.
The nursery is quiet, soft with the hum of the machine. The nightlight casts a faint glow, just enough to see Chloe curled against her blanket, fist tucked under her cheek, breath steady and even. Watching her steadies me in ways nothing else does.
I lean against the crib rail, smoothing the blanket, letting the quiet fold over me. Until the door creaks softly.
Hunter steps inside, his voice low so he won’t wake her. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod automatically, but the tightness in my chest makes it feel like a lie. He comes closer, shoulder brushing mine.
And before I can stop myself, the truth pushes up my throat.
