Page 120 of Shootout Daddies
I close my eyes, letting the intensity of this moment crash over me. The house, the villa, the sun, the sea—they don’t matter as much as this: the feeling of being wanted, loved, and chosen. Not for a fling, not for fun, not because it’s convenient—but because I’mtheirs, and they’re mine.
And suddenly, the fear I’ve carried—the fear of being abandoned, of being left behind, of never being more than a convenience or a fleeting pleasure—melts like sugar in the sun.
I’m theirs, completely. My body, my heart, my baby. All of it. And they… they’re mine. All of them, all at once.
I gasp softly, turning my head, pressing my lips to Hunter’s in a messy, needy kiss, tasting myself on him, tasting him on me, letting Landon’s hands trace my spine and Rhett’s lips brush my collarbone.
The world shrinks until it’s just us, just this bed, just this house, this villa, this stolen corner of heaven.
When I finally pull back enough to breathe, my chest rises and falls, my voice shaky and uneven, I whisper, “Thank you. For… everything.”
Hunter kisses my temple, Landon brushes a strand of hair from my face, and Rhett presses his forehead against mine.
“You don’t have to thank us,” he murmurs. “You never have. You’re ours.”
And for once, I believe it. I truly, completely believe it.
Because the house? That’s amazing, yes. But this… this moment, this feeling, this family we’ve created, the love that wraps around me like the warmest blanket? That’s forever.
And I never want to let it go.
I used to think nothing could top the moment they told me about the house. My house. Our house.
But then Chloe’s first birthday happens, and suddenly I realize I didn’t know the meaning of spectacle.
The backyard stretches like a magazine spread—tents draped in white linen, fairy lights strung in glittering arcs across the pool, balloons in every pastel shade exploding in clusters at each corner.
A massive bounce house dominates one end, and the other? An entire petting zoo with miniature ponies, goats, and a very stressed-looking bunny who already regrets signing up for this gig.
Brooke went all out. Of course she did. She’s been buzzing about this for days, muttering about cake designs and party favors while juggling twins and husbands and business launches.
Now, with the sun warm overhead and a hundred guests mingling across the lawn, it feels less like a first birthday party and more like a society gala with cupcakes.
Chloe herself is the picture of oblivious joy—tufts of brown hair sticking out from beneath a ridiculous glittery crownheadband, cake frosting already smeared across her cheeks even though it’s not time for the official cake yet.
Her tiny hands clap against the tray of her high chair as Cam tries—and fails—to keep her clean.
“She’s thriving,” I murmur, cradling a sparkling water against my chest. My belly presses against the fabric of my sundress now—eight weeks in and I’m showing. Subtle, but there.
Enough that I catch people’s eyes drifting lower, enough that when Landon’s hand slides absently over the curve of it, I don’t flinch anymore. I let him.
Rhett leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “It’s a production,” he says dryly, watching as a man in a penguin costume waddles by, scattering confetti at squealing toddlers.
I smirk. “Do you think Macy will come?”
He shakes his head slightly, lips tight. “I did my part. Reached out. Can’t promise more than that.”
I nod, exhaling slowly. “This place is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart. I had my eye on a condo but Hunter insisted that you’d love this more.”
“He was right.” I smile.
“I know.” He smiles back. “I can’t wait for us to officially move in. Watch Chloe grow up here. I think we should get her a tree house. Do you think she’s too young for it?”
“I think we can wait a couple more years, Rhett.”
“We’ll build a home right here. For us.”
