Page 81 of Shootout Daddies
Hunter frowns. “Would that even work? We’re gone half the year. On the road. Practicing. Playing. How the hell does a judge see that as stable?”
“Custody isn’t a one-size-fits-all,” Landon replies. “Judges weigh best interest. If the mother is unstable, and you candemonstrate a network of reliable care”—his eyes flick briefly to Ivy—“then yes, it’s entirely possible.”
Ivy nods slowly. “He’s right. Judges want stability, but they want safety first. And Chloe’s safety would be prioritized if her environment with you is healthier.”
Hunter rubs his jaw, thoughtful now, still shaken but listening.
Landon leans back, his voice quieter. “I can have the NDA drafted tomorrow. You’ll need to choose a physician. Someone with no ties to the team. No ties to the media.”
Ivy nods once. “I’ll help vet.”
The tension softens slightly, the conversation shifting back to the clink of cutlery, the scrape of forks against plates.
The heavier subjects give way to smaller talk again—Hunter teasing Landon about his complete lack of tan despite living in Miami, Ivy rolling her eyes when Landon insists he actually prefers the gym to the beach.
When the plates are mostly cleared, Landon sets down his glass, thanks us for dinner, and slips his jacket back on. His expression is unreadable again, that precise lawyer mask sliding into place.
At the door, he pauses, looks back at us. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow with drafts.”
Then he leaves.
The silence he leaves behind feels heavy.
Hunter exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “Well. That was… something.”
I push back my chair, stand, and stretch out my shoulders. “He’s right, though. We need to do the test.”
Hunter nods reluctantly. “Yeah. For sure.”
I glance toward the closed bedroom door, where Chloe sleeps on, unaware of all of it. My chest tightens. Whatever the results, we’ll face it. Together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ivy
The sink humswith the rush of water, suds clinging to my wrists as I load the final plate into the dishwasher. Yesterday I had abandoned half the dishes, too tired to finish after dinner, but this morning I promised myself I wouldn’t leave the mess sitting.
Chloe had woken up cranky, rubbing her eyes and clinging to Rhett’s shirt, so when the guys offered to take Storm for a walk and bring her along, I decided to work on this instead.
The quiet is rare. I should use it wisely. Finish cleaning, maybe fold some laundry, then stretch out for a nap.
The knock at the door startles me. I wipe my hands quickly on a towel, frowning. When I open the door, my mouth goes dry.
Landon.
Not in a suit this time. No sharp jacket or gleaming shoes. Just gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, a black T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, and wire-frame glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
Somehow, the casualness makes him look more dangerous. Like this is the version no one else gets to see.
He holds up a folder. “I have the NDA ready.”
“That fast?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He nods, stepping in when I move aside. His presence fills the condo as easily as Rhett’s or Hunter’s, but in a different way.
“Where are the guys?” he asks, glancing around.
“Walking Storm. Chloe went with them.”
