Page 111 of Cross Check Daddies
“You’re saying we don’t lie,” she murmurs, “we just don’t offer the whole truth.”
“Exactly. No drama. No love triangle headlines. No messy poly panic PR.”
“And if people ask what happens next?”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “Then we show them what peace looks like.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she exhales. “That... sounds perfect.”
Jackson looks between us, eyes big. “Are you quitting hockey?”
I glance at him and smile. “Yup.”
“Can we get pancakes on Tuesdays now?”
“Every Tuesday.”
He pumps a syrup-sticky fist into the air.
We finish breakfast in comfortable silence. After, Brooke heads inside to start packing Jackson’s stuff. Cam helps Tanner break down the grill. I stand on the edge of the porch, watching the water, letting the sun warm my face.
It’s the end of something.
And maybe the beginning of something bigger.
Not just for Brooke.
For all of us.
We pull into Miami just after sunset, the city skyline hazy with heat. The ride has been quiet, peaceful even.
Jackson is asleep, curled up with his hoodie bunched under his cheek, a smear of sand still clinging to his calf. Brooke’s handrests on her bump, thumb absently rubbing the swell through her shirt. Cam’s driving, and Tanner is behind us, in Brooke's car.
We’re not ready to be back. Not really. But life doesn’t pause for bliss.
We make a quick stop first—Buddy’s daycare. Some fancy, overly air-conditioned place where the dog has apparently been treated like royalty. The staff waves goodbye like we’ve picked up a celebrity.
Jackson lights up the second we step inside. “BUDDY!” he yells. The bulldog barrels toward him, tail wagging, snorting happily, tongue out. The reunion is chaos. Pure joy. Brooke laughs as the dog leaps up, muddy paws be damned, and licks her thigh.
“Guess he missed us,” Tanner says, scratching behind Buddy’s ears.
We get back in the car, now full of dog breath and Jackson’s nonstop chatter about how Buddy probably made new friends, and head home.
Home. Damn, it still feels wild to call it that.
The building glows gold against the deepening sky. Ivy’s waiting out front, wearing a loose grey jumpsuit and messy bun, holding two iced coffees and a big reusable tote. She looks tired. But when she sees Brooke, her whole face lifts.
“Finally!” Ivy says. “I was just about to get a hotel for the night since I lost your damn key.”
“What are you doing in Miami?” Brooke shouts, already halfway out the door.
Ivy shrugs one shoulder. “Long story, but... I quit.”
“What?” Brooke barrels into her, coffee be damned, wrapping her up in a tight hug. “You’re serious?”
“I’m so serious, I don’t even have a desk anymore.”
Buddy flattens her next, knocking one of the coffees out of her hand.
