Page 113 of Cross Check Daddies
Cam and Tanner keep showing up in their own ways. Tanner drops off a hockey-themed backpack for Jackson with hisname embroidered on the strap. Cam brings a puppy-themed calendar, sticks it on the fridge, and promises to take Jackson to his next game.
And me?
I show up every time she texts.
Sometimes before.
We alternate nights. We don’t compete. We orbit. And somehow, it works.
There are still no answers on paternity. But it doesn’t matter anymore.
Jackson starts asking questions like, “Can I help Mom build games too someday?” and Brooke just laughs and says, “You can try, baby.”
We’re never all in the same place at once, not in public. But every night, someone’s arms are wrapped around her. Holding her. Grounding her.
Sometimes mine.
Sometimes theirs.
Always loved.
Always protected.
One night, I catch Brooke watching me from across the kitchen. She’s in one of my old T-shirts, belly curved beautifully beneath the fabric. She’s got a wooden spoon in one hand and a glowing, tired smile I know she doesn’t even realize she’s wearing.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. I think I really am.”
I cross the space between us and press a kiss to her forehead. Then her mouth. Then lower.
Later that night, I wake up to her curled against me, one hand on her stomach, the other fisted in the sheets.
No cameras. No pressure.
Just the quiet, and the woman we all chose.
And the life she’s letting us build beside her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Tanner
The rooftop is buzzing,the Miami skyline flickering behind us like stage lights. There’s something about being this high up—the air is cleaner, the music smoother, the smiles looser.
Cam’s got a beer in one hand and is deep in conversation with Leo about the team’s post-season schedule. Ace is posted up near the railing, surrounded by former players, front office guys, and a few familiar reporters we trust to keep their damn mouths shut.
I can’t believe it's his retirement party.
He looks good. Relaxed for once. His tie’s undone, sleeves rolled, shoulders lighter than I’ve seen them in weeks. He earned this. Not just the win, or the game, or the ring. The peace. Retirement looks good on him.
And then Brooke walks in.
It’s like the volume cuts.
She’s in this deep, wine-colored dress that skims every curve. Pregnant, glowing, and confident. The way the slit climbs up her thigh should be criminal, but the way she smiles at Ace first, Cam next, and then me—hell, it feels like I just scored anotherStanley. Every guy in this place looks, but they also know. She’s not theirs.
She makes her way through the crowd slowly, Jackson already with Ivy, who’s holding a juice pouch in one hand and a tablet in the other like she was born to juggle. The moment Brooke reaches Ace, he pulls her close, kisses her hair, and murmurs something that makes her grin.
