Page 105 of Shootout Daddies
He glances at me from the driver’s seat, one eyebrow raised. “Spoiled? Hunter, you were talking about a balloon arch, a rented bounce house, and maybe ponies.”
I laugh. “Okay, yeah, that might’ve been ambitious. The ponies were Brooke’s idea, though.”
“Ponies for a one-year-old,” he mutters like he’s tasting something bitter. “She can’t even walk yet.”
“Details,” I shoot back, leaning my head against the window. “The point is, we can make it big and fun. Not just for Chloe, but for Ivy. She deserves something special before she leaves.”
Rhett exhales through his nose, long and heavy. “It’s not that I’m opposed. I just think grandeur for the sake of grandeur…” His head shakes again, eyes back on the road. “Ivy’s not about grandeur.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “But she is about family. And that’s what this is.”
He doesn’t argue, just grips the wheel tighter, silence stretching the rest of the way home.
By the time we pull into the driveway, both of us are dead on our feet. The porch light spills warm over the walkway, and through the living room window I can see movement—shadows crossing.
Inside, Brooke is wrangling her twins like a professional circus act. Skye is halfway out of her seat, Sage gnawing on something that looks like it was never meant to be chewed.
The nanny plucks it away before Sage can choke, calm as a saint.
“Hey,” Brooke greets when we come in. She hoists her diaper bag up her shoulder. “They’re all set. Claire and I are heading out.”
Rhett nods, already turning toward the back where Storm’s probably been sleeping. Brooke sweeps past us, twins in tow,nanny trailing. The door clicks shut behind them, and the house drops into sudden quiet.
My chest tightens a little. It’s the kind of quiet that feels heavy.
I look around. “Where’s Chloe?”
“She’s napping,” comes a soft voice.
I turn and see her—Ivy. Curled into the couch, hair messy, eyes red. A bottle of water sits untouched on the table, her hands twisted together in her lap.
Something in me trips.
I head straight for the fridge, pop the cap on a Gatorade, and then drift toward her. I keep my voice light, because heavy feels wrong with her.
“I’d hug you, but I reek like an unwashed gym bag.”
She lifts her head. Her eyes hit me like a gut punch. Wet. Puffy. Shining like she’s been holding back a storm all night.
The grin fades from my face. “What’s up, baby girl?”
Her mouth opens, closes. She looks down, twisting her hands tighter.
I drop into the armchair next to her, but before I can press, Rhett comes back in with Storm at his heels, tail wagging. He takes the other side of the couch, quiet but solid, the way he always is.
“Where’s Landon?” he asks.
Ivy swallows. “Picking up a prescription for me. Vitamins.”
I frown. “Vitamins? What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her hands, knuckles white from how tight she’s holding them. The silence stretches so long I feel my pulse start to spike.
“Ivy,” I press, leaning forward, worry breaking through my voice. “What’s going on?”
Her eyes lift. Shiny. Raw. “I’m five weeks pregnant.”
The words detonate in the room.
