Shootout Daddies (Miami Icemen #4)

1. Ivy

CHAPTER ONE

Ivy

The milk is almost warm.

I test the bottle against my wrist, glance at the second one nestled in a bowl of water, and mentally count backward from ten. One bottle per baby. Six ounces each. Don’t overheat, don’t underfeed.

Welcome to my glamorous Miami vacation.

Sage eyes me from her bouncer like a tiny queen. Her sister, Skye, kicks her legs on the cushion beside her, babbling in a language I don’t speak but fully understand. Hungry. Now. Faster, peasant.

They’re six months old and already have me wrapped around two sticky fingers.

And they’re not even mine.

These perfect, drooly cherubs belong to my best friend, Brooke—who shuffles past me in sleep shorts and a tank, hair piled into a lopsided bun, moving like a zombie toward the coffee machine. She looks exhausted. Beautiful.

“You good?” I ask, adjusting the bottle angle so Skye doesn’t scream bloody murder.

“Ask me again after caffeine,” she says, voice gravelly with sleep.

To be clear, I’m not their nanny. I’m not even really needed. Brooke and her ridiculously devoted trio of husbands—Cam, Tanner, and Ace—have parenting handled. But I offered to stay for the summer after quitting my job in New York.

It was supposed to be a reset. Sun. Sand. Baby cuddles. And a break from billable hours and bullshit men.

Besides, I love these girls. I love being here. Even if I’m still figuring out what comes next.

Cam appears from the hallway, barefoot, shirtless, and smug as hell. He wraps his arms around Brooke’s waist, nuzzles into her neck, and whispers something that makes her giggle. Actually giggle.

I roll my eyes and clear my throat loud enough to remind them they’re not alone.

Cam just flashes me a lazy grin, no shame in sight. His hair’s a tousled mess, his abs obnoxiously defined, and the baby he lifts into his arms—Sage—instantly melts into him like she’s never known peace anywhere else.

“Morning, Ivy,” he says with a nod.

“Morning,” I reply, trying not to sigh at the domestic perfection happening right in front of me. It’s obscene, really. How attractive these people are. How in sync. How… married times three.

Cam sways with Sage, effortlessly settling her.

He’s Brooke’s first love. Tanner, his flirty surfer brother, is her second.

And then there’s Ace, the ex-coach turned bonus husband.

They are all raising Brooke’s son, Jackson, from her previous marriage.

Together, they’ve created this dreamy little family.

It’s weirdly beautiful. Also, slightly depressing.

“Where are the others?” Cam asks, switching arms like a pro.

Brooke groans and waves one lazy hand toward the window. “Coffee first, then conversation.”

I laugh. “Ace is with Jackson. They took Buddy for their morning walk. And Tanner’s surfing.”

Cam nods as he lifts Skye into the crook of his other arm. His biceps flex under the weight of twin baby girls and somehow, he’s still smiling. “I was thinking we could all grab breakfast somewhere after.”

Brooke sips her coffee and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Depends on how the babies nap. Lisa’s sending over the new game prototype this afternoon and I need Ace to test it before the launch. How’d the meeting go?” she adds, tilting her head toward Cam.

“They’re hiring a new lawyer,” he says, bouncing Skye absentmindedly.

“Oh?” I ask, swapping the now-warm bottle into my other hand.

Cam shifts his weight, still soothing both girls like it’s second nature. “Yeah. Jeremy—remember him? Jeremy Henry?”

I nod.

“He got poached by a big agency in Boston. Transferred out last week. So the Icemen are scrambling.”

Brooke shakes her head. “I wish you had your bar papers here. You’d kill it.”

“I’m not a sports lawyer,” I say, chuckling. “Entertainment law’s more my mess. Besides, I came here to not work for a while, remember?”

Before either of them can tease me, the sliding door opens and in walks Tanner, looking like a damn sunscreen ad. Saltwater drips from his board shorts, his chest gleams under the morning light, and he grins like he knows exactly how pretty he is.

He drops a kiss on Brooke’s temple and throws a lazy “Hey, Ivy” my way.

“Morning,” I answer, smiling. Because I’m happy for them. I really am.

It’s just… when your best friend has three ridiculously hot men who adore her and help change diapers? You start to feel like the single spinster aunt in a reverse Hallmark movie.

Cam relays the news about the new hire.

“Cool,” Tanner says, raking a hand through his hair.

“You nervous for the play-off game today?” I ask, handing off the now-empty bottle to Tanner.

He shrugs and puts it in the sink before grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. “Not really. Ace gave me some pointers. Said to trust my instincts and avoid getting decked in the jaw.”

“Sounds like solid advice,” Brooke mutters, sipping her coffee again. “You’d better come back with a win, babe.”

Tanner grins. “Always! Hey, you should come to the post-game party. We’re planning something fun.”

Brooke waves a hand. “Can’t. Lisa needs me for testing. But Ivy should go.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” I start.

“Ivy,” Cam cuts in, “you’ve been helping more than we ever expected. Let us return the favor. Go have some fun.”

I hesitate. “I don’t know…”

“Babe,” Brooke says. “You’ve been a saint, and we literally begged you not to lift a finger. You’ve changed diapers by choice , which makes you a better person than me. Go. Drink. Dance.

Tanner smirks. “I have a plus-one anyway. Come with me. You’ll have a blast.”

I glance down at my ratty sleep shorts. Then at Skye’s empty bottle. Then at Brooke, who’s already pulling up a makeup tutorial on her phone.

A night out. No babies. Alcohol. Hopefully dancing. My type of evening, apparently.

Brooke raises her mug. “Go. Wear something tiny and slutty.”

Cam bounces Sage one more time, then grins. “We’ve got the twins. Go have fun.”

And just like that, I say yes. Because this summer wasn’t supposed to be about helping everyone else. It was about helping me .

Maybe tonight will be the start of that.

The rooftop bar above the arena hums with celebration—the sharp sting of tequila, the hiss of beer bottles twisting open, and the chorus of shouting, half-drunk hockey players reveling in another win.

The air’s thick with heat, sweat, and laughter.

My head tilts back on a half-smile, eyes scanning the glass railings where palm trees flicker below in the dark, the lights of downtown Miami pooling like spilled gold.

Tonight, the Miami Icemen shut down the Dallas Blaze. It was close. A brutal, nail-biting third period, but they clawed their way up the scoreboard, goal by sweaty goal.

The Icemen fans went feral when Hunter sealed the win with an overtime assist to Rhett.

“Sorry it’s so loud,” Tanner says, nudging a fresh beer into my hand. He looks flushed, cheeks high with adrenaline, his dark brown curls damp and messy under a backward cap. He’s still in his team tee, charcoal gray and hugging his torso like a second skin.

“You did good,” I say over the noise, raising my drink. “Scoring in the second period? Not bad at all.”

Tanner laughs and leans in. “I told you we would win.”

“Brooke must be so happy.”

“She really is. She called me right after the game ended.” He grins, but it’s distracted. I clock the way his gaze flicks toward the corner, where a man in a tailored suit stands nursing a scotch.

“Someone important?”

“A sponsor.”

“One of the sportswear guys?” I ask.

“Mmhmm. From Conquer Athletics. Been trying to get them to sponsor me.”

“Go,” I tell him. “Talk to him before he leaves.”

“You sure?”

“Tanner. I’m a New Yorker. I can totally handle a couple of minutes on my own.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Back in a bit.”

I nod and slip away, finding the side patio. The music softens as the glass doors shut behind me, muting the party to a low hum. The balcony wraps around the bar, private enough to breathe, and above it, the moon is drowning in clouds.

I tug my dress down a few inches, the silky hem now brushing just above my knees. Brooke had practically dragged me to some high-end spa two weeks ago, insisting that I couldn’t start a “hot girl summer” in Miami with neglected limbs.

“It’s not just about smooth legs,” she’d said, while a wax strip threatened to end our friendship. “It’s a spiritual reset.”

I’d screamed. She’d laughed.

Now, standing barefoot on the cool tiles in a blue wrap dress, with the night wrapped around me, I kind of get what she meant. Miami’s different. Warm. Open. Like it might actually let me exhale.

So different from New York, where everything is always one breath away from grimy and cold. Here, the air smells like hibiscus and salt.

A beat of laughter floats up from the street. Somewhere in the distance, a bass-heavy car stereo hums. I sip my beer and let my body relax into the moment.

The door clicks opens behind me, and I turn.

He’s taller than I expected—broad and dark, the kind of presence you don’t just see but register .

Black close-cropped curls, damp at the edges like he just ran a hand through them.

Hazel eyes, flecked with gold. They catch the rooftop light like sea glass, locking on mine for a second longer than they should.

He’s changed out of his uniform and is in black joggers and a plain white tee. His arms are covered in tattoos—black and gray sleeves that run down to the backs of his hands. Bold lines. Script. Something that looks like wings curling around a phoenix.

Rhett Collins. Defenseman. Number six.

He gives me a lopsided smile, easy and unapologetic. “Didn’t know this spot was taken.”

“I can leave.”

“Don’t.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I…?”

I arch a brow. “Aren’t you, like, a professional athlete?”

He laughs and lights the cigarette anyway, shielding the flame with one tattooed hand. “Don’t rat me out.”

I lift my beer in mock solemnity. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He takes a drag, then leans against the railing beside me, leaving just enough distance that I don’t feel crowded.

There’s something relaxed about him. Heavy-lidded gaze. Slow, confident way he moves. A man who knows exactly how much space he takes up—and likes it that way.

“Congrats on the game,” I say after a beat. “That was one hell of a third period.”

He glances at me sideways, lips quirking. “You were watching?”

I nod. “Yeah. Tanner got me a ticket and I’ll be honest, so much better than watching it on the screen.”

He takes another drag. “Right. You’re Brooke’s friend? I think I’ve seen you up in the stands before.”

“Uh-huh! I’m Ivy.”

“Rhett.” His gaze lands on me like a hand sliding over bare skin. He exhales, smoke curling up. “You in gaming too?”

“Law.”

He whistles under his breath. “Brains and beauty.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s smiling at me like I’m the most interesting thing on this rooftop. His teeth are perfect—white and straight—and there’s a tiny scar on his chin, like he once got into a fight and won.

He opens his mouth to say something else when the door behind us swings open again.

“Rhett,” someone calls. “Dude, you disappeared.”

Hunter Grayson steps out, wearing black slacks and a maroon dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

His dirty blond hair is a little too long to be regulation, curling around his ears in soft waves.

Bright green eyes—alive, mischievous. He’s got the kind of energy that fills every room whether you want it to or not.

He spots the cigarette and groans. “Man, you’re terrible. I thought you told me you quit that.”

“Missed you too,” Rhett says, grinning.

They shake hands with that easy roughness men have when they like each other.

Hunter turns to me, flashing a boyish grin. “Oh. Didn’t know we had company. And you are?”

“Ivy.”

He steps forward to shake my hand but fumbles his glass. Whiskey splashes down my leg.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He crouches instantly, pulling a bar napkin from his pocket. Rhett crouches too, and suddenly they’re both at my legs, patting and dabbing and apologizing.

I wave them off. “It’s fine. I promise. The dress is black, and it’s the end of the night anyway.”

Rhett looks up at me from where he’s crouched. “You’re taking this well.”

“It was an accident, so we’re good.”

They laugh. I’m hyperaware of how close they are. How warm. Rhett’s fingers graze my ankle. Hunter’s breath hits my bare knee.

And my body?

My body is very aware.

They stand. I’m a little out of breath now. Their bodies. The closeness. The heat radiating off them. It’s not just the alcohol. It’s something else. Something alive .

“You good?” Tanner’s voice calls from the doorway.

I straighten. When did he even get here? “Yeah, just a minor whiskey incident.”

He looks at the guys, then back at me. “I’m beat. You wanna head out?”

Before I can answer, Hunter cuts in. “We might be hitting this salsa place downtown. You should come. We’ll get you home safe.”

I glance at Tanner. He shrugs. “Up to you.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow. I’m the one taking Buddy to the vet, but you… fun, remember?”

My gut twists, but I nod. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Okay!” Then he turns to the guys. “She’d better be home safe or Brooke will kill all of us.”

Rhett laughs as he puts out his cigarette and then imitates my earlier salute. “You have my word, King.”

Tanner gives me a quick hug. “Thanks again for coming with me.”

And then he’s gone.