9. Ivy
CHAPTER NINE
Ivy
Brooke’s house smells like lavender detergent and warmed oat milk, and I’m cradling a bottle in one arm while burping Sage over my shoulder.
Skye is trying to shove a puzzle piece in the wrong spot on the playmat, determined like her mom, and totally unbothered by the chaos around her.
“Remind me,” I say, patting Sage’s back in a slow rhythm, “why you didn’t just hire a nanny?”
Brooke looks up from where she’s cross-legged on the rug, organizing a tray of homemade baby food. “Because I’m a control freak who doesn’t trust anyone with my kids.”
“Fair,” I mutter, catching a particularly powerful baby burp.
She grins. “And because I have you.”
“Temporary.” I hand Sage back gently. “This is a summer gig.”
Brooke adjusts Sage in her lap and narrows her eyes at me. “Uh-huh. You’ve said that before. Meanwhile, you’re practically living with the Icemen.”
“I’m just… having fun,” I say, brushing hair out of my face. “Good sex. No pressure. It’s a win-win.”
Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Have you even called your parents since you got here?”
My smile falters. “Not yet.”
“Still avoiding that conversation?”
“Still.” I don’t look up. “It’s not time.”
She lets out a quiet sigh. “New York’s still going to be there when summer ends.”
“I know.” I stand and stretch. “But I’m not ready for that noise yet.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then softens. “You’ll deal with it when you’re ready.”
The back door opens, and Ace steps in with Storm on a leash and Buddy, their giant golden retriever, trotting beside him. “Your mutt tried to jump in the pool again,” he says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Storm’s got no fear.”
“He’s got no manners, either.” I laugh. “But thanks, Ace.”
“No problem. You sticking around for lunch?”
Brooke perks up. “I was about to order sandwiches.”
I shake my head. “I was gonna head to the guys’ place.”
Ace gives me a look. “That’s not what I asked.”
Brooke grins. “She’s still seeing Rhett and Hunter.”
“Like dating?” Ace asks.
“I’m not even sure.” I shrug, picking up my bag. “All I know is I get the harem thing now. Phew! Brooke! Hot, hot, hot.”
Brooke laughs. “Ivy!”
I head down the hall to change in the guest bathroom. I swap the oversized tee and yoga pants for a pale yellow cotton skirt that ties at the waist and a tank top.
Simple. Flirty. Effortless.
I slip on leather sandals, toss my hair into a lazy braid, and swipe on a little tinted balm before calling for Storm.
“Are you coming home this time around?” Brooke teases as I open the door.
“Don’t wait up.” I toss her a wink.
That thought is still true when I walk into the penthouse. It’s not anymore by the time I reach the living room.
The second I step inside, I stop dead. The door’s wide open. Rhett’s holding a baby. Hunter stands behind him, arms crossed, looking like he’s trying not to freak out.
“What,” I ask slowly, “is going on?”
They both turn to me.
Rhett’s voice is strangled. “Ivy.”
I blink. “Hi. Whose baby is that?”
They don’t answer immediately. Just stare at me.
Hunter finally speaks. “She was left at our door.”
“What?”
“There was a knock,” Rhett explains. “I thought it was delivery. Opened it. No one there. Just her.”
I step forward slowly, setting my bag down. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Hunter mutters.
Rhett gestures toward the baby. “There was a letter. And a birth certificate.”
I raise my eyebrows. “A what now?”
Hunter hands me the paper, and I scan it quickly. The baby’s name is Chloe. Nine months old. Golden-brown curls, big brown eyes.
I look down at her and realize it’s all true.
She’s wide-eyed and chewing on her fist, oblivious to the chaos she’s caused.
The letter is short and scrawled in uneven handwriting. The words barely make sense at first, but then I recognize the tone. Frantic. Desperate.
“She says she can’t raise her,” I whisper, “and one of you is the father.”
“She was a puck bunny,” Hunter says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
I stare at them. “Seriously?”
“She used to hang around after games,” Rhett adds. “Groupie. Hot. I guess this is what happens when you don’t use a condom.”
I shake my head. “Shit. How long ago was this?”
“Eighteen months,” Hunter says. “Give or take.”
I walk forward and gently take Chloe from Rhett’s arms. She smells like formula and baby powder. Her diaper’s sagging. “When’s the last time she was changed?”
“We don’t know,” Rhett admits.
I sigh. “Okay. I’ve got this.”
They stare as I carry her down the hall to the guest bathroom and change her. She wiggles and kicks, but she calms when I sing softly. I come back out with her bundled in a towel from the bag.
“She’s clean, but we need a doctor to check her out. Just in case. How did you guys just let her leave her baby here?”
“I don’t know what to do,” Rhett says honestly. “We called the woman. She answered.”
“And?”
“She cried. Said she was sorry. That she can’t go to jail. Then she hung up.”
I blow out a breath. “Alright. I’m calling Brooke.”
“Wait, Brooke?” Hunter asks.
“She knows everyone. She’ll recommend a pediatrician. That’s our first step.”
Rhett nods. “Okay.”
We pile into the car. Chloe sits in my lap, wrapped tight, and makes gurgling noises. Hunter drives, quiet and stiff. Rhett keeps glancing at the baby like she’s going to explode.
At the clinic, the pediatrician confirms she’s healthy. A little underweight. No signs of illness or abuse. I hold her the whole time.
The guys stand awkwardly near the corner, shoulder to shoulder, like they’re facing off against a rival team. One nurse tries to hand Chloe to Rhett and he panics so hard I nearly laugh.
“She won’t bite,” I say, smirking. “Here.”
I ease her into his arms again. He holds her with his arms locked straight out, like he’s about to pass her off to the first person who asks.
“She’s a baby, not a grenade.”
“She’s sticky,” he says defensively.
“She’s a baby,” I repeat.
Hunter watches it all like he’s bracing for disaster, but when Chloe sneezes into Rhett’s shirt, he bursts out laughing.
“You’re done for now,” he says, grabbing the wipes.
We finally get home, exhausted. I place Chloe in a makeshift bed of blankets and couch cushions. She looks around, eyes huge, then starts to wail.
Rhett looks like he might cry, too. “What do we do?”
“I’ve got it,” I sigh.
I scoop her up, press her to my chest, and sway gently. She quiets almost instantly.
Hunter watches, arms folded. “How do you know how to do that?”
“I helped with Brooke’s twins,” I say.
“Still. You’re good at this.”
I shrug. “Babies like rhythm. They like voices they know.”
They exchange a look. I pretend not to see it.
Chloe finally falls asleep. I lay her down and collapse onto the couch.
Rhett leans over the backrest. “You’re a magician.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re staying, right?” Hunter asks.
“Just one night,” I tell them. “Just to help you adjust.”
I check the time on my phone. It’s only four in the morning. She has been sniffling and crying for the last hour.
At least I finally managed to get her to quiet down.
Chloe lets out a small sigh, and I shift her upright against my chest, gently patting her back. Her onesie smells like Dreft and the last bottle I fed her, her tiny body radiating that warm, sleepy heat babies seem to give off like sunlight.
I adjust the blanket over her legs and keep patting, the way I’ve done for hours now. It took most of the night to get her to sleep.
A quiet burp rises from her lips, and I smile, rubbing small circles along her spine.
The penthouse is quiet in the way that only 4 a.m. allows. The city is dim beyond the windows. The dishwasher hums in the kitchen. Storm is curled on the rug, ears twitching in his sleep.
Every light is off except the small lamp I left glowing beside the couch.
I think I might finally get to lay her down.
Then I hear soft footsteps behind me.
“Hey,” Hunter says, voice raspy with sleep or lack of it.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s in sweatpants and a tee that clings a little too well to his chest, hair pushed back like he gave up trying to tame it. He scratches at the edge of his jaw and drops onto the armchair across from me.
“You okay?” I whisper.
He nods, eyes on Chloe. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”
“She finally passed out,” I murmur, repositioning her slightly before laying her in the bouncer on the couch. She stirs for a second, then settles again, thumb drifting toward her mouth.
Hunter’s eyes stay on her. “How the hell did we get here?”
I lift my brows. “You tell me.”
“We really don’t know.” He exhales. “That girl said she had an IUD. We trusted that. We never thought… fuck! This is so messed up.”
I glance at him.
He lifts a hand, already reading my look. “We got tested before anything ever happened with you. Full panel. Clean.”
“I appreciate the reassurance,” I say softly, pulling my knees up onto the couch. “Still doesn’t explain a baby showing up at your door.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “Rhett’s still in shock. He keeps saying he’s fine, but I’ve known him too long. He’s spinning.”
“He’s not the only one.”
Hunter gives me a sheepish smile. “You’re handling this better than we are.”
“I’ve changed more diapers than I can count. You two looked like you were trying to defuse a bomb earlier.”
“I was sweating,” he admits. “Like, actually sweating.”
We sit in silence for a moment, just watching the slow rise and fall of Chloe’s chest as she sleeps.
I glance at him. “So why are you up, anyway? I told you two to get some rest. You have practice bright and early.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“I don’t always sleep well,” he says eventually. “Been better lately. Melatonin helps. Sex helps.” He shrugs. “But then we kind of saddled you with the baby tonight and I felt like shit about that.”
“You didn’t saddle me with anything,” I say gently. “We were all up until one a.m. I just have more experience.”
“I’m still sorry.”
I wave him off. “You were shell-shocked. Understandable.”
Hunter looks at Chloe again, then at me. “What do we do?”
I rub my eyes. “First? Paternity. That’s non-negotiable. One of you’s the dad, and you both deserve to know.”
“And if word gets out?” he asks quietly.
“You mean about a baby showing up at the penthouse of two Miami Icemen?”
“Exactly. The league, the media, the team—sponsors will lose their minds.”
I think about it. “Then we keep it quiet. Just for now. Call the doctor privately. Get an NDA if we have to right? Wait until you have facts.”
Hunter leans back, sighing.
“You want to hold her?” I ask, nodding toward the couch.
He looks surprised. “Me?”
“She likes you.”
“I panicked earlier.”
“She was covered in drool. This is different.”
I pick Chloe up and walk over, easing her gently into his arms.
Hunter goes still for a moment, but his arms cradle her perfectly. She stirs, adjusts, and then snuggles in.
“You’re a natural,” I murmur, grinning.
He stares down at her. “She’s so small.”
“She’s nine months old. You’re holding a person who’ll be walking and talking very soon.”
He looks up. “We’re gonna need… a crib. Clothes.”
“A car seat. Diapers. Formula. Wipes. Toys. High chair.”
“Shit.”
I swat his arm. “Language.”
He grimaces. “Right. Crap.”
We both smile.
The quiet now isn’t heavy or awkward. It’s peaceful. The baby sighs again and stretches one arm, curling against his chest.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly.
I look up at him. “Me too.”
He means it, I can tell. Not just for the help. There’s gratitude in his voice that runs deeper. We’re in something now—complicated and messy and terrifying, but we’re in it together.
I sit beside him, close enough that our knees touch, and we watch the baby sleep.
She’s perfect.
And she’s not mine.