18. Ivy
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ivy
The sheets smell like them. Like us.
I tug them free from the bed and ball them into my arms, smiling despite myself as I think about this morning.
My body still hums from the memory—my knees pressed into the mattress, my cheek to the pillow, their hands on my hips. The way they whispered in my ear, voices low and rough, until I couldn’t think anymore.
I shake my head as if that will chase away the heat pooling under my skin. I toss the sheets into the washer, measure detergent, and press the start button. The machine hums, water rushing in.
Chloe’s asleep. The monitor sits on the counter, her tiny breaths a soft static in the background. The condo is quiet, finally.
Which is why the knock on the door makes me jump.
I wipe my palms on my leggings and walk to the front door, already frowning. The guys said they’d text before coming back. Brooke’s working late.
When I open the door, my breath stalls.
Landon.
He stands there in a suit, jacket undone, tie loosened like he’s just come from a meeting. His eyes—sharp, assessing—pin me in place.
“Hi,” I manage.
“Can I come in for a minute?” he asks.
I blink. Of all the people I expected on my doorstep this morning, he was not one of them. Still, I step aside. “Sure.”
He walks in, controlled, precise, like even the way he crosses a room has to be efficient. The scent of his cologne lingers as he passes, darker than Rhett’s, sharper than Hunter’s.
I shut the door and turn, suddenly nervous. He’s standing in the living room, glancing around like he’s cataloging details he’ll later file away in some mental folder. His gaze snags on the baby monitor, then flicks back to me.
“I came to apologize,” he says. His voice is lower than usual, rougher, like he doesn’t use it much outside of courtrooms.
“For yesterday?”
He nods once. “I shouldn’t have walked in. Should have knocked harder, made sure. That was on me.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. My throat feels tight. “It’s… fine. Really.”
He looks at me for a long moment, searching. Something about it makes me shift my weight, tug at the hem of my sweatshirt.
When he turns to leave, instinct makes me stop him. “Wait.”
He pauses, hand on the doorknob.
The words spill out before I can second-guess myself. “Why don’t you like me?”
He turns back, brows pulling together. “What?”
“You’re always so… distant. Short. Like I annoy you.” I cross my arms, bracing myself. “You can just tell me. If it’s me, I’d rather know.”
He stares at me, something flashing behind his eyes. His jaw ticks once, tight. His shoulders shift, restless, like he’s trying to shake something off. “It’s not like that anymore.”
“Anymore?”
His throat works. He takes a step closer. Then another. He’s breathing harder now, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“You want the truth?”
The air between us crackles, heavy and dangerous. My stomach knots with anticipation.
His gaze pins me. “It wasn’t the first time I saw you.”
My lips part. “Saw me?”
“On the balcony. The other night.” His voice is clipped. His jaw is locked tight, but his eyes are burning. “You. Them. Everything. I know the three of you are together. I wasn’t short with you because I dislike you. I was… thrown.”
Heat rises in my face, hot and sharp. “You—what?”
“I wasn’t looking for it,” he says quickly. “I was working. Looked up, and there you were. I told myself to look away. To shut the door. To pretend I hadn’t seen. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
My pulse skitters. My legs back me into the sofa. “Why are you telling me this?”
His chest rises and falls, hard and uneven. “Because you asked why I don’t like you.” His laugh is short, bitter. “The truth is, I like you too much. I’ve been trying not to want you. And failing.”
The words slam into me, stripping everything bare.
He takes a step closer, then stops, holding himself rigid. “I shouldn’t say this. I shouldn’t even be here. But I can’t pretend anymore.” His voice roughens, breaking. “I want to kiss you. Fuck, I want to. But only if you want it, too. Tell me no, and I’ll walk out right now.”
The air rushes out of my lungs. My body is already betraying me, every nerve lit, every thought tangled in him. But still, I hear the restraint in his voice.
I swallow hard. “And if I say yes?”
His eyes darken, his hand flexing at his side like he’s holding back. “Then I’ll kiss you. Just say the word.”
I can only stare, my heart thrashing, heat flooding low in my belly. I should say no. I should think of Rhett, of Hunter. Of everything this could complicate.
But the word that leaves my lips is soft, shaky, and certain.
“Yes.”
His breath shudders out, ragged relief spilling across his face.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s crossing the space. He stops close, so close his breath brushes my lips, and waits.
This time, I move first. I tilt my chin up and close the distance.
The kiss explodes between us, raw and hungry, a collision of every suppressed thought and stolen glance. But it’s not stolen anymore. It’s mine as much as his.
I fist my hands in his shirt, dragging him closer, opening for him when his tongue slides against mine. It’s not careful like it is with Rhett and Hunter. It’s raw, frantic, desperate.
And damn, I want it.
A groan rumbles out of him, low and rough, like he’s been holding this in forever. His hands find my waist, gripping tight but not trapping, grounding me.
When his lips leave mine to trail down my jaw, I whisper, breathless, “Landon…”
He stills instantly, forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot and ragged. “Say no and I’ll stop. Right now. I swear it.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head fast, clutching him tighter. “Don’t stop.”
Something breaks in him. His other hand seizes my hip, dragging me against the hard line of his body.
I should stop him. I know I should. But my body betrays me, knees softening, heat flaring low in my belly.
He tears his mouth from mine, groans, presses his forehead against mine like he’s hanging on by a thread. “I don’t fucking hate you at all, Ivy. That’s the problem.”
I don’t think I’ve ever hated him him either.
He tugs at my earlobe, making me buck needily against him. His hand slides down, over my hip, shoving under the waistband of my leggings.
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes—” The word barely leaves me before his fingers find me, pressing hard, rubbing in rough circles that make my head spin.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth, like he’s the one undone. “You lied, Ivy. You’re fucking soaked.”
His fingers tease my entrance as his thumb presses down on my clit.
The shock of it steals my breath. He’s not careful. He’s not slow. He’s all control and precision, every movement like he knows exactly how to unravel me.
And I let him. I want him. My hips buck into his hand, my moan swallowed by his kiss, pleasure ripping through me too fast, too sharp, too good.
I come apart clinging to him, trembling, boneless, every nerve lit.
When it’s over, he pulls his hand free, chest heaving, face taut with conflict. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
And then he’s gone. Just like that. The door clicks shut, and I’m left in the silence, heart racing, sweat cooling on my skin.
I sink onto the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest, hands covering my face. What the hell just happened?
My phone is in my hand before I’ve even decided to move. I hit Brooke’s name, press call, and pace while it rings.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey. What’s up?”
My voice comes out high, shaky. “I need you. Can you come over? Please?”
Her tone sharpens immediately. “Ivy? What happened?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest tight. “It’s… it’s Landon. He came by. And I—shit, Brooke—I kissed him. I let him touch me. And now I don’t know what to do.”
There’s a pause. Then, “I’m on my way.”
“Just last night we were talking about me and the guys being in a real relationship,” I ramble, words tumbling too fast. “And now this? I can’t—I don’t even know what it means.”
“Ivy,” she cuts in firmly. “Stop spiraling. I’m coming over. We’ll figure it out together.”
I clutch the phone tighter, nodding even though she can’t see me.
When the call ends, I sink back against the sofa, trembling, the echo of Landon’s touch still sparking along my skin.
I don’t know whether to scream or cry. But I do know one thing—nothing about this is simple anymore.
By the time I hear the guys at the door, my nerves have smoothed into something less sharp, but they’re still there, humming in my chest.
The sound of their voices carries through the hall, low and warm, the kind of tone that usually settles me. Tonight, it only reminds me that I have to find the words to tell them what happened.
Hunter is the first to step inside. He bends to unclip Storm’s leash as the dog barrels into the condo, tail wagging. Rhett lingers at the door a second longer, his eyes scanning my face like he already knows something is off.
“Everything good?” Rhett asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, too quickly. I press my palms together, fingers worrying at each other. “Mostly.”
Hunter shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on the back of a chair, and glances between us. “That sounds like code for not good at all.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe.”
We move toward the living room together and I curl onto the sofa, tucking my legs under me. Rhett drops onto the cushion beside me while Hunter sits across, elbows braced on his knees.
For a moment, the silence stretches. They wait. Patient. Open. It makes me more nervous because I know I can’t hide.
I finally say it. “Landon came over.”
Their expressions flicker, almost imperceptibly, but they don’t jump in or interrupt.
“He said he wanted to apologize for last night,” I continue, twisting my fingers together. “But then… it got complicated. He admitted he saw me. On the balcony. With you both. And then…” My throat tightens. I force the words out. “We kissed.”
The room holds still. I can’t bring myself to meet their eyes.
After a beat, Hunter leans back, his hand rubbing over his jaw. “Okay.”
That’s it. No anger. No disbelief. Just that one word, steady, calm.
I blink at him. “Okay?”
Rhett shifts beside me, laying a hand on my knee.
His touch is grounding. “We told you from the beginning that we don’t expect you to shut your eyes to the rest of the world just because we’re in your life.
You came to Miami to breathe, to figure things out, not to lock yourself into something permanent. ”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a rush.
Hunter adds, “If you like him, you should explore that. I’m not exactly a possessive guy, if you haven’t noticed.” His eyes soften, almost teasing. “You’re not property. You’re a person. If you’re curious about him, then you owe it to yourself to find out why.”
The knot in my stomach loosens a fraction. “I’m not even sure I want to pursue anything with him. I was just… confused. He’s so intense, and it happened so fast.”
“Confusion is normal,” Rhett says, his voice gentle. “Especially here. We know this city. People’s lives overlap in messy ways. If he’s someone you want clarity with, talk to him. If not, let it go.”
Their reasonableness stuns me. I had braced myself for jealousy, maybe even anger, but what I’ve gotten instead is calm acceptance.
“You’re not mad?” My voice comes out small.
Hunter’s mouth tilts into a half smile. “Should we be? You’re here with us right now. That tells me plenty.”
The warmth in my chest spreads, slow and steady, filling spaces I hadn’t realized were still cold.
Rhett leans back against the sofa. “The guys are hanging out on the beach tomorrow morning. Everyone’s bringing family and friends. They’re all eager to meet Chloe.”
I blink. “All of them?”
Hunter nods. “Yeah. She’s already kind of famous in the locker room. Word spreads fast. They want to meet the baby that has Rhett distracted between drills.”
Rhett grins. “And the baby who has Hunter scrolling through strollers in the middle of meetings.”
Hunter laughs, not even denying it. “We should take Storm, too. I’m sure he’d enjoy a beach day.”
My lips curve before I can stop them. The thought of Chloe toddling around on the beach, Storm racing circles around the players, makes my chest ache with something sweet.
Hunter continues, “And since we’ll be out there, you’ll have the morning free. That might be a good time to meet with Landon. Talk to him. Straighten things out. Because Rhett already invited him for dinner, and we want to be able to talk to him about Chloe without it being messy.”
I nod slowly, their logic sinking in. It makes sense. “So you think I should… clear the air before then.”
“Exactly,” Rhett says. “That way, when we tell him about Chloe, it won’t be tangled up in whatever confusion you feel right now.”
They’re calm. Rational. Nonjudgmental. And the more they speak, the warmer I feel inside. Not because they’re giving me permission, but because they’re giving me space. Trust.
Hunter studies me quietly, then says, “You look lighter already.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Like you were waiting for us to react, and now you know we’re not going anywhere.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. The tension I carried into this conversation has eased, replaced with something steadier. A quiet certainty.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Rhett squeezes my knee again. “Always.”
We fall into easier conversation after that. Hunter sprawls back against the chair, recounting some story about one of the rookies tripping over Storm’s toy the other day. Rhett rolls his eyes and corrects the details, insisting it wasn’t as dramatic as Hunter makes it sound.
I laugh, really laugh, the sound surprising me with how free it feels.
Storm pads back into the room and curls at my feet. The monitor crackles softly, Chloe shifting in her sleep. The condo feels safe again.
Later, when we’re all sprawled on the sofa, Rhett’s arm draped behind me and Hunter scrolling through his phone, I realize something.
This, right here, is why I feel warm in my chest. Not because everything is simple or resolved, but because I’m not alone in it. They’re steady beside me.
I know I have them.
And that thought steadies me more than anything else.