23. Ivy
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ivy
The fire has burned lower now, more embers than flames, the heat pushing against my skin as the breeze from the ocean cools it right back down.
I take another sip of my beer, the bottle slick with condensation, trying to pretend I’m relaxed. I’m not.
Not when every time I let my mind wander, it lands on Landon.
Before I can spiral too far, something collides with my knees.
“Aunt Ivy!”
Jackson.
I laugh and nearly spill my drink as I crouch down to scoop him into my arms. His hair is damp from running around near the tide, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. He smells like sunscreen and salt.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, balancing the bottle in one hand and pulling him close with the other. “Having fun?”
He nods vigorously. “We roasted marshmallows!”
I widen my eyes like it’s the most incredible news I’ve ever heard. “No way. Did you eat, like, ten of them?”
He giggles. “Three.”
“Three? That’s practically ten. You’re going to be bouncing off the walls.”
He snickers, wiggles out of my arms, and bolts away again, already distracted by Tanner calling his name. I stay crouched for a second, watching him sprint across the sand, before pushing to my feet.
“Jackson misses you around the house.” Brooke’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn to see her holding out a water bottle, her smile knowing, her eyes warm.
I take it with a soft laugh. “I miss him, too. I didn’t realize how much until just now.”
Brooke tilts her head, leaning in conspiratorially. “So… are you going to introduce me to your new boy toy?”
I nearly choke on my sip of water. “It’s not like that.”
Her grin widens, wicked. “Uh-huh. Sure. Totally not like that.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I mean, she’s not wrong. Landon has been finding new and increasingly inventive ways of getting me naked.
Just yesterday, I’d gone out early for coffee. Perfectly innocent. But then I’d run into him in the elevator. And that’s how, at seven in the morning, I ended up bent over his sofa, the thought of caffeine completely gone.
I press the bottle against my cheek, hoping the cool helps. It doesn’t.
“He’s sexy,” Brooke says, no hesitation.
I nod, because denying it would be the biggest lie of my life. “Yeah.”
She studies me for a beat. “You like him.”
My chest tightens. I nod again, softer this time.
“He’s brash. Kind of rude. Not as funny as Hunter.
” A laugh escapes me anyway. “But I swear he’s like—” I pause, brain scrambling for the right words.
“You know when Gandalf says ‘You shall not pass,’ and despite everything everyone just listens to him? That’s Landon.
Controlling my… body. Like some kind of stubborn wizard gatekeeping my orgasms. I swear he touches me for one second and then tells me to come, and I’m done for. ”
Brooke bursts out laughing. “That is the nerdiest, dirtiest thing you’ve ever said.”
I shrug, grinning despite myself. “It’s true.”
Her laughter fades into a mischievous smirk. “So how are the guys taking it?”
“Well…” I take another sip of beer, remembering just this afternoon when Hunter pulled me into the shower before we left.
The hot water, his mouth at my neck, my back against the tile.
My body is still loose from it. “They’re…
handling it okay. In fact, I can’t prove this, but I’m convinced those two have made some kind of sport out of making me come.
I’ve never had so many orgasms in my life, babe. ”
“Hot,” Brooke declares. “This is so hot and fun.”
“Not for me. I’m constantly sore.”
She tilts her head, studying me, then lets out a shrill laugh. “Just a few months ago, you were complaining of a dry spell, and now it’s the complete opposite.”
Before I can explain, the air shifts. And as if summoned by the thought, Landon walks over.
“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth, even as his gaze skims over me like he’s already undressing me with his eyes. “Hi, Brooke. I’m Landon.”
Brooke straightens, a flicker of recognition lighting her eyes. “We’ve met before at the apartment building.”
He nods once. “Yes. Good to see you again.” They shake hands quickly, polite, nothing more. Then his attention swings back to me.
“How’s your evening going?” he asks.
Just being near him has my brain sparking like faulty wiring. Words tangle in my throat, but I force them out anyway.
“Good. Great. Actually, not great. I mean, it could be great, we’re not sure yet. Rhett and Hunter got the results back. They were hoping you’d come over tonight to discuss them.”
His brows lift, the faintest sign of surprise. “Of course. What time?”
“After the team thing. Eleven?”
He nods. “I’ll be there.” Then, with that same composed efficiency, he glances across the beach. “Excuse me. I see someone I need to talk to.”
And he walks away.
Brooke waits until he’s far enough that he can’t possibly hear before leaning in, whispering, “Girl, you were blabbering.”
I drag a hand down my face. “I know.”
“I have never seen you this down bad.” She laughs.
Before she can say anything else, my phone pings in my pocket. I pull it out, glance at the screen—and my stomach sinks.
My mother.
Brooke notices immediately. “Why is your mom texting you?”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to sound casual. “Just the monthly check-in.”
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t push. She knows better.
I slip the phone away, plaster a smile on my face. “The guys are waiting in the car. I better go. But we’ll see each other soon.”
She nods, then pulls me into a hug. “Daisy’s running late, so I’ll hang out with her. Then I’ll get Skye, Sage, and Jackson home.”
“Don’t you dare replace me as your best friend.” I hug her back.
“Never. Love you, babe.”
“Love you too, B.”
And then I’m walking across the sand, the fire at my back, the night air cool on my skin, my pulse still racing from Landon’s nearness and my mom’s text.
The beers are half-empty, the remains of dinner spread across the table—takeout cartons collapsing inward, skewers Rhett had grilled earlier piled to one side, a bowl of rice barely touched.
The TV hums low in the background, some old sports commentary filling the silence between us. Chloe’s monitor glows faintly green in the center of the table, her small breaths a steady rhythm anchoring us all.
It’s close to midnight, yet no one seems ready to move.
Landon leans back, one hand loose around his bottle, the other resting against his thigh.
The light catches the edge of his jaw, sharp and unyielding.
“I know a lawyer who specializes in custody cases,” he says, his voice even.
“She’s in Chicago, but I can put out feelers here.
I’m sure I could find a strong lead within a week. ”
Every word sounds like a verdict already handed down, as though the matter is settled simply because he’s spoken it. I nod, because I don’t know how else to respond. He makes everything feel inevitable.
Rhett clears his throat, setting his fork down with a soft clink. “I was raised by a single mother,” he says, tone low but steady. “I know how hard it is to do it alone. And Macy…” His mouth tightens. “She hasn’t called. Hasn’t checked on Chloe once since she left. Not a text. Not a word.”
The admission settles between us, heavy and sharp.
Hunter shifts beside him, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m an only child, but I come from a big family.
Cousins. Nieces. Nephews. I’ve always been the fun uncle.
” He glances at the monitor, his face softening in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Never the dad. Until now. And it feels different. Like responsibility I don’t want to walk away from. ”
Landon’s gaze flicks between them. “I wasn’t raised by my parents at all. Group homes. Foster houses. No names. No stories. I never knew who they were, still don’t. So Chloe having you…” His chin lifts toward Hunter. “She’s lucky. More than she’ll ever realize.”
The silence that follows is thick, almost reverent. Even Hunter looks caught off guard.
And me? I tuck his words away. Because now I see it—the reason behind his sharp edges, the restraint that always seems to crack under pressure. The way his eyes soften when they land on Chloe. It all makes sense.
Then, suddenly, Landon’s gaze swivels to me. “What about you, Ivy? Do you have siblings?”
The question surprises me. “No,” I say quietly. “Only child.”
He holds my eyes for one beat too long before looking away.
The conversation shifts back to logistics—names of doctors, NDAs, custody paperwork. Their voices weave together in low tones, measured and rational. Rhett eventually flips the remote, pulling up an old highlight reel.
His own name flashes on the screen, his younger self skating across the ice before landing a perfect shot. He exhales a soft laugh, embarrassed, like he can’t quite believe that was once him.
“I don’t really understand hockey,” Landon admits, squinting at the screen.
Both Rhett and Hunter groan, launching into an explanation that grows animated fast—pointing at the TV, pausing the replay to diagram plays with their hands.
Their voices rise and fall, the rhythm familiar and easy.
Landon listens, his mouth quirking like he’s both amused and actually taking mental notes.
I let their voices blur into background hum. My mind drifts, unspooling in directions I don’t want it to.
I picture Rhett behind me, big hands steadying my hips as he pushes me forward, that growl in his throat when I clench around him. I imagine Hunter in front of me, slower, more teasing, his mouth at my ear whispering every filthy thought he wants to turn real.
And then Landon—rougher, unyielding, that lawyer’s precision turned into something darker. Would he hold me down? Would he let the others watch? Would he even want to share me?
The image of all three of them tangled with me, their hands, their mouths, their bodies moving in sync until I’m wrecked and begging, makes my thighs press together under the table.
I bite down on my lip hard enough to sting.
Heat rushes low, slick and insistent, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe evenly.
A nudge at my side startles me.
Hunter’s elbow brushes mine, his voice pitched low. “You okay?”
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the table like it might split open and swallow me. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.” I force a small smile, push back my chair, needing space before I give myself away. “I’m going to check on Chloe.”
They’re too caught up in their hockey lecture to question it.
The nursery is quiet, soft with the hum of the machine. The nightlight casts a faint glow, just enough to see Chloe curled against her blanket, fist tucked under her cheek, breath steady and even. Watching her steadies me in ways nothing else does.
I lean against the crib rail, smoothing the blanket, letting the quiet fold over me. Until the door creaks softly.
Hunter steps inside, his voice low so he won’t wake her. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod automatically, but the tightness in my chest makes it feel like a lie. He comes closer, shoulder brushing mine.
And before I can stop myself, the truth pushes up my throat.
“Hunter,” I whisper. “I need to tell you something.”