28. Hunter
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hunter
Practice runs long. Too many new plays, too many missed passes, too much Coach drilling us like it’s already the middle of the season instead of pre.
By the time we finally hit the showers, it’s nearly nine. My legs feel like they’ve been swapped with lead pipes, my gear bag digging into my shoulder as I slump into the passenger seat of Rhett’s car.
He looks about as wrecked as I feel, his hair still damp, hoodie thrown on like an afterthought.
“That’s a lot,” he mutters suddenly, shaking his head like he’s been stewing.
I glance at him. “What’s a lot?”
“The party idea.” His voice is low, but I can hear the edge of fatigue behind it. “Chloe turning one, Ivy leaving, and now you want to throw some grand blowout? I feel like it is going to be too much.”
I grin despite how tired I am. “Not a blowout, man. Just one party. You know, kill two birds. We celebrate Chloe’s first birthday early since it’s only a couple days before Ivy leaves for New York anyway.
And we send Ivy off right at the same time.
She gets memories, we get cake, and Chloe gets spoiled. ”
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.
For a second, my brain blanks. I blink at her, waiting for the punchline, the smirk, the “just kidding.” But her face stays broken open, eyes wet, lip trembling.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, sitting back hard.
Rhett… says nothing. He goes still, his hand pressed flat against his thigh, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.
Me? I can’t hold it in. A grin cracks wide across my face before I even know what I’m doing. My chest buzzes with energy that pushes all the exhaustion right out of me.
“Are you serious?” I blurt, sitting forward again. “Pregnant? Like… really?”
Her laugh is thin, watery. “Yes.”
I’m already firing questions. “When did you find out? Are you okay? Do you feel sick? Cravings? Are we supposed to… like… baby-proof already? Shit, do we even have baby gates? Rhett, do we have baby gates?”
Rhett doesn’t answer. He still hasn’t moved.
Ivy’s voice cuts through. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What do you mean?”
She drags in a shaky breath. “My IUD. It came out. I didn’t even realize until Storm dragged it out from under the bed. We tested. Positive. Then Brooke took me to her doctor.”
Her hands tremble harder now, and I wish I could hug her despite smelling like sweat and rink grime. My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s in my throat.
“It’s too early to know,” she whispers, eyes darting between us. “Who the father is.”
Silence slams down again.
It could be mine. It could be Rhett’s. It could be Landon’s.
But instead of panic, instead of fear, excitement burns through me. My blood is on fire. “That’s… incredible,” I say. “I mean—fuck. A baby, Ivy? Our baby. Another one of ours.”
Rhett shifts finally. Not much, just enough to lean back into the couch, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. He looks… stunned. Knocked off balance in a way I’ve never seen him.
I can’t stop. The words tumble out too fast. “Do you know how far along exactly? You said five weeks? That means—shit—that means right in the middle of?—”
“Hunter.” Rhett’s voice cuts sharp, low.
I shut my mouth, but the grin still won’t fade. I’m buzzing like I just scored a hat trick.
Ivy’s face twists, fear and hope tangled tight. “You’re not mad?”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“Mad? Baby girl, I’m fucking ecstatic. You have no idea. We’ve already been raising one together. And now this? This is—this is…” Words fail, and I just reach out, my hand covering hers, squeezing tight. “It’s everything.”
Her tears slip free, rolling down her cheeks, but this time there’s the tiniest smile pulling at her mouth.
Rhett exhales slowly, finally dragging his gaze up to her. “It’s a lot.”
I nod. “Yeah. It’s a lot. But it’s good.”
Ivy laughs weakly, wiping at her cheeks with her sleeve. “You don’t understand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m moving in less than two weeks. New York. Plans. Everything’s already?—”
“Plans change,” I cut in gently, thumb rubbing over her knuckles. “You’ve changed ours. Hell, you’ve changed me. If this is happening, we figure it out. That’s what we do.”
She stares at me like she wants to believe it but doesn’t know how.
Rhett leans forward finally, his big hand settling over both of ours. “We’ll figure it out,” he echoes, his voice low.
The three of us sit there, hands tangled, the words pressing in from all sides. The clock ticks past nine, the house hums quietly, and from the monitor we hear Chloe stirs in her crib, a soft cry breaking the silence.
I glance toward the sound, then back to Ivy. “Guess this house might be louder sooner than we thought.”
Her laugh is wet, broken, but real this time. And my chest feels so full it could burst.
The kitchen smells like coffee and sizzling sausage, sunlight spilling across the table in gold stripes. Chloe is in her high chair, banging a plastic spoon against the tray like she’s got her own percussion section going.
Ivy sits beside her, a mug cradled in both hands, eyes soft but shadowed like she hasn’t stopped thinking since last night.
“I’ve got an ultrasound,” she says quietly, breaking the hum of the morning. “At six weeks, so next week. The doctor wants to check on everything.”
Instant. All three of us jump in, voices overlapping.
“We’ll go with you,” I say.
“Of course,” Rhett adds from the stove, tongs in his hand.
“Yeah,” Landon echoes, calm as ever, already reaching across the table to brush Ivy’s wrist with his thumb. “You won’t be alone.”
Ivy gives a small nod, eyes flicking down. Her fingers twist on the mug. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do about New York.”
The words fall heavy, like rocks dropped into water.
I feel my stomach tighten, but Landon leans in before anyone else can speak. His voice is measured.
“You don’t have to deal with that today. Or tomorrow. You have two weeks, sweetheart. Right now, focus on taking care of yourself. That’s all that matters.”
I watch him as he says it and I realize—not for the first time—that somewhere along the way, Landon Shaw, the forty-two-year-old lawyer I thought would be a stiff, temporary fixture in our lives, has become one of my closest friends.
Last night, after Ivy had gone upstairs, he told us about Halpern. About Allyson being poached. About how he’s going to stay on with the Icemen for the season.
We were ecstatic. Me, Rhett, even Ivy when she heard. The idea that he’d still be here, still part of this mess of a family we’ve built—it feels right.
Now, though, I’m watching him spoon yogurt into Chloe’s mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I can’t help but wonder what’s really going on in his head.
Rhett flips sausages onto a plate, moving like he’s running a machine line. Efficient. Focused. He’s always been good with Chloe—phenomenal, really—but I know two babies aren’t what he pictured. Not yet. Not like this.
I make a mental note. I’ll need to check in with him, too.
But Landon first. Because while he says he’s happy, while he looks calm, I know there’s more under the surface. There has to be. You don’t spend decades telling yourself kids aren’t in the cards and then just… smile your way through the possibility of two.
Ivy leans forward, resting her chin in her palm, her eyes still distant. Landon brushes her knuckles again, steady as stone. Rhett sets the plate of sausages down, the scent flooding the room, and Storm noses his way under the table for scraps.
I take it all in—the chaos, the sunlight, the woman who’s carrying a baby, the men who are already orbiting her like planets around the sun. I’m beyond happy with this new development into our relationship, but I need to find out if the others are on the same page.