33. Ivy
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ivy
The words hit me like a wave, knocking all the air out of my lungs. We bought you a house. I stare at Hunter, at Rhett, at Landon—and my vision swims.
My chest is tight, my heart is racing in a way that has nothing to do with what just happened between us. I feel… seen. Cherished.
Like they weren’t just playing at love or affection, like this… all of this… was theirs, and mine, and meant to last.
I can barely speak. “You… what?” My voice is tiny, fragile, as if it might shatter.
Hunter groans softly, pressing his forehead against mine. “You heard me. A house. For you. For the baby. For us, all of us.”
I blink, trying to process. My fingers brush over the slick, sticky heat of sweat and… them. Over the residual ache inside me, over the gentle swell of my stomach, and over the pool of warmth between my thighs.
It’s too much. Too much in all the ways that matter. My body is trembling, my mind spinning. I feel like I might cry, or laugh, or scream—and maybe all three at once.
Landon shifts, leaning over my shoulder to brush my damp hair from my face. “You’ve earned it, sweetheart. All of it. You deserve more than we can even give.” His voice is low, husky, but soft, carrying devotion.
Rhett groans again, louder this time, like he’s annoyed we’re standing here, talking , when we should be… well, continuing. His hand slides along my shoulder, kneading lightly.
“Stop staring like we’re insane. We’re not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us. The house? Just a start.”
I swallow hard, my lips trembling. “I… I don’t… I can’t… I mean… this is…”
Hunter laughs, quiet and rough, and kisses the tip of my nose. “It’s a lot. Yeah. But you’re a lot, too. And you’re ours. All of ours.”
I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. The room smells like sex and sun and salt from the pool, my skin still tingling where they touched me, and yet nothing—nothing—could feel safer or more complete.
I want to reach for them, to clutch them all at once, to tell them everything I’ve been holding in, everything I’ve been scared to want. But words fail me.
Rhett leans down, his forehead pressing to mine this time, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “We’re not asking you to do anything, Ivy. Just… accept it. Accept us.”
And I do. I want to. I lean into him first, letting him cradle me against his chest. Landon presses in from the side, fingers tracing lazy, worshipful circles over my stomach.
Hunter’s hand settles over my hip, his thumb brushing a soft line over my side as he leans close enough that his lips ghost over my ear.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re ours.”
My lips part, my throat tight, but I manage it. “I’m… yours.”
All three of them groan in low, messy harmony, and Rhett’s hand cups my jaw as he tilts my face up. “Good. Because you’re not just ours for a night, Ivy. You’re ours for everything. Always.”
My fingers grip the sheets as heat flares again, a lingering ache that twists deliciously between need and love. My body remembers, remembers them, remembers every touch, every kiss, every low whisper of their names I’ve said when I thought I was alone.
My stomach flips with longing and the echo of the orgasms I just rode, and I shiver into them, my whole self surrendering.
Hunter presses a soft kiss to the side of my neck, Rhett nuzzles my jaw, and Landon lays a feather-light kiss over my temple.
“Perfect,” he mutters. “Perfect, Ivy. All of you.”
I close my eyes, letting the intensity of this moment crash over me. The house, the villa, the sun, the sea—they don’t matter as much as this: the feeling of being wanted, loved, and chosen. Not for a fling, not for fun, not because it’s convenient—but because I’m theirs , and they’re mine.
And suddenly, the fear I’ve carried—the fear of being abandoned, of being left behind, of never being more than a convenience or a fleeting pleasure—melts like sugar in the sun.
I’m theirs, completely. My body, my heart, my baby. All of it. And they… they’re mine. All of them, all at once.
I gasp softly, turning my head, pressing my lips to Hunter’s in a messy, needy kiss, tasting myself on him, tasting him on me, letting Landon’s hands trace my spine and Rhett’s lips brush my collarbone.
The world shrinks until it’s just us, just this bed, just this house, this villa, this stolen corner of heaven.
When I finally pull back enough to breathe, my chest rises and falls, my voice shaky and uneven, I whisper, “Thank you. For… everything.”
Hunter kisses my temple, Landon brushes a strand of hair from my face, and Rhett presses his forehead against mine.
“You don’t have to thank us,” he murmurs. “You never have. You’re ours.”
And for once, I believe it. I truly, completely believe it.
Because the house? That’s amazing, yes. But this… this moment, this feeling, this family we’ve created, the love that wraps around me like the warmest blanket? That’s forever.
And I never want to let it go.
I used to think nothing could top the moment they told me about the house. My house. Our house.
But then Chloe’s first birthday happens, and suddenly I realize I didn’t know the meaning of spectacle.
The backyard stretches like a magazine spread—tents draped in white linen, fairy lights strung in glittering arcs across the pool, balloons in every pastel shade exploding in clusters at each corner.
A massive bounce house dominates one end, and the other? An entire petting zoo with miniature ponies, goats, and a very stressed-looking bunny who already regrets signing up for this gig.
Brooke went all out. Of course she did. She’s been buzzing about this for days, muttering about cake designs and party favors while juggling twins and husbands and business launches.
Now, with the sun warm overhead and a hundred guests mingling across the lawn, it feels less like a first birthday party and more like a society gala with cupcakes.
Chloe herself is the picture of oblivious joy—tufts of brown hair sticking out from beneath a ridiculous glittery crown headband, cake frosting already smeared across her cheeks even though it’s not time for the official cake yet.
Her tiny hands clap against the tray of her high chair as Cam tries—and fails—to keep her clean.
“She’s thriving,” I murmur, cradling a sparkling water against my chest. My belly presses against the fabric of my sundress now—eight weeks in and I’m showing. Subtle, but there.
Enough that I catch people’s eyes drifting lower, enough that when Landon’s hand slides absently over the curve of it, I don’t flinch anymore. I let him.
Rhett leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “It’s a production,” he says dryly, watching as a man in a penguin costume waddles by, scattering confetti at squealing toddlers.
I smirk. “Do you think Macy will come?”
He shakes his head slightly, lips tight. “I did my part. Reached out. Can’t promise more than that.”
I nod, exhaling slowly. “This place is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart. I had my eye on a condo but Hunter insisted that you’d love this more.”
“He was right.” I smile.
“I know.” He smiles back. “I can’t wait for us to officially move in. Watch Chloe grow up here. I think we should get her a tree house. Do you think she’s too young for it?”
“I think we can wait a couple more years, Rhett.”
“We’ll build a home right here. For us.”
I love that. I love him. I love this so much.
He kisses the top of my head and then says something about Storm stealing a balloon before he’s running off.
Music drifts from hidden speakers—upbeat, cheerful, the kind of playlist that tries to keep adults entertained while children run feral on sugar. Daisy’s laughing with Maddie near the drinks table, her hair glittering under the sun.
Hunter’s in the yard tossing football passes to a pack of overexcited kids, his grin so wide it hurts just to look at it.
Landon’s deep in conversation with Tanner about god-knows-what, both of them gesturing with plastic cups like they’re making stockholder pitches instead of talking at a one-year-old’s party.
And then there’s me. Standing in the middle of all of it, rubbing at the swell of my stomach, feeling like maybe for once in my life I belong somewhere.
The gift pile alone looks obscene—designer boxes stacked higher than Chloe herself, ribbons and tissue paper exploding out of gift bags, toys still in their plastic wrapping like a miniature toy store exploded in the corner.
“Don’t get used to this,” Brooke says, sidling up beside me with a smirk. “First birthdays are the one time you can justify blowing a whole paycheck on chaos.”
I laugh. “If I ever throw something like this, shoot me.”
Her eyes drop pointedly to my stomach. “You might eat those words sooner than you think.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through me anyway. “This isn’t about me.”
“No,” she agrees, sipping her champagne. “But it will be. One day. Just wait.”
I’m about to reply when I see them.
Across the yard, near the gate.
Two figures that don’t belong in this Miami sunshine, not in their tailored suits and pressed linen, not in the way they stand rigid and uncomfortable among balloons and squealing children. My throat goes dry.
My parents.
My stomach drops.
My mother’s eyes find me instantly—sharp, assessing, a dagger wrapped in pearls. My father follows slower, his expression more guarded, but no less heavy. They cut through the crowd with the kind of presence that makes people step aside without even realizing why.
“Oh damn,” I whisper.
Rhett’s head snaps toward me, following my gaze. His hand finds mine, squeezing hard. “You want me to?—”
“No,” I breathe, my pulse thundering. “I need to… I’ll talk to them.”
My mother doesn’t waste time. She reaches me in ten strides, her lips pressed thin. “Ivy. We’re here to take you back home.”
“I am home,” I say defiantly.
Her lip curls. “I thought you were staying here for Brooke.” She points at my best friend. “Seems like she’s doing just fine.”
There’s a lump in my throat now. “It’s about more than that.”
I can see my mother put two and two together as she looks at Chloe and the three men by my side.
“You have got to be kidding me. A harem, Ivy? This is what you left New York for? To embarrass us? To throw away everything we gave you for… this circus?” She gestures broadly, taking in the balloons, the music, the men circling protectively around me.
My father clears his throat. “Diane?—”
“No,” she snaps. “She needs to hear this. You had a future, Ivy. A real career. Respect. And now you’re parading yourself around like some cheap?—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut. My hands shake, but I force them steady. “This isn’t cheap. This isn’t a fling. This is my life. My choice. And if you can’t see that, if you can’t respect it, then maybe you don’t belong here.”
Gasps ripple from the nearby guests. Brooke is already storming closer, her husbands flanking her like an army, but I hold up a hand. This is mine.
My mother’s jaw tightens. “We’re going back to New York. And until you come to your senses, until you stop this madness, don’t expect us to be part of whatever… performance you’re putting on.”
Her words slice deep, sharper than I want to admit. A part of me still aches to please her, to be enough. But I don’t flinch this time. I don’t bow.
“Mom. Dad.” My voice wavers, but I stand straighter, my hand instinctively smoothing over my stomach.
Her eyes follow the motion. Her breath catches. And then, like a storm breaking across her face—disgust. “You’re pregnant.”
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“With who?” she demands. “Which one of these men is the father?” Her voice carries just enough to silence the air around us, the laughter and chatter dimming as people tune in.
Heat floods my face. My chest tightens. I can feel Rhett stiffen beside me, Hunter moving closer, Landon’s presence a wall at my back. But I don’t look at them. I keep my eyes on hers.
“It’s not like that,” I say, even though it is. Even though it’s exactly like that.
“You’re going to regret this. Just don’t come running back to us when you realize what you threw away.” Her eyes flash.
My father looks away, shame clouding his features, but neither of them says anything else. They turn, walking back through the gate like ghosts retreating into daylight.
The silence they leave behind feels heavy, suffocating. My throat burns. My chest aches. For a second, I think I might collapse.
But then Hunter’s arm slides around my shoulders, Rhett’s hand squeezes mine, and Landon presses a palm to the small of my back.
Brooke appears, fury in her eyes. “Do you want me to?—”
“No,” I say again, softer this time. “They’ve said their piece.”
And so have I.
Tears sting, but I swallow them down. I glance at Chloe across the yard, squealing with joy as confetti rains down, oblivious to the storm that just passed. My chest loosens. My hand curves over my stomach.
This is bigger than them. Bigger than their judgment, their disappointment.
Because while they walked away, I still have everything I need right here.
Hunter’s kiss pressed to my hairline. Rhett’s strength beside me. Landon’s warmth at my back. Brooke’s fierce loyalty. The team’s laughter still echoing across the lawn. Daisy’s camera snapping, Maddie’s hand squeezing mine in silent solidarity.
Family isn’t blood. Family is choice.
And today, surrounded by love, by life, by chaos and cake and confetti, I know I’ve already made mine.
I square my shoulders. Lift my chin. And as Chloe giggles through frosting-smeared cheeks, I smile back, because even with the ache of loss in my chest, I feel it—the fierce, unshakable truth.
I’m not alone. Not anymore.