Page 27 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Brooke

I walk back into the apartment, floating somewhere between smug and starstruck.

Jackson is still in the living room, sprawled on the couch, earbuds jammed into his head, legs hanging off the cushions, while Buddy snuggles beside him like a furry bodyguard.

Ivy’s still in her spot, curled up like she’s claimed the whole couch, wine glass balanced on her stomach, half-empty bottle on the coffee table.

She lifts her chin, eyes narrowing like she already knows something’s up.

“You’re smiling like someone just gave you a very thorough massage,” she drawls.

I kick off my flip-flops. “Maybe they did.”

She scoots over and pats the cushion beside her. “Oh, we are debriefing immediately. Don’t leave me in this state of wine and suspense.”

I laugh, falling into the seat. “You want the PG version or?—”

“I want the real version. You’ve been juggling three men. Are you seriously still sleeping with all of them?”

I raise a brow, sip my wine, and stay quiet.

She gasps dramatically. “Oh my God. You are . Brooke! And let me guess—still not all together?”

“No,” I say slowly.

The silence that follows is loud.

Then she snorts. “But you’ve thought about it.”

I slap her arm. “Shut up.”

“You totally have!” she’s giggling now, toppling sideways. “You’re crazy. I love it.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “There’s... a rhythm to it.”

“Oh God, there’s a schedule ? I need popcorn.”

“Not officially. It just sort of... works.”

“Explain. And use names. This is for science.”

I set my wine down and stretch out. “Mondays are usually Cam. He brings takeout, makes me laugh, rubs my feet, and loves to caress me. We stay up late on the balcony. He never stays the night unless I ask—but lately, he’s been staying more.”

Ivy sighs. “Sensitive hands and emotional damage. Classic.”

“Mid-week? Tanner. Wednesday or Thursday, depending on his schedule.

He shows up with a playlist or a motorcycle helmet and says let’s go . He kisses me before we even lock the door. It’s fast and filthy and always ends with me wrecked and him making some dumb joke to make me laugh until I can breathe again.”

She closes her eyes like she’s trying to manifest him. “Damn, I want that so badly it’s offensive.”

“And Fridays are usually Ace. Always brings something—flowers, a new game, sometimes groceries like he’s checking in on my nutrition. We talk. We game. And when we finally end up in bed, it’s slow and locked-in and... I don’t know. He makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees.”

Ivy makes a noise that’s half groan, half growl. “I hate you.”

“I spend weekends with Jackson. Just us. No boys. No mess. Pancakes, cartoons, the occasional Nerf war. It resets me.”

She reaches for the wine bottle. “So let me get this straight. You’re basically in a rotating buffet of orgasms, companionship, and emotional intimacy... with boundaries?”

“Pretty much.”

“And they’re fine with it?”

“They’re more than fine. They’re... respectful. No one’s trying to stake a claim. They push when I need it. Back off when I ask.”

She narrows her eyes. “This is my villain origin story.”

I laugh. “You’re just jealous because your longest relationship this year was with your DoorDash driver.”

“Who remembered my sauce, thank you very much.”

“I’m serious though. I don’t know how long this will last, or what it becomes, but it’s working. And I’m not breaking it just to make it look more normal.”

Ivy lifts her glass. “To depravity. And to you, you lucky bitch.”

“To wine,” I say, clinking mine against hers, “and the fact that none of them mind being my Wednesday, Friday, or whatever.”

She smirks. “I bet they don’t. I wouldn’t either. Look at you. Miami’s hottest startup CEO by day, filthy harem queen by night.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Ivy.”

“I’m serious! Although... two of them are brothers. Like, actual blood brothers. That’s gotta complicate any spicy group daydreams.”

I sip again, letting that hang in the air. She’s not wrong. I’ve danced around it in my head, but the dynamic between Cam and Tanner isn’t exactly built for that kind of closeness. Especially not with me in the middle. Literally or otherwise.

She tops off our glasses with a smirk. “So, what’s your end goal here, madam seductress? You planning on picking one eventually or just letting it ride?”

I shrug, stretching my legs out. “I don’t know. Right now? I’m just dating. I’m having fun. It’s not a game. I like them. I’m not leading them on.”

“Okay. So... future?”

I sigh, head falling back against the cushion. “That’s harder. I care about all three of them, just in completely different ways.”

Ivy raises her brows. “Do tell.”

“Cam is history. Like... first love, almost-married history. Being with him feels like remembering who I used to be and realizing that maybe I still want pieces of that.”

“Hot.”

“Tanner is chaos. He gets under my skin, challenges me. He makes me laugh. And the sex? Unfair.”

“Also hot.”

“Ace is... peace. Steady. Thoughtful. I can breathe around him. He listens to my ideas and shows up before I ask.”

Ivy nods like she’s weighing ingredients for a recipe. “Alright, alright. Impressive spread. And they all know about each other?”

“They do,” I say. “No one’s pretending this is exclusive. They’re not friends. But they’re... respectful.”

She stretches, arms overhead. “Well, you know I’m biased. I’m just thrilled to see you living. You’ve been locked down since Aaron, scared of letting anyone back in. Divorce bruised you, babe. But look at you now.”

I smile at her over the rim of my glass. “Would be better if you moved back. I miss having you close.”

She sighs dramatically. “I wish . But you know this promotion track. I’ve got to grind hard for another year if I want the partner seat.”

We stand to clear dishes, talking through the usual career chaos. Ivy rants about a junior associate who keeps calling her “ma’am” and a managing partner who refuses to use Google Calendar. We load the dishwasher between snorts of laughter, wiping down the counters as we go.

She grabs the water pitcher and spills a full glass down her front. She gasps, grabs a dish towel, and starts dabbing frantically.

“Ugh. Of course.”

“You want a change of clothes?” I ask.

“Yes, please. I’m soaked.”

“Of course, babe. You know where the drawers are.”

She disappears down the hall. I start to gather the wine glasses when I hear her swear from the bedroom.

“Jesus Christ.”

I roll my eyes and head after her. “Hey, language. Jackson has ears the size of saucers.”

She pokes her head out of the bedroom, expression a little strange. “I just got my goddamn period.”

I freeze.

My grip tightens around the wine glass. “Wait... what?”

She stares at me, eyes suddenly wide. “Tell me you have tampons around here." And when she notices the look on my face, she whispers. “Are you okay?”

I blink, throat dry, then shake my head before I follow her in slowly, limbs leaden. “I don’t think I have any.”

Ivy straightens and looks at me. Her tone softens instantly. “Babe… when was your last?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

Because I can’t remember.

Because I have too many calendars—one for Jackson’s school, one for the GameHatch launch, one for my sex schedule, apparently—but none for my body.

I blink and try to recall the last time I felt bloated or cramped or annoyed at the sight of blood on the sheets. But I come up empty.

I bury my face in my hands. “Fuck. Oh fuck. How could I be this careless?”

“Hey,” she crouches in front of me, both hands on my knees. “Hey. Deep breath. You are not alone. We’ll go to the store. Get tampons. Get a test. We won’t spiral until we have to.”

I nod, because I need to borrow her calm.

She heads to the living room, already putting her lawyer’s voice to work. “Hey, superstar,” she says to Jackson, tugging one of his earbuds off. “We’re going out. You want popcorn?”

“Yay!” he cheers, leaping off the couch, completely oblivious to the storm I’m holding back behind my ribs.

I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, staring at myself in the mirror like I might be able to see something different. My hands shake. My pulse races. But when I step out again, I smile for my son like nothing’s wrong.

Because I don’t want him to see me unravel.

The grocery store feels like a bad dream. Too much light. Too much noise.

Ivy handles it like a professional. She grabs tampons and a pregnancy test in one aisle, then drops a bag of caramel popcorn into the cart. Once she has paid, she disappears into the restroom first, tossing me a nod and a “don’t overthink it” look.

When she comes out, she passes the test to me like it’s a torch in a relay race.

“My turn?” I ask.

“Your turn,” she says, firm but kind. “You’ll be okay.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

She leans in. “Jackson and I will be waiting by the entrance."

I step into the restroom like I’m walking into a firing squad. The plastic is smooth in my hand, and I take longer than I should just reading the instructions. Like the steps are somehow new. Like I haven’t done this before. Like the truth won’t punch me just the same.

I take the test. I stare at the wall. I count every exhale.

The result blooms like a betrayal.

Two lines.

Positive.

I don’t breathe. Don’t move. Don’t think. Just sit on the edge of the cracked plastic seat and let my entire life collapse into a pile of unanswered questions. Pregnant. And not just pregnant. Pregnant while sleeping with three different men.

I flush, wash my hands, tuck the test deep in my purse, and walk out like nothing happened.

Ivy’s leaning against the wall near the entrance with Jackson, who’s crunching through a bag of popcorn. She takes one look at me and knows. Her expression softens, and that makes my knees want to buckle.

The car ride back is quiet. Jackson babbles about a dinosaur documentary.

Ivy hums and nods. I stare out the window, my stomach churning, my brain rewinding to every touch, every moment of sweetness and heat and wanting.

Every night with Cam, every stolen hour with Tanner, every soft morning with Ace.

I can’t think about who. I can’t even breathe that far ahead.

Ivy puts Jackson to bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, brushing his curls back, turning on his lamp, kissing his forehead. I sit on the couch like I’m not made of flesh anymore.

When she comes out, she doesn’t say anything. She just sinks onto the couch beside me and wraps her arms around my shoulders.

I let my body fold sideways, leaning against her, burying my face in her neck, and cry. She knows how hard my pregnancy with Jackson had been. Despite my issues with Aaron, he was at least there for what had to be the hardest nine months of my life. Now this.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.

She strokes my hair. “We start small. First, we call your OB in the morning and set up an appointment.”

“Ivy…”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“I was careful. Most of the time. Except for that one night with Tanner. And... once with Cam. And then with Ace…”

She kisses the top of my head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” I say. “I have a game launch. I have three separate relationships. I have no idea who the father is. And I don’t even know if I am ready for another baby.”

Her voice is steady, her presence grounding. “You don’t have to decide everything tonight. You’re not alone. You’ll figure this out.”

I close my eyes. Her fingers press softly at the nape of my neck, and I let the tears come again.

Because I am scared.

Because I am tired.

Because I don’t know how to tell the men I love that I’m carrying a child that could belong to any one of them.