Page 34 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Brooke

Jackson seemed fine at the swings, but by the time we get home, he is quiet in the backseat, clutching Buddy’s leash. There are no more distractions now, and I have to address what happened with Aaron.

The guys had to leave, but I kind of wish they were here for moral support.

I unlock the door, step inside, and exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.

Jackson walks in slowly, dragging his feet. Buddy waddles behind him, oblivious. I kneel, unzip his jacket, and pull him into a hug.

“Mom?” he asks, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “Why did Daddy say all that stuff?”

Way to beat me to the punch, kid.

I pull back just enough to look at him, uncertain how much he actually heard. His face is confused but calm. Just watching me the way he does when he’s trying to figure something out.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Sometimes people say things that hurt because they don’t know how to say what they really mean. But it has nothing to do with you, baby. None of it.”

He nods but doesn’t speak. His fingers toy with the edge of my sleeve. “Your dad loves you,” I say. “Just because we had a little disagreement, that changes nothing. Okay?”

“Does Cam love me too?”

My chest tightens. “Of course he does. So does Tanner. So does Ace. Ivy too. We all love you so much.”

The corners of his mouth lift, and I feel relief flood my system. There is no time like the present to come clean, so I decide to tell him another truth.

“I want to tell you something, okay? Something important.”

Jackson lifts his chin.

Here it goes.

I take a deep breath. “You’re going to be a big brother.”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

I nod.

“Like... a real one? With a baby?”

I laugh softly. “Yes!”

He gasps like it’s the best news he’s ever heard. “That’s so cool! Can I name him?”

“Absolutely not,” I tease. “You named your goldfish Batman and Taco. And the baby could be a girl.”

“Taco was a good name,” he argues, arms crossed, but he’s smiling now. “Where is the girl baby?”

I laugh at this. “I said the baby could be a girl. Or a boy. I just don’t know yet.”

“Where is the baby?” he repeats.

“In my belly. Still growing.”

He leans forward and places both palms carefully on my stomach, his face scrunched like he’s listening for something.

I blink fast. My throat tightens.

“You okay, Mommy?” he whispers.

I nod again. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He pulls back and nods solemnly. “Me too. I think I need a cartoon.”

I let him curl on the couch with Buddy, Ivy joining us moments later with a knowing look.

I’m still sitting there, shoes kicked off, head leaned back against the couch cushion, when the doorbell rings at seven.

It's Ace.

The second I see him standing there, clean shirt, tired eyes, hair damp like he just got out of the shower, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I throw my arms around him and press my face to his chest.

He doesn’t hesitate. Wraps me in his arms, his chin resting on top of my head like it belongs there.

“I heard about what happened,” he says into my hair. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t even know what okay means anymore,” I mutter.

“Can I come in?”

I nod, stepping aside.

He walks in like he knows the space. His eyes drift to the couch where Ivy is curled up under a blanket, rewatching Jurassic Park for the hundredth time, Jackson tucked against her side, practically asleep with a stuffed raptor clutched in his arms.

Ace keeps his voice low. “I won’t stay long. Just wanted to check on you.”

I know what he sees—messy bun, tired eyes. But he doesn’t look away.

“I told Jackson,” I say.

Ace raises a brow.

“About the baby.”

A pause. “How did he take it?”

“He’s excited. Wants to name the baby after his goldfish.”

Ace chuckles. “Taco and Batman?”

“Exactly.”

We stand in silence for a moment, just breathing.

Then I say, quieter, “Thank you for coming.”

“You looked like you needed someone.”

I glance up. “That’s not the only reason you came, is it?”

He lifts a brow and gives me a look. “You know me too well.”

“Spill it.”

He exhales. “I just got off a call. League brass. They want to launch Frostbite this weekend.”

My mouth parts. “That’s… not possible. That’s too soon. We’re still QA’ing the last two missions, not to mention localization patches?—”

“I know,” he says gently. “But I also know you. You’re a machine when your back is to the wall. And I can help.”

“Why the short schedule?”

He smiles at me. “Capitalism. News broke that the Cubs are playing us, and the tickets are almost sold out. They just want this to be a marketing tactic.”

I blink fast. The pressure surges in my chest, and then his hand cups my elbow.

“You’ll be okay,” he says softly. “You always are.”

I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Thanks. For coming.”

I move to Ivy, gently stroking Jackson’s curls. “We’re going to Ace’s to test the game. I’ll be back before ten.”

“Don’t stress it,” Ivy says, sipping her wine without looking away from the screen. “I’m halfway through this dinosaur disaster.”

Ace and I head upstairs. As soon as the door to his apartment closes, I’m on him.

I kiss him hard, like I’ve been waiting days, not hours. His arms come around me instantly, dragging me closer.

“I think we can make all this work,” I whisper between kisses. “All of it. You. Me. The others. Jackson.”

He groans into my mouth, and I feel it everywhere.

“Glad to hear that,” he mutters, voice low, fingers sliding beneath the hem of my shirt.

I lean back slightly. “You worried about the Cubs game this weekend?”

“Never,” he growls, dipping to kiss my neck.

Then I grin and drag my hands through his hair. “Good. Because before you test my game... I need you to fuck me.”

His gaze snaps to mine, electric and unblinking.

“My pleasure, baby.”

The days leading up to Saturday are a blur of code, caffeine, and three a.m. edits. My team is pushing hard around the clock, but it still isn’t enough. We’ve come so far in so little time—and now the deadline is closing in fast.

Ace and I hole up in his apartment, screens glowing against dark windows, my back aching, my stomach stretching under the softest cotton hoodie I own. I’ve started cradling the small bump without realizing it. He notices. Always notices.

There’s no time for full meals, just shared takeout cartons and half-drunk bottles of water.

Every hour or so, he presses a protein bar into my hand or refills my glass without a word.

One night, I nod off sitting upright and wake to find him kneeling beside me, tucking a pillow behind my lower back.

His palm settles on my stomach, his voice low. “You’re pushing too hard.”

“I have to.”

He doesn’t argue. Just kisses the inside of my wrist before sliding the laptop back in front of me.

Cam and Tanner stop by when they can—quick kisses, soft murmurs. Tanner drops off fresh fruit and a bag of sour candy I mentioned craving days ago. Cam massages my shoulders for two whole minutes before Ace clears his throat and waves him off like an overprotective bodyguard.

They don’t get in each other’s way. They don’t ask for more than I can give. But they hover. Tanner with his teasing grin, Cam with his stormy quiet, Ace with his steady hands. They watch me inch closer to the edge of burnout and do everything they can to hold the ground beneath me.

One night turns into something else.

I’m in Ace’s living room, bleary-eyed, my hoodie riding up over my belly. I’ve changed into one of his shirts, and I’m not wearing pants because I’m too hot and too tired to care.

Cam is beside me, his thigh against mine, his palm resting on my knee. Tanner’s behind me, rubbing small, slow circles into my lower back.

Ace walks in from the kitchen holding a cold bottle of water. He stops when he sees us.

I shift, languid from exhaustion, but my thighs inch open just a little. Cam leans forward and presses his lips to the curve of my belly. Tanner kisses my shoulder and whispers, “I think our girl needs a little break!”

“I’m in hell,” Ace mutters—but he’s already crossing the room.

He kneels between my legs, palm on my inner thigh. “Tell me to stop,” he says.

I shake my head. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Tanner lifts my shirt, pulling it over my head. “Fuck, baby. Look at you.”

Cam’s hand drifts up between my thighs. “Already wet,” he murmurs.

Ace shifts forward, mouth brushing over the slick heat of me. “Of course she is. She’s ours.”

He licks once, deep and slow, and I arch. My head falls back into Tanner, and he catches me easily, his fingers sliding into my hair. Cam leans in and kisses my mouth while Ace eats me like I’m his last meal.

They keep me there, pinned in heat. Tongues and teeth and fingers. Hands everywhere. Cam presses two fingers inside me as Ace sucks my clit, and I cry out, my body shaking.

“Fuck,” Cam groans. “She’s squeezing already.”

I’m panting, mind spinning, hips rolling into every touch. They praise me softly, like they know I need it—Tanner calling me his best girl, Ace murmuring how perfect I taste, Cam telling me to let go, just let go.

I come hard, thighs clenched, tears in my eyes.

They don’t stop.

Cam lifts me and lays me flat. Tanner pushes my thighs open. Ace kisses my ankle. “One at a time,” he says, voice like gravel.

Tanner slides in first. He’s thick and ruthless. His hands grip my hips as he thrusts in deep. I’m raw and open, still pulsing from the last orgasm. He kisses me like he needs to brand it, his cock dragging against every nerve inside me until I’m begging.

Then it’s Cam. He replaces his brother with a groan, slower but no gentler, thumb teasing my nipple, one hand cradling the swell of my belly. “You’re carrying something magical,” he whispers. “Don’t care whose it is. You’re mine either way.”

Ace fucks me last, standing above the couch, one knee on the cushion. He grips my thighs, spreading me wide, his cock thick and desperate. His control is gone. He buries himself inside me with a groan that borders on broken.

“Don’t look away,” he rasps.

I don’t.

He’s the one who comes with a curse, hips jerking, forehead pressed to mine.

After, they wrap around me. Tanner’s fingers on my shoulder. Cam’s mouth on my jaw. Ace, resting a hand on my stomach, whispering something to the baby.

I’m sore. Sated. Safe.

And I’m not alone.

By Friday night, we finish QA on the last level. I go to bed at four and wake up at seven. Today’s the day. The game is launching. And the Icemen are playing the Cubs.

Aaron is in the city. My men are on the ice. I have no room for nerves, but they push in anyway.

At ten, there’s a knock on my office door.

Lisa slips in, bright-eyed, holding a long white garment bag over one arm. “Your dress is ready.”

I blink up from the disaster that is my desk. “You didn’t have to?—”

“I did,” she says. “It’s stunning. Try it.”

I unzip the bag and stare. It’s elegant and ice blue, shimmering with understated crystals, cut to hug every curve and fall gracefully over my belly without drawing attention to it. It’s everything. I don’t have words.

“It’s perfect.”

Lisa smiles, smoothing a wrinkle from the hem. “It’s all going to be okay.”

I nod, trying to believe it.

When I finally head home, Ivy is waiting. She’s dressed already, her hair coiled into a sleek bun, lipstick on, heels kicked off as she helps Jackson finish his sandwich.

“Got the update from Lisa,” she says. “I swear she’s more organized than any PR firm I’ve ever worked with.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Court filing in the morning,” she sighs. “But I’m here for this. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Jackson hops off the couch and runs to me, showing off his little jersey. It’s a kid-sized version of the official Icemen one, with KING emblazoned across the back.

I stare.

I look at Ivy.

“Ivy.”

She shrugs, deadpan. “Let the boy wear what he wants.”

“He’s going to get us murdered.”

“By who? That man? Please. Jackson has better taste.”

Jackson spins around, arms wide. “I look like the team!”

“You look adorable,” I murmur, kissing his forehead.

Ivy stands and hands me a small clutch. “You ready?”

“No.”

She grins. “Perfect. That means you’re human.”

We pile into the car Ace sent—one of those slick black SUVs that makes us look like celebrities off to a red carpet. Jackson hums a theme song to himself as we wind through the late afternoon traffic. Ivy checks her phone every five minutes. I rub my belly without realizing it.

This is it.

Ace got us special seats—premium box suite, midline view, private bathroom. Ivy looks like she’s stepped into the damn Ritz the second we walk in. Jackson presses himself to the glass, watching the Zamboni make its rounds.

I take a breath, smoothing the fabric of my dress, and try to hold myself together.

Down on that ice, three men I care about are about to go to war with the man who once held every part of me.

And for the first time since the chaos began, I realize I’m not afraid.

I’m ready.