Page 39 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Ace

It’s quiet this morning.

No dramatic sunrise. No crashing waves. Just a lazy shimmer of light over water, gulls calling in the distance, and the scent of pancakes wafting through the open screen door of the cabin.

It’s our last morning here. Last breakfast before we pack the cars and head back to the chaos waiting in Miami.

Brooke’s sitting cross-legged on the porch, hair tied up, one of my sweatshirts swallowing her frame. She looks rested, which feels like a miracle considering everything she’s carried the last few months.

Tanner’s at the grill flipping bacon, Cam’s pouring juice, and Jackson’s making syrup mountains out of his pancake stack like it’s his final act of rebellion before we leave this place behind.

He sighs dramatically mid-bite. “I miss Buddy.”

Brooke turns toward him, smile soft. “We’ll pick him up first thing, okay?”

Jackson nods, stabbing a corner of his pancake. “He’s gonna be so excited.”

Cam sets the juice down and wipes his hands on a towel. “We need to talk about... how we’re handling all of this. Going back.”

Everyone goes quiet for a moment.

Brooke looks up slowly. “You mean... us?”

“I mean everything,” Cam says, sliding into the chair across from her. “The game’s trending worldwide. People are asking who the father is. And with your name on the dev credits and the promo campaign, there’s gonna be pressure.”

I set down my mug. “Deflect.”

Tanner raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Not lie. Just... steer focus. Everyone’s waiting for a statement, a headline, a scandal to dissect. Don’t give it to them.”

Cam’s shaking his head. “That won’t work. They’ll push. They’ll dig.”

I nod. “They might. But if we give them something bigger to chew on... we shift the narrative.”

Brooke watches me carefully. “What are you thinking?”

“I’ll announce my retirement.”

Tanner and Cam both blink.

Brooke straightens. “What?”

I hold her gaze. “It’s time. I told you I’ve been thinking about it for a while. This past season was good, but I’m not twenty-five anymore. And I want more mornings like this. Not locker rooms and press conferences and stretching out my knee for thirty minutes just to climb stairs.”

“Are you sure?” she asks softly.

“I’m sure.”

Cam leans back in his chair. “You think that’ll take the heat off?”

“It’ll distract, at least temporarily. And it sets a boundary.”

Tanner’s still frowning. “So what, we let them think you’re the father?”

I shake my head. “No confirmation. No denial. Let the public think what they want. But we don’t feed the machine.”

Brooke’s eyes narrow. “And what about me?”

“You,” I say, “are not the story. Frostbite is the story. That’s what we let the world talk about.”

“You’re saying we don’t lie,” she murmurs, “we just don’t offer the whole truth.”

“Exactly. No drama. No love triangle headlines. No messy poly panic PR.”

“And if people ask what happens next?”

I reach across the table and take her hand. “Then we show them what peace looks like.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she exhales. “That... sounds perfect.”

Jackson looks between us, eyes big. “Are you quitting hockey?”

I glance at him and smile. “Yup.”

“Can we get pancakes on Tuesdays now?”

“Every Tuesday.”

He pumps a syrup-sticky fist into the air.

We finish breakfast in comfortable silence. After, Brooke heads inside to start packing Jackson’s stuff. Cam helps Tanner break down the grill. I stand on the edge of the porch, watching the water, letting the sun warm my face.

It’s the end of something.

And maybe the beginning of something bigger.

Not just for Brooke.

For all of us.

We pull into Miami just after sunset, the city skyline hazy with heat. The ride has been quiet, peaceful even.

Jackson is asleep, curled up with his hoodie bunched under his cheek, a smear of sand still clinging to his calf. Brooke’s hand rests on her bump, thumb absently rubbing the swell through her shirt. Cam’s driving, and Tanner is behind us, in Brooke's car.

We’re not ready to be back. Not really. But life doesn’t pause for bliss.

We make a quick stop first—Buddy’s daycare. Some fancy, overly air-conditioned place where the dog has apparently been treated like royalty. The staff waves goodbye like we’ve picked up a celebrity.

Jackson lights up the second we step inside. “BUDDY!” he yells. The bulldog barrels toward him, tail wagging, snorting happily, tongue out. The reunion is chaos. Pure joy. Brooke laughs as the dog leaps up, muddy paws be damned, and licks her thigh.

“Guess he missed us,” Tanner says, scratching behind Buddy’s ears.

We get back in the car, now full of dog breath and Jackson’s nonstop chatter about how Buddy probably made new friends, and head home.

Home. Damn, it still feels wild to call it that.

The building glows gold against the deepening sky. Ivy’s waiting out front, wearing a loose grey jumpsuit and messy bun, holding two iced coffees and a big reusable tote. She looks tired. But when she sees Brooke, her whole face lifts.

“Finally!” Ivy says. “I was just about to get a hotel for the night since I lost your damn key.”

“What are you doing in Miami?” Brooke shouts, already halfway out the door.

Ivy shrugs one shoulder. “Long story, but... I quit.”

“What?” Brooke barrels into her, coffee be damned, wrapping her up in a tight hug. “You’re serious?”

“I’m so serious, I don’t even have a desk anymore.”

Buddy flattens her next, knocking one of the coffees out of her hand.

“Still my favorite man,” she tells him, rubbing his belly while lying flat on the sidewalk. Jackson giggles from where he’s hiding behind Cam’s leg.

We all laugh. For a second, it feels like nothing in the world can touch us.

Cam carries Jackson up. Tanner lingers, checking the locks. He always does that now—ever since Brooke got too tired to remember if she turned the key.

I stay back. Just for a second.

Watching the woman I love, the kid we’d die for, and the future we’re building without apology. Then I follow.

On the way, I ask Ivy, “You really quit?”

She nods. “I needed to be here. For her. For myself.”

“You planning to stay?”

She gives me a side glance. “You planning to eventually marry her?”

I grin. “Touche.”

Back in my place, I crack open my laptop and stare at the document I’ve been editing for weeks. My retirement letter—a clean, direct statement I can hand to the team.

But I want it to be bulletproof.

So, I ask Brooke for her best friend’s number. I text Ivy.

You still a lawyer?

Yes.

Mind reading something for me?

She’s upstairs within the hour, reviewing the contract clauses I flagged and making annotations like it’s second nature. “You’re walking away at a good time,” she murmurs. “You did what you came to do.”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “Now I get to do something else.”

She nods once. “Go build a life, Carter. I’ll make sure they can’t touch it.”

The next day, I sign the papers she sends over. Leo takes it like a champ, though I see something flicker behind his eyes when I tell him. He claps my shoulder, says he understands. Tells me the team will miss me. Says Beau and Tanner will carry us into the next season.

Two days later, the headlines explode.

ICEMEN’S HEAD COACH ACE CARTER ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT

That’s it. No gossip. No speculation. No side-by-side photos of Brooke and me. Just a clean announcement and a quiet exit.

It’s exactly what I wanted.

Brooke’s face shows up instead under better headlines.

MIAMI TECH CEO brOOKE LANE TAKES HOME THREE INDUSTRY AWARDS

FROSTBITE brEAKS SALES RECORDS WITH MULTIPLATFORM LAUNCH

She goes viral for her speech. For Jackson on her hip. For calling out boys’ clubs in tech and pitching a new mentorship program for single moms in gaming. The video racks up millions of views in a week.

She doesn’t mention us.

And we don’t mind—that spotlight belongs to her.

Cam and Tanner keep showing up in their own ways. Tanner drops off a hockey-themed backpack for Jackson with his name embroidered on the strap. Cam brings a puppy-themed calendar, sticks it on the fridge, and promises to take Jackson to his next game.

And me?

I show up every time she texts.

Sometimes before.

We alternate nights. We don’t compete. We orbit. And somehow, it works.

There are still no answers on paternity. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Jackson starts asking questions like, “Can I help Mom build games too someday?” and Brooke just laughs and says, “You can try, baby.”

We’re never all in the same place at once, not in public. But every night, someone’s arms are wrapped around her. Holding her. Grounding her.

Sometimes mine.

Sometimes theirs.

Always loved.

Always protected.

One night, I catch Brooke watching me from across the kitchen. She’s in one of my old T-shirts, belly curved beautifully beneath the fabric. She’s got a wooden spoon in one hand and a glowing, tired smile I know she doesn’t even realize she’s wearing.

“You good?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. I think I really am.”

I cross the space between us and press a kiss to her forehead. Then her mouth. Then lower.

Later that night, I wake up to her curled against me, one hand on her stomach, the other fisted in the sheets.

No cameras. No pressure.

Just the quiet, and the woman we all chose.

And the life she’s letting us build beside her.