Page 4 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

Brooke

“What are you doing here?” My voice edges tighter than I mean it to. “How did you even find me?”

Cam doesn’t sit. He stands near the window, hair slightly tousled, polo hugging his shoulders like it was sewn on him. That look in his eyes—intent, unreadable, and a little tired—drags something loose and hot through me.

“I’m here about the deal.”

He says it like it explains everything. It doesn’t.

I set my iced coffee down and face him with arms lightly crossed. “What deal?”

His laugh is low and rough, like gravel dragged across silk. It coils in my stomach, heat blooming behind my knees.

“Don’t play coy with me, Brooke,” he says. “I know the Miami Icemen reached out to GameHatch about a collaborative game.”

“Did Tanner tell you?”

Something shifts. A flicker. Barely there, but I see it—this flash in his green eyes that punches breath out of the room. Realization sets in, and when he speaks again, it lands like a bruise.

“You don’t know,” he says quietly.

I tilt my head. “Know what?”

His jaw tightens. “You really never googled me. Never checked up."

I hate how my stomach knots. Guilt scratches at my ribs like it belongs there. I haven’t. Not once. I’d buried that part of my life so deep, I never thought it would dig itself out.

“I’ve been busy,” I say too quickly, and it sounds exactly like the excuse it is.

He doesn’t respond. Just starts pacing, fingers grazing the edge of my credenza, head angled like he’s sorting through a dozen versions of the same thought.

“I’m the team analyst,” he finally says. “For the Icemen.”

I go still. Shit.

“I didn’t know,” I say, my hand sliding through my ponytail, tugging lightly at the scalp.

“Yeah,” he says, voice sharp with something jagged. “Clearly.”

He looks at me now, really looks, and it slices through the air between us. “I only came by to tell you not to let what happened last night change your mind about the deal. That it was just... one night. That you should take the contract anyway.”

The room shrinks. My mouth goes dry.

“But now I feel like a fucking idiot,” he says. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“King,” I say, but he shakes his head and turns slightly like he’s already halfway gone.

Then he freezes, eyes locking on something behind me.

I don’t turn around. I already know what he’s seen.

The photo. Jackson and me at the beach last summer. His curls wind-tossed and sticky with saltwater, both of us laughing like the world never hurt us.

“You have a kid,” Cam says, voice barely catching.

I nod.

His gaze drops. His hands rub against his thighs, palms flat and searching. “Are you married?”

The way he says it makes my stomach twist. Like he’s already bracing for the worst answer.

My spine stiffens. “Do you really think I’m the kind of woman who would sleep with someone else while married? I was on a date just like you, remember? ”

He flinches at the words, just slightly. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know anything about you anymore.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, turning away, hating the way this conversation makes everything inside me churn sideways.

“I’ll reject the project,” I say before I can stop myself. “I’ll pull out.”

He steps forward. “Brooke.”

I wave him off, anger and panic colliding in my chest. “It’s fine. It’s clearly not a good idea.”

He exhales hard, then takes another step, voice firm now. “This is a huge opportunity for your company. It pays well. It gets you in front of a national audience. Don’t throw that away because of me.”

I look up, eyes locking with his. “You think we can keep those two things separate?”

His throat works. “I have to.”

I watch as he moves closer, then stops just in front of my desk. He holds out his hand. “Welcome to the team. Congratulations, Ms. Taylor.”

I don’t take his hand.

He waits a beat, then lets it drop and walks out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him like a punctuation mark I didn’t want.

Silence wraps around me, loud and aching. My fingers dig into the edge of my desk. I stare at the door as if it’ll open again.

It doesn’t.

The room suddenly feels too bright, too clean, too put-together. My company—the one I fought tooth and nail to build—is about to land a dream collaboration, and all I can think about is the expression on his face when he saw that photo. The way he looked at me like I’d punched him.

I sink into my chair, elbows on the armrests, palms pressed together near my mouth.

When the call came in last week, I’d been thrilled. A project with the Miami Icemen? Are you kidding? It's a massive reach, with a fanbase as loyal as they are unhinged. The marketing potential was practically built in. I’d been sketching concepts before the ink dried on the NDA.

And now? Now I’m wondering if saying yes is a mistake. If working with them—with the man who once left my bed and never came back—is a professional death trap.

Except that’s not the whole story, is it?

He didn’t really ghost me.

I left. We were young and stupid and hurt in different ways. I never reached out. I closed that door and bricked it over.

And then last night happened.

A drink. A second drink. A memory that pulled too tight. My back against a bathroom wall, his mouth on mine, the kind of heat that doesn’t fade with time. It unraveled me. Made me forget the life I built.

Now I have to walk into a launch meeting next week and pretend I don’t remember the taste of his skin or the way his voice broke when he said he didn’t know anything about me.

I close my eyes and lean back, mind racing.

I’m not scared of hard work. Not afraid of public speaking, media circuits, press junkets, or app launches.

But this? This is the one thing I never thought I’d have to face again. And now I have to work with him, for the next six months at least.

My stomach knots again.

Congratulations, Cam had said. Like this was a celebration. All I can think is that this might be the beginning of something that undoes me all over again.

I grab my phone and call Ivy again. It rings twice before going to voicemail, which is no surprise. She’s probably swamped with the massive wrongful termination case she’s working on.

It’s been the only thing she’s focused on for the past few weeks. The clock’s ticking for her to secure a partnership with a big firm, and she’s pulling all-nighters to make sure everything is airtight.

Sighing, I end the call and quickly dial my assistant instead.

“Cancel the rest of my meetings today,” I order.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Got it, Brooke. Everything okay?”

“I’ll be fine, just need some time to think.”

“Understood. Let me know if you need anything.”

I end the call and let the silence settle in the office. I’m alone. Jackson’s at school, and I’ve got plenty of time to figure out what the hell to do.

I walk over to the little coffee station I set up in my office, but instead of coffee, I grab the bottle of Cabernet I opened yesterday.

I need something to calm the nerves—the buzzing in my head.

The last thing I want right now is to be thinking about Cam.

But here I am. Even my thoughts are betraying me.

The wine hits my chest in the best way—warm and full of berries, a flavor I’ve come to associate with moments I wish I could forget. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or just the weight of what’s been building in my mind, but I end up finishing half the glass in one go.

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment, just trying to reset. Ivy hasn’t returned my call. I tell myself it’s fine, that I don’t need to dump all this on her anyway. But I could really use someone to talk to right now, someone who isn’t involved in this mess.

I grab my laptop, almost without thinking. Gaming is my usual escape, even if it’s not a perfect distraction. But maybe it’ll give me something else to focus on, a break from my spiraling thoughts.

I fire up the gaming app, my fingers already twitching with the need to compete. I load up Call of Duty, expecting IceVice to be online, but the little circle next to the name is grey. Damn it, they are offline. With a frustrated sigh, I shut off my laptop.

I grab my keys and head out of the office, making my way to my car. The drive home is short, and when I get inside, the silence greets me like an old friend.

I head straight for the bathroom, deciding I need a bath to help me unwind.

I start running the water, adding some lavender bath salts to the tub.

As the steam rises, I strip down and slip into the bath, leaning back and closing my eyes, letting the heat soak into my muscles, hoping it’ll ease the tension that’s been building all day.

My mind starts to wander again—back to the decision I have to make.

The scent of lavender fills the air, and for a brief moment, I let go of everything—the deal, Cam, the past. The warm water wraps around me like a temporary escape.

Then I hear it.

A faint creak beneath the tub. Subtle, almost dismissible.

I freeze.

Then, there's another groan, deeper this time—wood straining under weight. My pulse quickens. I glance around, suddenly aware of how still everything is… How wrong it feels.

The floor shudders.

I quickly climb out of the tub to investigate, but just a few seconds later, the floor gives way with a deafening crack.

The tub drops.

Water explodes upward as the porcelain crashes through splintering floorboards. I scramble, soaked and slipping, barely catching myself on the edge of what’s left. Below, jagged beams and broken pipes jut out like bones through a wound. Steam rises from the wreckage.

I should have known. It feels like a sign, something telling me that this whole thing, this deal, this decision—it’s all wrong. The universe is trying to warn me, and I can’t ignore it anymore.

I stare at the mess for a moment longer before grabbing a towel and retreating to my bedroom. I collapse on the bed, the weight of everything settling over me. I can’t do this. Not now, not with the past haunting me, and Cam’s face still burned into my mind.

My phone buzzes again. It’s Ivy. I hesitate for just a second before I answer.

“Hey." My voice is steady, even though everything inside me is unraveling. “I need to talk,” I say before she can speak.