Page 48 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low and intense.

I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to scream that nothing is okay. Instead, I hear myself say, "Birdie's selling the house."

Austin's brow furrows. "What?"

"She's sick. And she's moving to Florida," I continue, my voice hollow. "To be with her sister."

Theo steps closer. "What does that mean for you, Sky?"

I shrug, feeling numb and adrift. "I don't know. I guess...I guess I'm out of a home."

The realization hits me like a physical blow. My legs wobble, and suddenly Austin's arm is around my waist, steadying me.

"Easy," he murmurs.

I should pull away. I should stand on my own two feet. But right now, I can't summon the strength to do either.

"Let's get you inside," Cohen says, his voice gentle.

Austin's grip on my waist tightens slightly as we reach the front door. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness settling in my chest.

"You're moving in with us," Austin states, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Just for the summer. I already offered you a live-in position, remember? You turned it down then, but this time you won't."

I blink, trying to process his words through the fog of shock and grief. "What?"

He continues, his voice softening slightly, "This way, Birdie can sell without worrying about a tenant, and you'll have somewhere to stay while you figure out your next move."

I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of pity or ulterior motive. But all I see is that same stoic mask, those intense eyes betraying nothing.

"I...I can't," I stammer, my pride warring with my desperation. "It's too much, I—"

"Sky," Theo interjects gently, "Let us help you. Please."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on me. Part of me wants to run, to prove I can handle this on my own. But the larger part, the part that's terrified and exhausted, knows I need this lifeline.

"Okay," I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds. "Thank you."

As the words leave my lips, I feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Relief mingles with anxiety, gratitude with resentment. I'm leaning on them—on him—and it goes against everything I've taught myself about independence.

Austin's hand moves from my waist to my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You'll get through this. We'll help you," he says, and for a moment, I almost believe him.

Chapter 15

Skylar

The last of the cardboard boxes seals with a satisfying press, the tape gun whisking across its seams. I survey the now-bare carriage house, stripped of my existence within its walls. It's a strange feeling, like uprooting a tree that's spent years entwining its roots into the soil. But it's time for new ground.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe if I repeat it enough times, it will feel true.

"Need a hand with that?" Cohen's voice ripples through the space, his easygoing presence a comfort I hadn’t expected.

"Thanks, but I've got it," I reply, hoisting the box under my arm. I follow him outside where Theo is methodically organizing the SUV's trunk, his green eyes focused, yet always holding that spark of mischief.

"Looks like we're playing Tetris with your life here," Theo comments, sliding a box into an impossibly small gap. "You sure you need all this stuff?"

"Each one carries a piece of me," I shoot back, not in the mood for his teasing. It's too close to the bone today, when everything feels fragile and momentous.

Once the car is packed to the brim, the boys climb in, and I'm left to make the short journey on foot. Theo had offered to let me ride shotgun while he made the trek between yards, but I craved a moment of solitude.

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