Page 73 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

Please let it just be the grief.

"Sky," I start, reaching out to steady her, but she shrugs me off, her hazel eyes flaming with that familiar intensity. My heart lurches at the coldness. This isn't us. Not the Skylar and Theo who once shared whispered secrets under starlit skies.

"Please, don't," she snaps, and it's like a door slamming shut. I drop my hand, feeling the gap between us widen. In desperation, I claw through my memories, searching for a time when the space between us wasn't filled with regret and what-ifs.

We were young, hidden away in my family's lake house. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the promise of first loves. I remember how her laughter sounded like music, how it filled the empty spaces inside me. That night, under a blanket of darkness and the naive belief that love could conquer all, wegave ourselves to each other. It was clumsy and sweet, a moment etched into my soul.

But then dawn came, reality set in, and I let go without a fight. The world expected too much from us, and I caved. I left for a future that seemed golden but was tarnished without her in it.

My parents had their plan for me, for my future, one that didn’t include her. And my father, the force that had always dictated my life, made it clear that I had no choice but to follow his path. They didn’t just tear us apart—they made sure I was pulled far away.

The boarding school was a punishment, a way to separate us, to ensure we wouldn’t disrupt the perfect future they had planned for me. I never had a say in it. The moment I stepped onto that plane, I knew it was a mistake. But I was young. I let them win. And I've regretted it every day since.

I left for a future that was nothing without her in it. Even after all these years, after everything I’ve built, I still carry her with me. I never stopped thinking about her. She’s always been in my heart, even when I tried to ignore it. She’s never been far, and I’ve never forgotten.

Now, watching her slowly slip away from me again? I can't. I can't do that again. I can't lose her. Not now, not when I finally have a second chance. I wasn’t strong enough to fight for her then. I’ll be damned if I let her walk away again now.

"Skylar," I say again, softer this time. "Talk to me."

She stops pacing, her shoulders rigid. "What do you want me to say, Theo? That everything's fine?" Her voice is tight, her words clipped.

I want to tell her that I know things are far from fine, that every fiber of my being screams to close the distance between us, to not make the same mistake twice. But fear clamps down on my tongue, and I swallow the truth.

"Nothing's changed." My voice barely rises above a whisper, laden with an emotion I can't disguise. "I'm still here for you, no matter what."

She looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a second, I catch a glimpse of the girl who used to look at me like I was her whole world. But then she vanishes as quickly as she appeared, replaced by the steel fortress Skylar built around herself.

"Go back to your tech toys, Theo," she says, turning away. "That's where you're best, isn't it? Hiding behind screens."

Her words sting, but I know they're just a deflection—a way to keep some distance between us. I won't let her push me away again. Not this time. I'm not the same boy who didn't fight hard enough, who couldn't see past the present.

"Maybe," I concede, because arguing would only drive her further away. "But I never stopped caring about you. Not for a single day."

She doesn't respond, but the slight hitch in her step tells me she's heard me. It's not much, but it's enough. Enough for me to hold onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, she feels it too—the pull of a bond that's been stretched and frayed but never broken.

It's not just her, though. Cohen and Austin, with their stubborn pride and foolish games, are fanning the flames of this disaster. I watch them, my gaze flickering between Skylar's retreating figure and the two idiots who seem hell-bent on driving her away for good.

"Seriously?" My voice cuts through the silence, sharper than I mean it to be. "This is how you're going to play it?"

Cohen looks up, his eyes meeting mine. There's an edge there, but it's dulled by exhaustion, shadows lying heavy beneath his blue gaze. He knows he's messing up, has to know, yet he's trapped in his own head, playing defense against ghosts of his past.

"Play what, Theo?" he asks, his voice low.

"Like you don't see what's happening," I snap. "Like you don't care that she's one bad day away from leaving us all."

Austin's lips press into a thin line, his expression unreadable. It's like trying to read the surface of a frozen lake, knowing there's life underneath but unable to reach it. But I see the cracks forming; I see how much Skylar shakes the ground he stands on.

"Is this really your best?" I challenge him, unable to keep the accusation from my tone.

"Watch it, Theo," Austin warns, his voice steady but his blue eyes betraying a storm beneath.

"Or what? You'll lose her because you're too damn scared to face your own feelings?" I can feel my control slipping, anger bubbling up. I won't let their stupidity—their fear—be the reason Skylar disappears from our lives.

"Enough," Cohen mutters, running a hand through his hair. "We're not having this discussion now."

"Then when, Cohen? When she's gone?" My words are a punch, thrown with the desperate hope that they'll knock some sense into them.

"Look," Austin starts, taking a step toward me, his jaw clenched. "We all know what's at stake."

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