Page 79 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

“There’s my girl,” she says, her voice warm despite the rasp of exhaustion beneath it. “I was beginning to think you got lost in this godforsaken place.”

I huff a soft laugh and drop into the chair beside her bed. “Not lost. Just loitering.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you taking up real estate anywhere but right here.” She pats the edge of the mattress, an invitation I don’t hesitate to take. I shift, sitting so I can face her, my hands resting in my lap.

“You’re looking better,” I lie, and Birdie snorts.

“Flattery won’t get you out of helping me break out of here.”

My lips twitch. “And where exactly would we go?”

“Anywhere with decent coffee and a damn porch swing.” She sighs, her gaze drifting toward the window. “I miss home.”

I swallow hard, becausehomeisn’t really home anymore. Not since she decided to sell the house. Not since I moved next door. “I know.”

She glances at me then, really looks at me, like she can see straight through the cracks I’m trying to hold together. “How’s it been over there?”

I know what she’s asking. HowI’mdoing. How I’m handling the complicated mess I’ve landed in with the three men next door.

I force a smile. “It’s…an adjustment.”

Birdie hums, unconvinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she reaches for my hand, her skin papery and cool against mine. “You’re a stubborn thing, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

"Guess what?" Birdie leans forward slightly, as if to share a secret between old friends. "There's an offer on the house. A nice family, from what I hear."

"Already?" The words tumble out, sharp with surprise. The house has been another source of tension—a symbol of change I'm still grappling with.

"Mhm," she nods, her silver hair catching the light. "And they say I'll be out of here soon. Back to causing trouble before you know it." A mischievous glint dances in her eyes, but it doesn't quite reach the usual level of rebellion I've come to love.

"Good," I manage, though the idea of her being so far away hurts more than I thought it would. I’ve made a life out of complete detachment.

It’s safer that way.

If you don’t get attached, you don’t get hurt. If you don’t care, it won’t break you when people leave—because they always do. That’s the one thing life has been consistent about. People walk away, situations change, and the second you start to feel steady, the ground shifts beneath you.

And I...I've been broken one too many times.

So I learned not to hold on. Not to let myself want too much. Not to expect anything beyond the moment.

But lately…I’ve been slipping.

Birdie was the first crack in the armor. I told myself it was different—she was temporary, an older woman who needed some company, nothing more. But somewhere between late-night talks on the porch, her blunt wisdom, and the way she looked at me like I washers, she snuck past every wall I had.

Then came the guys next door.

And now?

Now I feelexposed.

Because for the first time in a long time, I have people in my life who matter. People I don’t want to lose. And that terrifies me more than anything.

"Really, Skylar," she says, her tone softening. "It's good news."

"I know," I reply, forcing a smile. "It is."

We sit in silence for a beat, the steady beep of her heart monitor filling the space between us. It’s a precious reprieve, reminding me that sometimes, just being present is enough. And for the first time in days, I allow myself to simply breathe.

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