Page 69 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

Nope. Absolutely not.

Before he can finish whatever dumbass accusation he’s about to spit out, I slam the door in his face. Hard. The kind of slam that rattles the walls and leaves no room for argument.

My hands shake as I turn away, but I force myself to move. If they think I’m sticking around for this, they’re out of their damn minds. I grab my suitcases from the closet and start throwing my things inside.

Screw this. Screw them. Screw my life.

It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I always do.

My hands are shaking, and I’m not even sure what I’m packing. I just know I have to leave. I can’t stay here, not with them thinking I’m some kind of manipulative bitch. I couldn’t take them hating me.

This feels like every other time I’ve been used, like another trap I didn’t set. I thought things were different with them, but clearly, I was wrong. I was obviously just fooling myself, thinking I could have something real.

I don’t get real.

There’s a knock on the door, softer this time. “Ivy, please,” Holt says. “Talk to us.”

“Go away,” I choke out, my voice breaking.

Wyatt chimes in, sounding desperate. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this.”

I close my eyes for a brief second, biting down on my lip until it hurts.

“CG,pleasebaby. Please open the door.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. They don’t sound mad—not like Hank—but I don’t trust myself to face them. Not when I’m barely holding it together.

So, I do what any reasonable person in my position would do.

I crank up my music and keep packing.

My car is still in the shop, a useless piece of junk that’s no help at all. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out. Hell, I’ll just hire a damn car to take me to the airport. I can fly somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t have three mountain men banging on my door and expecting me to have all the answers. Nice, maybe. Or the Caymans. Or hell, Timbuktu. Anywhere but here.

I pause, looking around the room. It’s simple, cozy, nothing like the glamorous prison I left behind. My chest tightens at the thought of leaving it, leaving them. But what choice do I have?

I’ve never been this scared. The fear is deeper, sharper, cutting through me with every breath. I’m terrified of staying, of letting them in, of being vulnerable and getting hurt. But the thought of leaving is worse.

I don’t know what to do, where to go, how to fix this. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant, and I’m alone, and I’m scared out of my mind.

I try to picture a future without them. A future where I’m back in the city, back to my old life, back to pretending I don’t care. But the image is blurry, and I can’t see it clearly. All I see is the cabin, the mountains, the life I thought I was building here.

Chapter 33

Holt

I’m going to be a father. To twins. I’m going to be a father to twins with the girl I’ve fallen for and am in serious danger of losing.

I don’t care if they’re biologically mine or Wyatt’s or Old Man Jerry from next door. I mean, the dude’s pushing seventy, so unless the twins come out with a full beard and an affinity for gardening, I’m pretty sure they’re not his. But that’s not the point. Ivy’s mine. So, her babies are mine too.

“Fuck!” I yell, slamming the side of my fist against the wall. Hank is lucky. If I weren’t worried Ivy would find a way to sneak out the second my back is turned, I’d be rearranging his face after the shit he pulled.

Wyatt is next to me, looking just as panicked. He stayed here while Hank went off to sulk in his workshop. I can’t think straight. I don’t want to. All I know is I can’t lose her. I won’t.

“We’re not giving up,” Wyatt says, reading my mind. He’s calm, and I want to punch him, too, just to get him as worked up as I am.

“IVY!” I pound on the door, harder this time. “OPEN UP!”

Nothing.

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