Page 47 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

He doesn’t hesitate. He drops to his knees beside her, gathering her against his chest. His face buries in her neck, his shoulders shaking as he holds her.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, over and over again, the words breaking apart against her skin.

She strokes a hand over his back, her touch soft despite the cold. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. “You took good care of me. I’m safe.”

Holt exhales sharply, but the tension in his frame doesn’t ease. He just grips her tighter, like he can physically hold onto the truth of her words.

“Take her to the bathroom,” I tell him. “Get her cleaned up. Get her warm.”

Minutes tick by. I stand outside my bedroom, waiting. The door opens, and Ivy steps out, looking smaller somehow, swaddled in clothes that belong to Holt and Wyatt. They loom behind her, their presence like two question marks punctuating the air between us. I give them a look, sharp enough to cut. This is nonnegotiable.

"Goodnight, guys," I say firmly.

Their expressions shift—Wyatt's easy smile fades while Holt's shoulders drop in a silent surrender. They turn away without protest, and I'm left facing Ivy, her beautiful eyes meeting mine.

"Let's get you settled in," I say and lead her back to my room.It's just for tonight, I remind myself.Just to keep her safe.

I pull the blankets back and gesture for her to climb in. The bed dips under her weight, and I watch as she settles in, tucking herself beneath the covers. I slide in beside her, the cold from outside still clinging to my skin.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Of course," I respond, my voice low.

The storm still rages outside, but here, in this space, everything is quiet. Everything is still.

I turn onto my side, and she does too. Our noses nearly touch, her breath warm against my skin. Her eyes search mine, wide and uncertain.

The space between us feels charged. My gaze drifts to her lips, parted just slightly, and for a moment, I almost lean in. Almost.

But I don’t.

I force myself to pull back, my jaw tightening. There’s too much in the way—Wyatt, Holt, the way she looks at them, the way they touch her, the way she lets them. And then there’s me, hovering on the edges of something I don’t understand.

I shouldn’t want her. Not like this. Not when I don’t even know whatthisis.

But that pull is still there, a slow and steady drag I keep trying to fight.

She’s with them, both of them. That should be enough to stop me. It should make it easy to shove these feelings down, to ignore the way my stomach flips when she looks at me like I might be something more.

And then there’s the secret she’s keeping.

I know it’s there. I just can’t figure out what it is.

I shift onto my back, putting space between us, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. "Try to sleep," I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended.

She doesn’t say anything, just lets out a slow breath. Eventually, her body relaxes beside me, the rhythm of her breathing evening out. But I stay awake, staring into the dark, wrestling with everything I refuse to let myself feel.

Chapter 22

Wyatt

The storm isn’t letting up. If anything, it’s settling in, digging its heels into the mountains, determined to keep us here. The reports aren’t good—two more systems rolling in behind this one. It looks like at least two more weeks of isolation, maybe more.

Inside, the tension has shifted. It’s not the sharp, worried kind from last night—now, it’s something quieter.

Ivy moves slower today, not that any of us are letting her do much at all. Holt’s taken to watching her like a hawk, and Hank—well, Hank’s been even more taciturn than usual. I don’t blame them. Seeing her like that, cold and shaken, barely conscious in Hank’s arms—it was horrible for all of us.

And yet, somehow, she still finds a way to be stubborn.

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