Page 116 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

That was the kind of silence I sat in, wedged between Garrett and Beckett in the back seat of Asher’s truck, staring out the window as downtown Medford came into view.

We were headed to Sweet Maple Bakery to meet Lucy for lunch. And for the truth.

I was about to drop the biggest bomb of my life on the one person I couldn’t afford to lose.

My heart was doing its best impression of a jackhammer in my chest.

“I should’ve brought something,” I muttered under my breath. “Peace offerings. Or bribes. Or tranquilizers.”

Garrett gave me a sideways look. “You okay?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I feel like I’m about to tell my mom I crashed her car while drunk, and also I have a secret second family.”

Beckett snorted. “Well, you’re not drunk. So that’s one thing in your favor.”

“Super reassuring,” I said, tugging at the edge of my coat. My hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. “What if she hates me?”

“She won’t,” Asher said from the driver’s seat, eyes steady on the road. “She might be surprised. She might need time. But Lucy’s not going to hate you for telling her the truth.”

I didn’t answer. Mostly because if I opened my mouth again, I might cry.

We pulled up across from the bakery, its blue shutters and golden maple leaf sign looking entirely too cheerful for the emotional gut punch I was about to deliver.

The sidewalks were dusted with snow, little puffs clinging to the windowsills like powdered sugar.

Oh crap, I was about to blindside the one person who’d saved me, and I hated that. My hand was on the car door handle, breath held, when a voice cut through the air outside.

“Riley Brooks! Wow. I didn’t realize you were brave enough to show your face in public again.”

I flinched.

No.

No, no, no.

That voice. I would’ve known it in a nightmare.

Ava.

In Medford?

She was standing on the sidewalk in front of the truck, phone raised, arm fully extended, lips curled into a poison-sweet smile.

Streaming.

Live.

Of course she was.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, immediately ducking lower in my seat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beckett leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. “That’s the girl from LA?”

“Yes,” I hissed. “Why is she here?”

Ava’s shrill voice echoed off the buildings, bouncing off brick and snow and my last shred of peace.

“For those of you just tuning in,” she crooned to her audience, “I’m standing inactualMedford, Oregon, where disgraced influencer Riley Brooks is hiding out. Can you believe it?”

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