Page 154 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

“You think this is about what Iwanted?” Garrett barked. “This is about Lucy. Ourfamily. You think this doesn’t wreck me, too? You think I don’t feel like shit?”

“You should,” Asher snapped. “Asshole.”

Garrett took a step closer. “You don’t get to play saint, Ash. You were the first one in her bed.”

Asher’s mouth curled. “Yeah. And you waited until she was bleeding out inside to finally grow a spine. Real noble.”

“Fuck you.”

Garrett shoved him. Not hard. Just enough.

Asher lunged, fists up. Hit Garrett clean in the jaw.

The crack echoed.

Garrett stumbled, then charged. They crashed into the couch, hitting the floor like a wrecking ball, fists flying, curses echoing off the walls.

“Goddamn it,stop!”

I grabbed Garrett’s shoulder, but his elbow flew back and caught me in the ribs. Not on purpose, but it still knocked the breath out of me.

“Fuckingenough!”

I shoved between them, got in Garrett’s way as Asher scrambled up, blood at the corner of his mouth.

Garrett’s cheek was already swelling. His breathing sounded like a furnace.

But they stood there, glaring at each other like the only thing they wanted more than air was another swing.

“You wanna keep swinging?” I barked. “Take it outside. You think Riley needs to hear this? Think she doesn’t already feel like a grenade went off in her chest?”

Asher looked at me then. Really looked. And something behind his eyes cracked.

He ran a hand through his hair. Turned. Grabbed his coat from the hook.

“Asher,” I warned.

“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered. “Not with him. Not with either of you.”

He yanked the door open, and the cold came roaring in.

Then he was gone. Just like that.

The silence that followed was worse than anything before it.

Garrett stood frozen, fists still clenched, chest still heaving. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t need to.

We both knew. The damage was already done.

What the fuck just happened?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Riley

I thought lockingthe door would help.

I thought curling up beneath Beckett’s blanket, pressing my face into the flannel pillow that still smelled of pine and smoke and him, would block it all out.

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