Page 25 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

Riley >>Yeah, but I do think I’ve landed in some kind of grumpy woodsman convention.

Lucy >>They can be a bit like that. Why do you think I never let them visit me in college? I’ll be back as soon as I can to rescue you.

Riley >>I’m okay at the moment. Asher found whiskey, so I’m surviving. But Beckett definitely thinks I’m a superficial disaster.

Lucy >>Ugh. Ignore him. He’s just like that. I’ll have a word with him as soon as I get back.

Riley >>It’s fine. This whole week has been cursed anyway. Thanks for everything again.

Lucy >>Always. And for the record, you are not a disaster. You’re doing your best. Call me if you need a real-time pep talk.

Riley >>Might take you up on that. Love you.

I stared at her last message for a second too long. Smiled. Then sighed.

I climbed under the quilt, burying myself in it like armor. I just needed one night. One last night of pretending I didn’t care what they thought.

But as I stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched, I realized I cared more than I wanted to admit.

And that was the worst part of all.

CHAPTER SIX

Beckett

The storm hadn’t let up.

Wind howled through the trees like a wild thing, and snow pressed thick against the windows, turning the whole damn world white. I stood at the kitchen sink, mug of black coffee in hand, staring out at nothing.

No one was going anywhere today.

Which meant I was stuck here.

I’d planned to leave early, head to Lucy’s cabin before anyone else woke up. Figured I’d fix the pipe, patch the leak, keep my hands busy.

Do something useful. Something that didn’t involve sitting in awkward silence or pretending I hadn’t completely pissed Riley off last night.

I hadn’t meant to upset her. I’d just said the wrong thing. Like I always did.

I’d thought I was helping, honestly. Trying to make her see it wasn’t the end of the world. That all of it—the internet scandal, the comments, the fall from whatever shiny pedestal she’d been standing on—would pass.

People forget. Attention spans are short. I’d meant it to be a comfort.

But that wasn’t how it landed.

She’d looked at me like I’d punched her in the gut. Then she was up, angry and flushed and storming off to bed, leaving Asher trying to smooth things over with that shit-eating grin of his and a bottle of whiskey that definitely didn’t help.

Now all I could think about was the fire in her eyes. The sharp edge to her voice. The way her scent had lingered in the air long after she was gone.

The stairs creaked behind me.

I didn’t turn.

“Morning,” Asher called out, voice too damn loud for how early it was.

“Barely,” I muttered into my mug.

He wandered into the kitchen like we weren’t snowed in with a ticking time bomb upstairs. Hair a mess. Wrapped in one of those fancy robes Mom gave him. He looked ridiculous.

---