Page 78 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

People noticed. Of course they did. This was Medford.

And yet somehow, it didn’t feel personal. Not like LA gossip did. Not sharp and slicing and hungry for blood.

More like:Ohhhh, they’ve been making eyes at each other for months and finally caved. Bless their hearts.

It was weirdly comforting.

The attention wasn’t solely on me for once, and that gave me space to breathe. Just enough air to remember that my life didn’t have to be an open wound waiting to be poked.

I took a step back from the dancers, heart still doing double time from the last twirl with Ryan Marsh, who was surprisingly graceful for a guy built like a linebacker.

I tugged my gloves tighter and scanned the crowd, instinct more than anything. That was when I sawthem.

Asher. Garrett. Beckett. Moving toward me in unison like they’d just broken through the edge of a storm.

None of them smiled.

Not even Asher, who normally had that half-grin ready for me.

He reached me first. Jaw tight, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Garrett wasright behind him, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd like he expected a threat. Beckett looked calm. The kind of calm that meant trouble was close.

“Come with us,” Asher said, low enough that no one else could hear.

My eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“Cabin,” Garrett added, voice like gravel.

Beckett didn’t say a word. He reached for my hand, fingers brushing my glove. It wasn’t a question.

Something about the way they stood, the way their bodies subtly formed a triangle around me, protective, territorial, sent a flicker of nerves zipping up my spine.

I didn’t ask why. I didn’t need to.

We all wanted the same thing.

So I went.

I followed them through the festival crowd, my boots crunching over fresh snow, the buzz of laughter and music fading behind us as we walked.

The car ride was silent. Heavy.

Tension stretched across the air like fishing line, thin, taut, and ready to snap if anyone tugged too hard.

Beckett drove. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as if it might try to escape. Garrett sat beside him, arms crossed, jaw set in a line of concrete.

Asher was in the back seat next to me, eyes forward, saying nothing. Not even his usual smirk.

No one spoke. Not until the lights of town disappeared in the rearview mirror and the road narrowed into those familiar snowy curves that led back to the cabin.

Back to where it all began.

“You good?” Asher asked, voice low, rough like he’d chewed on it for miles before letting it out.

I turned to look at him, and whatever he saw on my face made his jaw tick.

“Yeah,” I said softly, breath misting the cold glass of the window. “Just thinking.”

His hand twitched on his thigh. Like he wanted to reach for me. Like maybe he already had in his head.

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