Page 62 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

Lucy’s expression softened. Then she glanced at the rest of us. “So? What’s the damage to my place?”

Beckett pulled out his phone and brought up the photos. “Water damage in the walls. Floors are gone in at least two rooms. There’s early mold in a few places.”

Lucy winced with each picture. “Shit. That’s bad.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll need to gut parts of it if we want to keep it from spreading. And we’ve got to act fast.”

“Okay.” She straightened, all business. “I’ll call the insurance guy and see if we can get an adjuster up there by next week. Maybe even sooner if I press.”

“We’ll work around their schedule,” I said. “Whatever helps.”

There was a pause, and then Lucy looked back at Riley.

“You don’t have to go back up, you know,” she said gently. “Not while all that’s going on. Stay here. I have a suite.”

It was a reasonable offer. The logical next step.

But something in my chest tightened at the thought.

Riley opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her eyes flicked to me. Then to Beckett. Then to Asher.

“I… yeah,” she said. “Maybe I should. Until we figure out the next steps with the repairs. But I need to get my stuff. And car.”

Asher offered to take care of that.

Lucy grinned, clearly pleased. “Perfect. I’m dying to catch up. And steal all your skincare, obviously.”

Riley smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

I didn’t say anything. Neither did Beckett. We all knew what it meant, even if no one wanted to say it.

Our time in the cabin, our bubble, was over.

The drive back up the mountain was quiet. Tense. Asher tried to put on music at one point, but I shut it off after two songs.

The silence suited me better. Or maybe I didn’t want to hear anything that might remind me of Riley’s laugh.

When we pulled into the clearing, the cabin looked smaller than it had a few hours ago. Colder, somehow.

Like it had already started adjusting to her absence.

I didn’t wait for the others. I climbed out of the truck, slammed the door a little too hard, and headed straight for the tools.

If I didn’t move, I’dthink.

And if I thought, I’d see her again, standing barefoot in the kitchen or curled under one of the blankets that still smelled of her shampoo.

Work. That was something I understood.

By the time Beckett and Asher came inside, I was already loaded up with my tools, headed out to the garage.

“You’re working?” Beckett asked. “Today?”

“I need to do something,” I muttered, not looking up.

He let out a sigh but didn’t argue.

I knew what they were thinking. Hell, I was thinking it too.

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