Page 92 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"Then at least you'll know." Charlotte shrugs. "And you'll move on, eventually. But if you don't go back, you'll always wonder."
She's right. The not knowing would haunt me.
"I’ve got to try," I say, my voice stronger now. "Even if they hate me, even if Daniel tells the whole world. I need to at least try."
Charlotte's smile spreads slowly across her face. "There she is—the Skye I know. You’ve got this, girl."
I stand up, suddenly energized. "I’m going to go. I can't wait another day, another hour. I need to see them."
Charlotte watches me, her expression a mixture of amusement and pride. "You know I thought this was just a rebound thing. A way to get over Daniel." She pauses. "I was totally wrong."
"Thank you for not judging me. For being my friend through all of this craziness."
"Hey, that's what friends are for." She stands and pulls me into a tight hug. "To support each other through the good, the bad, and the unconventional relationships with hot mountain men."
I laugh against her shoulder, feeling lighter than I have in days. "I love you."
"I love you too." She pulls back, holding me at arm's length, grinning like crazy. "Now get the fuck out of here."
An hour later, I stand beside Poppy in Charlotte's driveway, my bag stowed in the trunk. The afternoon sun warms my face as I hug Charlotte goodbye.
"Text me when you get there," she says. "And tell me everything, okay? I want all the gory details."
"I will." I climb into the driver's seat, my heart racing with anticipation and fear. "Wish me luck."
"You don't need luck." She leans through the open window to kiss my cheek. "You just need to be brave."
As I pull away from the curb, I check the rearview mirror. Charlotte stands in the driveway, waving. Beyond her, Wyoming stretches in all directions—beautiful, wild, and ultimately not where I belong.
I point Poppy toward Colorado, toward Flounder Ridge, toward three men who've carved out a place in my heart I never knew existed. I have no idea what awaits me there, but for thefirst time in a while, I'm not running away from something—I'm running toward it.
I arrive just before dinnertime. My hands tremble on the steering wheel as I park Poppy in the lot. I shut off the engine and sit there, listening to Poppy's metal ticking as it cools. The drive back from Wyoming passed in a blur of determination and anxiety, but now that I'm here, fear creeps in again. What if they don’t want to see me? What if my leaving hurt them so badly they can't forgive me?
"Stop being a coward," I mutter to myself, gripping the steering wheel. "You didn't drive all this way just to sit in the damn parking lot."
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are tired from the drive and my hair is a mess. Not exactly how I pictured looking when I see them again, but it's too late for that now.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car and walk toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows, I can see the place is starting to fill with the early dinner crowd. My heart pounds as I push open the door.
The familiar smell hits me first—beer and whiskey, Buck's cooking from the kitchen, the faint pine scent of the cleaning solution. Home. It smells like home.
I scan the room, my breath catching when I spot Ford behind the bar, pouring a draft beer. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration and he hasn't seen me yet.
Then Buck emerges from the kitchen, a plate in each hand, his sleeve of tattoos visible below his rolled-up shirtsleeve. He sets the plates down at a nearby table, saying something that makes the customers laugh. The sound of his voice, even from across the room, makes my chest ache.
Griff appears from the back office, clipboard in hand, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed. He says something to Ford, who nods in response.
I stand frozen just inside the doorway, unable to move. A few patrons glance my way, but the guys haven't noticed me yet. I should say something, do something, but my voice is nowhere to be found.
Then Griff looks up, his eyes meeting mine across the room. He goes completely still and the shock on his face gives way to something else—something that makes my heart stutter.
He says something to Ford, who turns to look. Then Buck follows their gaze. Three pairs of eyes lock onto me, and the world narrows to just us four.
Buck moves first, practically running in his haste to reach me. Ford and Griff aren't far behind. I take a hesitant step forward, tears already blurring my vision.
"Skye," Buck breathes, reaching me first. His big arms wrap around me like I'm something precious. "You came back."
The tears spill over. "I'm so sorry?—"
