Page 36 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Skye

I stare at the ceiling, watching the faint light of dawn creep across the wooden beams. My eyes burn from lack of sleep, my mind a carousel of what happened yesterday spinning endlessly through the night.

Miranda. The pregnancy. Their heartbreak when she left.

The way Daniel looked at us all in the parking lot, disgust written across his face.

The news that Poppy is finally fixed. Each thought bleeds into the next until they form a single, unavoidable conclusion: I need to leave.

Today. Now. Before it gets any harder than it already is.

My throat tightens as I roll over, burying my face in the pillow. This was always temporary, right? A beautiful, unexpected detour on my way to Wyoming.

"They've been hurt before." Vanna's voice echoes in my head. "I hope to hell you're not going to do to them what Miranda did."

I sit up, pushing tangled hair from my face.

I'm not Miranda. I'm not sneaking away without a word.

But I also can't bear the thought of looking into their eyes and saying goodbye.

Griff would be stoic, hiding his hurt behind those intense eyes.

Buck would try to make me laugh, make light of it.

Ford would say all the right things, understand too well.

And I'd crumble. I'd stay. And then what?

Daniel knows about us now. How long before everyone I know back home does too? I can almost hear Charlotte's voice: "I told you that rebound relationships are a bad idea, and you chose three at once."

No. I can't stay. They always knew I was just passing through. It'll hurt less this way, for all of us.

I push off the covers and stand, my legs shaky beneath me.

The decision, once made, propels me into action.

I grab my bag from under the bed and start gathering my belongings.

There's not much—I never planned to stay this long—but somehow my things have spread themselves around the room like they belong here.

I fold each item carefully, packing them away like memories I’ll never forget.

My eyes sting and the tears start rolling down my cheeks.

Stupid. This was never meant to last. They'll move on.

They'll find someone else who can stay, who fits into their world better than I do.

Someone who isn't dragging around the baggage of a cheating ex-boyfriend, dead parents, and an unknown future.

The letter. I need to write them a letter.

I sit at the small desk in the corner, pulling out a notepad and pen from the drawer. How do you say goodbye to three men who've shown you parts of yourself you never knew existed? How do you explain leaving when every cell in your body is screaming to stay?

I stare at the blank page, the pen heavy in my hand. The words won't come, tangled in a knot of emotions I can't unravel. I close my eyes, trying to find clarity.

Dear Griff, Buck, and Ford," I finally write, my handwriting shakier than normal.

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Poppy's fixed, and I need to continue on my way to Wyoming. I know this is a coward's way out, not saying goodbye in person, but I'm afraid if I tried, I wouldn't be able to leave at all.

These past weeks have been the most unexpected gift. Each of you has given me something I so desperately needed—safety, laughter, understanding. I'll carry that with me always.

But we all knew this wasn't forever. I haven’t figured out yet where I should be, and you all have your lives here. Daniel knows about us now, and it's only a matter of time before everyone does. I'm not strong enough to face that kind of scrutiny, to be the subject of so much gossip and judgment.

Vanna told me about Miranda. About how she left and what that did to all of you. I'm trying to be better than that, to at least leave you these words. Please know that what we shared was real for me. And I’ll never forget any of it.

I hope someday you'll understand why I had to do this.

Thank you so much for everything.

XOXO,

Skye

I read the letter over twice. It's not enough. It could never be enough. But it's all I have to offer.

I fold the paper carefully and write their names on the outside. For a moment, I consider writing three separate letters, but what would I say differently to each of them? How could I put into words the specific ways each one touched my heart? No, this will have to do.

I place the letter on the dresser, propped against the lamp where they'll be sure to see it.

My bag sits by the door, zipped and ready.

I glance around the room one last time, trying to memorize the way the light falls through the curtains, the creak of the floorboards, the smell of pine that permeates everything.

This small room above a bar in a town I'd never heard of has become more of a home than anywhere I've lived since my childhood home. I press my palm against the doorframe, a silent goodbye to the space that held so much unexpected joy.

The stairs creak beneath my feet as I descend, my heart hammering against my ribs. If Buck is already here, prepping for later today... No. I can't think about that. I strain my ears for any sound of movement in the kitchen, but the bar below is silent.

I step into the main room. Empty bottles from last night wait to be cleared away. The pool table stands silent, waiting for the day's first players. Everything is exactly as it should be, except I won't be here to see it come alive.

My throat tightens as I cross to the door, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. I pause with my hand on the knob, half-hoping someone was here to stop me.

I slip outside into the cool morning air, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft click.

The morning air nips at my skin as I make my way to Jed's shop. Flounder Ridge is just beginning to wake up—lights flickering on in houses, a few early risers walking dogs or collecting newspapers.

I quicken my pace, keeping my head down. The last thing I need is to run into a familiar face and have to explain why I'm lugging my heavy bag through town at this hour.

Please let Jed be there already. Please don't let anyone stop me.

Jed's shop comes into view, and I nearly sob with relief when I see the lights on inside.

I push open the door, and the familiar smell of oil, grease, and burnt coffee wraps around me.

Jed is bent over an engine, his weathered hands steady as they adjust some part.

The radio plays softly in the background—classic country, someone singing about the good times making the bad times easier to take.

"Morning," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.

Jed straightens, wiping his hands on a rag that might have been red once but is now mostly the color of engine grease. "Well, look who's up with the roosters," he says, his crooked smile genuine. "Come for your girl, have ya?"

I nod, setting my bag down. "Thought I'd get an early start."

He gestures toward the back of the shop where Poppy sits gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "She's all ready for you."

I follow him to my car, running my hand along her familiar red hood. She looks better than she has in years—the paint seems brighter somehow, the chrome accents shinier. Jed must have shined her up for me.

"How much do I owe you?" I ask, dreading the answer.

Jed scratches his beard. "Well, parts were pricier than I expected—but seeing as it took longer than I promised..." He names a figure that's notably less than his original estimate.

"You don't have to do that," I say, surprised by the discount.

He waves me off. "Consider it my way of saying sorry for keeping you stuck here so long."

"Don't be sorry. If it hadn't taken so long, I never would have..." I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Never would have fallen for three amazing men at once. Never would have discovered parts of myself I didn't know existed. Never would have felt so completely alive.

Jed's eyes soften. "Made some friends here, huh?"

"Something like that." I dig into my purse for the cash I've been saving from my bar tips.

The money feels warm in my hand, earned in that space that's become so much more than just a bar to me.

Each bill represents drinks served, jokes shared, moments of connection with the people of this town. With Griff, Buck, and Ford.

I count out the amount and hand it to Jed, who tucks it into the pocket of his overalls without counting it.

"You sure you want to take off?" he asks, his voice casual but his eyes searching.

The question hits me hard. "I have to," I say, the words sticking in my throat.

Jed nods like he understands. He digs in his pocket and pulls out my keys. "Take good care of her—she’s special."

For a split second, I consider running back to Devil's Pass, tearing up my letter. But the moment passes, and I close my fingers around the cold metal.

"Thank you," I say. "For everything."

Jed shrugs, apparently uncomfortable with the emotion in my voice. "Just doing my job." He pats Poppy's hood. "Happy to put her back on the road."

I unlock the driver's side door, the familiar creak as it opens sending a wave of nostalgia through me. This is my car. One of the only constants in my tumultuous life since my parents died. I slide into the seat, the leather worn in all the right places from years of my grandfather’s and then my body occupying this exact spot.

I set my bag on the passenger seat and insert the key into the ignition. Poppy roars to life, the engine no longer coughing or sputtering but humming with renewed strength. The sound vibrates through the seat, comforting in its familiarity.

"Drive safe," Jed says, leaning into my open window. "And come back to see us sometime."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He steps back, giving me a brief nod before turning to work on the other car. I ease Poppy out of the garage and into the morning sunlight.

As I drive away, I can't help but glance in my rearview mirror.

Flounder Ridge spreads out behind me, the mountains rising beyond it like guardians.

Somewhere in that collection of buildings is Devil's Pass, where a letter waits to be found.

Where the guys will eventually discover I've gone.

I wonder how long it will take for them to figure it out.

Tears blur my vision as I reach the town limits, the "Thank You for Visiting Flounder Ridge" sign appearing too soon.

I drive past it, my chest tight. The road stretches ahead, empty and waiting. Wyoming. Charlotte. My so-called real life. All waiting for me to return to them, to pick up where I left off before my car broke down and my heart broke open.

My tears fall freely now as the distance between me and Flounder Ridge grows. But I don't turn back. I can't.