Page 40 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Skye

I sit on Charlotte’s couch staring blankly out the window at the beautiful aspen trees. I’ve been in Wyoming for a week now and I still can’t stop thinking about the guys. It feels like it’s only getting worse…

Charlotte appears from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee. Her curls are piled messily on top of her head, and she's still in her pajamas even though it's nearly noon.

"You look like someone killed your dog," she says, handing me a mug.

"Thanks. I feel worse," I mumble, pushing myself up to drink the coffee.

She settles cross-legged on the other end of the couch, watching me over the rim of her mug. "I’m worried about you.” She gestures at me with her free hand. "You've been here for a week, and you've barely left the house. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're just... existing, babe."

I wrap my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. "I know."

"Talk to me."

A lump forms in my throat. "I can't stop thinking about them."

Charlotte's eyes soften. "You're in love with them."

"Is that even possible? To be in love with three different men at once?"

"Why not?" She shrugs. "Love isn't a finite resource."

I take a sip of coffee, the bitter liquid matching the taste in my mouth when I think about how I left. "I just can’t get it out of my head. I ran, Char. I just left them a note like some coward. After everything they shared with me..."

"So you made a mistake." Her voice is gentle but firm. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

The answer burns in my chest, so obvious it hurts. "I want to go back."

"Then go."

"But what if they hate me now? What if they won't even talk to me?" The fear that's been gnawing at me surfaces. "What if I drive all the way back there just to find out I've ruined everything?"

Charlotte sets her mug on the coffee table and takes my hands in hers. "That's a risk you'll have to take if you want a chance at fixing things."

"And then there's Daniel," I say. "If I go back, if I choose to be with them, he'll tell everyone. He'll post more shit online and make me sound like some desperate slut."

"Maybe," Charlotte concedes. "But here's what I want to know—whose life are you living? Yours or the imaginary audience in your head?"

The question hits me harder than I expected. "I just... I don't want to be judged."

"Everyone gets judged, Skye. For their careers, their clothes, who they love, who they don't love. You can't control that." She squeezes my hands. "But you can control whether you let the fear of judgment stop you from being happy."

I think about Buck's tattooed arms around me, Ford's deep understanding of all my wants and needs, Griff's dirty whispers in my ear.

The way I felt like I could be myself with them.

"I've been so afraid of what people might think that I walked away from something real. Something that made me happy."

"Exactly." Charlotte nods. "Look, I won't pretend to understand exactly what you have with these three guys.

It's not conventional, and yeah, some people will side-eye it.

But from everything you've told me, these guys respect you.

They care about you. They give you space to be yourself.

" She raises an eyebrow. "Do you know how rare that is? "

"I do." My voice cracks. "That's why it's so terrifying."

"Of course it's terrifying. Real connections always are." She gives me a small smile. "But here's what I think: You're more afraid of happiness than you are of judgment. Because happiness means vulnerability, and vulnerability means you might get hurt again."

"Since when did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You just haven't been listening." She grins and takes another sip of coffee.

I laugh but then my smile fades as I consider the enormity of what I'm contemplating. "What if I go back and they're furious? What if they tell me to fuck off?"

"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 the first 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?—"

He pulls me in tighter. I bury my face against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Then Ford is there too, his arms wrapping around both of us, and finally Griff, completing the circle.

We stand there in the entryway of Devil's Pass, holding each other tight, oblivious to the curious stares of the customers. I don't care who sees us. I don't care what anyone thinks. All that matters is that I'm here, with them, and they're holding me like they never want to let go.

"I'm so sorry," I manage to say when we finally pull apart. "I shouldn't have left like that. The note was... it wasn’t enough. You deserved better."

"You're here now," Griff says, his voice catching. "That's what matters."

"But what I did was shit." I look between them, searching their faces for signs of the anger or resentment I deserve.

"True," Ford says simply. "But we understand why you left. The fear of judgment. Daniel seeing us together?—"

"I don't care about that anymore," I interrupt, needing them to understand. "I don't care what Daniel says or posts or who finds out. I was letting fear control me, and I lost sight of what really matters." I take a shaky breath. "Which is how I feel when I'm with you. All of you."

Buck's smile spreads slowly across his face, creating those crinkles around his eyes that I've missed so much. "And how do you feel when you're with us?"

"Like I'm home," I whisper. "Like I belong."

Griff's hand finds mine, his calloused palm warm against my skin. "You do belong, Skye. Here. With us."

"We missed you," Ford adds, his blue eyes intense.

"I missed you too. So much it hurt." I squeeze Griff's hand, reaching for Buck's with my other. "Can you forgive me?"

"Already done," Griff says.

"Nothing to forgive," Buck insists.

Ford nods in agreement. "We're just glad you came back."

The door swings open behind us, and we step aside to let a customer pass. The movement reminds me that we're standing in the middle of the bar, putting on quite a show for the dinner crowd.

"I should have called first," I say, suddenly self-conscious. "I didn't think?—"

"If you'd called, I would've told you to get your ass back here immediately," Buck says with a grin. "So this worked out perfectly."

A bark cuts through the moment, and I look down to see Loverboy prancing around our feet, his tail wagging so hard his whole back-end shakes. Behind him, Vanna stands with her hands on her hips, trying to look stern but failing miserably.

"Well, well," she says, eyeing me up and down. "Look what the cat dragged in."

My stomach tightens. Of everyone here, Vanna has the most right to be angry with me. After all, she warned me not to hurt them the way Miranda did.

"Vanna, I?—"

She cuts me off by pulling me into a tight hug. "Shut up," she murmurs against my hair. "I'm just glad you came to your senses."

When she pulls back, her eyes are suspiciously bright. "Now, go change into some beer-slinging clothes and help a girl out. We're short-staffed, and the dinner rush is about to hit full swing."

I laugh through my tears, relief washing over me. "Yes, ma'am."

"Your room's available," Griff says. "If you need a place to stay."

A fresh wave of emotion rushes through me. "Thank you," I manage to say.

"Go on," Ford urges gently. "We'll be here when you come back down."

I head back to Poppy to grab my bag before racing back inside and up the stairs to my room.

I change quickly into jean shorts and a t-shirt. As I head back downstairs, I can't stop smiling. The bar is even busier now, the dinner rush in full swing. I grab an apron from behind the bar and tie it around my waist.

"Table four needs drinks," Vanna says, nodding toward a group of hikers who've just sat down. "Two drafts, a whiskey neat, and a gin and tonic."

"On it," I reply, falling back into the rhythm as if I never left.

As the night progresses, I find myself gravitating toward the men whenever possible. A touch on Ford's arm as I pass him at the bar. A smile exchanged with Buck through the kitchen window. A brush of fingers with Griff as he hands me a tray of drinks.

Each small connection reaffirms that this is real, that I'm really here, that they've welcomed me back. The joy bubbles inside me, threatening to overflow.

During a brief lull, Buck emerges from the kitchen and pulls me into a quiet corner. "After closing," he murmurs, his eyes dark with meaning. "All of us."

I think of the cabin in the mountains, of the four of us together. "Yes," I breathe, excitement immediately causing butterflies in my stomach.

His smile is wolfish. "Good."

I watch him walk back to the kitchen, his broad shoulders moving confidently through the crowd.

Across the bar, Ford catches my eye and winks, as if he knows exactly what Buck and I just discussed.

Griff, handling the register, looks up and gives me a small, private smile that makes my insides flutter even more.

I pick up a tray of empty glasses, unable to stop grinning.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, everything feels right.

I'm where I belong, with the people I belong with, doing exactly what I want to be doing.

Whatever comes next—Daniel's social media posts, small-town gossip, uncertain futures—we'll face it together.

And that makes all the difference.