Page 27 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Garrett

The smell of coffee and woodsmoke hit first, then the light. Pale and gray, sliding through the windows, a reminder that the night was over, whether I wanted it to be or not.

I opened my eyes and felt it immediately. That heavy weight in my chest.

Riley .

She was curled up on the couch across from me, buried in one of Beckett’s old blankets. Her head rested on his shoulder, her face turned just enough for me to see how peaceful she looked.

Asher’s arm was draped across her waist, his hand loose over hers like it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. And maybe it wasn’t.

That was the problem.

We didn’t know where the lines were anymore. Who fit where.

At one point, I’d thought we did, but then Lucy came back into town and everything shifted.

My jaw tightened as I sat up too fast, the couch groaning beneath me like it had something to say about the whole damn thing.

I hadn’t meant to crash out here. Definitely hadn’t meant to stay long enough to watch her sleep.

But I had.

And now I couldn’t stop thinking about the way last night had felt, being back with her again. Couldn’t stop thinking about the way my stomach twisted when I realized I wasn’t the only one she made room for.

This wasn’t like before.

Back then, it was easy to pretend it was temporary. Lucy was out of town. We had space to ignore it.

Now? We were full up on tension and out of excuses.

And last night…

The Winter Lantern Parade had stirred up more than just gossip and cocoa.

We couldn’t hide this anymore. Not from Lucy. Not from ourselves.

I felt it. I was sure we all did. I didn’t want this to be temporary anymore, not when it felt so real.

I dragged a hand across my face, stubble rough against my palm, and stood. Needed movement. Noise. Coffee. Something solid.

The cabin felt too quiet. Too aware. Even the floorboards knew something was coming.

I moved to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and lit the stove. Everything slow. Steady. The way I knew how to be.

But my pulse was thudding hard in my throat, and it sure as hell didn’t feel steady.

Behind me, fabric shifted. Wood creaked. Beckett moving. Always careful. He'd slipped out from under her like a shadow and was crossing the room without saying a word, stopping near the kitchen.

I didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. I could feel him watching me.

Same way I’d been watching her .

“Morning, Garrett… whoa. You got a face like thunder.”

I didn’t answer. Just shot Beckett a look.

He winced as if I’d punched him. “Oh, Damn. This is about last night, isn’t it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmhmm.” He tilted his head like he didn’t buy it for a second. “So that’s a no on talking about it, then?”

I kept my eyes on the steam rising from the kettle. “Nothing to talk about.”

Behind me, Beckett scoffed. Loud enough to be deliberate. “Bullshit.”

I didn’t rise to it. Opened the cabinet. Grabbed three mugs.

“Last night wasn’t nothing, and you know it,” he said. “Hell, we all knew it the second we saw she hadn’t left town. She isn’t a tourist anymore.”

“Let it go,” I muttered. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Garrett—”

“I said drop it.”

Silence stretched long and tight. I could feel him behind me, arms crossed, ready to dig in.

“You think ignoring it makes it disappear?” he finally said. “That your feelings will up and vanish because it’s messy and you don’t like messy?”

I turned then. Slowly. Controlled. “It’s not about convenience, Beckett.”

He didn’t back down. He raised an eyebrow like he was waiting for the part where I stopped lying to myself.

“Then what is it about? ’Cause from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you finally got something you wanted. And now you’re scared of it.”

“That’s not true.”

He gave me a look that said, Sure, tell yourself that.

The kettle started to hiss behind me.

“This isn’t just about me,” I snapped, gesturing vaguely toward the couch. Riley was still asleep, curled up, completely unaware. “It’s Lucy’s best friend. It’s us . All of us. This? It’s too much. We already screwed it up once, and if we do it again?—”

“It’s not a mess because of her ,” Beckett said, cutting me off. “It’s turning into one because you’re acting like you’re seconds from running out the door. As if you didn’t feel the same damn thing the rest of us did last night.”

My chest got tight. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he said, quieter now. “What’s not fair is her waking up thinking you regret touching her.”

I looked away.

Because yeah. That was exactly what she’d think.

And maybe she wasn’t wrong to.

Beckett’s voice dropped even lower. “Look, I get it. This isn’t your thing. Feelings. Wanting something real. But you don’t get to punish her for meaning something to you.”

I let out a sharp breath through my nose. “You done lecturing me?”

He didn’t even blink. “Not even close.”

A groan from the living room cut him off. Asher was up, rubbing the back of his neck, hair sticking up in every direction.

“Damn, you two are louder than a damn sawmill. Can’t a guy sleep in around here?”

“No one told you to play Sleeping Beauty all morning,” Beckett muttered.

Asher smirked and looked between us. “What’s this? Wolfe family drama before coffee? Love that for us. Should we get the gloves out?”

I wasn’t in the mood.

“Shut up, Ash,” I snapped, voice sharper than I meant it to be.

He held up both hands, all mock-innocence. “Easy, man. I’m trying to lighten the mood. You two look like you’re about to throw punches.”

“This isn’t a joke.” The words came fast, clipped. “You think this is a game? Like none of it matters? Like we get to walk away from this and shrug?”

His smirk disappeared. Something colder slipped into his expression.

“No, Garrett,” he said, dead serious, “I don’t think it’s a game. I think you’re scared shitless of actually feeling something real, and instead of owning that, you’re doing what you always do—setting fire to it before anyone else gets the chance to.”

That landed.

Hard.

Before I could throw something back at him, some half-decent defense, or just another hit, a voice cut through it all.

Soft. Rough.

Too clear to ignore.

“Garrett.”

I turned, gut already twisting.

Riley .

She was sitting up, blanket wrapped tight around her, hair a mess, eyes wide, but she wasn’t confused.

She knew. She’d heard.

“I heard you,” she said, voice low but steady. “Everything.”

Blood drained out of me like someone pulled the plug.

“Riley—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I need to know. Was it all a mistake to you?”

The words I wanted to say, “No. Never. You’re the only thing that’s felt real in years,” got stuck behind my teeth.

Because the truth wasn’t clean. And saying it out loud meant I couldn’t take it back.

So I stood there. Frozen. And the silence? It said more than anything I could’ve come up with.

Her question hung in the air like barbed wire, stretched tight and cutting through everything between us.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Because “no” meant tearing the walls down.

And “yes?”

That would’ve been the biggest lie I’d ever told.

So I said nothing, again.

Behind me, Beckett shifted. The sound he made was all the things he didn’t bother to say. Disgust, disappointment, maybe a little bit of pity.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Control over desire. Always.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be, because it cut anyway.

I turned, jaw tight. “You done playing shrink, Beckett?”

He didn’t flinch. He looked at me with that same painful calm. Like he saw through every layer I didn’t want to show.

“You act like you’re protecting everyone,” he said. “But this isn’t about anyone else. You’re afraid. You’d rather shove her away than risk losing control for five goddamn seconds.”

The words hit bone deep.

Too close to the truth. Too raw.

And that scared me worse than anything Riley could’ve said.

My throat tightened, hands curled into fists at my sides as if I was bracing for a hit.

But Riley’s brow pinched before anything else could happen.

“I don’t feel…” She wobbled. Hand went to her stomach. “I…”

Then she bolted, straight to the bathroom. We heard it before the door even shut. Retching, hard and hollow, then coughing.

Everything else fell away.

Asher's usual grin was wiped clean. “Shit.”

I was already moving. “Riley?”

No answer. Just more of it. Violent, brutal sounds that punched straight into my gut.

Beckett brushed past me, rattled the knob. “Riley, open up.”

“I’m okay.” she gasped out.

Bullshit.

None of us bought that. I didn’t wait. Reached up, yanked the spare key off the hook, and got the door open.

She was on the floor, hunched over the toilet, shaking like a leaf. Sweat slicked her face, color completely gone.

The fight, the words, everything from two minutes ago. Gone. Didn’t matter.

I dropped to my knees beside her. “Hey. Hey, look at me. Breathe. You’re okay.”

She tried, but her whole body convulsed again, another harsh wave wracking her frame.

Asher came up behind me, already dialing. “I’m calling Doc Harper. Now.”

Beckett ran a towel under cold water, crouched, and laid it gently against her neck.

“I’m fine,” Riley rasped.

“No,” I said. Too fast. Too sharp. “You’re not. Stop pretending you are.”

Because this wasn’t a hangover, it wasn’t adrenaline crashing from the night before. This was different. This was wrong .

And just like that, the air in the room changed.

No more tension. No more words I didn’t say.

Only fear.

Loud and cold.

And getting her help, now, was the only thing that mattered.