Page 39 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Riley

I never thought Christmas Day could feel this way.

Not magical in the Hallmark-movie kind of way, though the snow outside was trying its best, but in the quiet, soul-deep kind of way.

The kind where your chest doesn’t ache when you open your eyes.

The kind where you’re not holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and coffee, and the sound of Lucy humming off-key in the kitchen.

She was wearing fleece pajama pants with dancing reindeer on them and a sweatshirt that said Merryish , her hair piled into the kind of messy bun that defied the laws of gravity.

And I swear, for a second, it felt as if I’d stepped into someone else’s life. A better one. A warmer one.

The cabin wasn’t big, but it was cozy, the wood stove clicking softly as the fire inside crackled to life.

Lucy had gone a little wild with the decorations, stringing fairy lights around the windows and setting up a hilariously tiny tree we’d decorated with mismatched ornaments and one crocheted cactus.

“Morning, sleepyface,” she said as I shuffled into the kitchen, still wrapped in the throw blanket I’d pulled from the couch. “I made French toast. And coffee. And Christmas cookies.”

I grinned, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “You’re aggressively festive this morning.”

“Damn right I am,” she said, handing me a mug with a snowman on it. “It’s Christmas. We’re in a cabin in the woods. There are cookies. Life is good.”

And weirdly, it was.

I curled into the corner of the couch while she plated food, watching the snow fall outside the big front window. The quiet was different here, softer.

Back in LA, Christmas was just another day to perform. Show up. Smile. Post a curated photo and pretend it wasn’t hollow.

Here, I didn’t have to pretend.

Here, I could just be.

Lucy flopped down beside me with a plate in her lap.

“My parents used to throw these big, chaotic Christmas brunches,” she said between bites.

“People everywhere. Food everywhere. I’d always end up in the kitchen with flour in my hair and my aunt fighting someone about mimosas.

But it was loud and weird and full of love. ”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Mine was a little different.”

She looked over, curious but not pushy.

"My mom always cared about appearances, even in our small town. She treated Christmas like a chance to impress. Coordinated outfits, perfectly arranged decorations, and a tree she’d fuss over for days.

Everything had to look perfect for the neighbors or for whoever might stop by.

It was never about the actual day. Just the show. "

Lucy’s expression softened. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It did.”

“And you just wait for Christmas lunch with my brothers. That always gets wild.”

I tried to smile, I really did. But every time Lucy mentioned her brothers, a heaviness weighed on my chest.

It was never the right time to tell her everything, even if I wanted to.

“You take the pen back. You stop letting other people write the story.”

Asher’s words hadn’t left my mind, not since he spoke them.

But I hadn’t acted yet.

It might not be the right moment for everything, but it perhaps was the right moment for this. While I was feeling so great.

“I’m actually going to get dressed for that,” I said quietly as I rose to my feet. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Once alone in my bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed, I did something I hadn’t done in a long-ass time. I connected to Lucy’s slightly shoddy WiFi, and I opened up my Instagram.

With a sigh, I looked at the screen that was once so familiar to me, but now seemed like a stranger.

Could I really do this?

I wasn’t writing for the clicks. Not this time.

Not to fix my image. Not to win a PR war.

I was writing for me .

My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I began.

Hi.

I haven’t known how to say this. Maybe I still don’t. But after months of silence, of hiding and second-guessing, I think it’s time to tell the truth.

Not the version people spun. Not the headlines. Just mine.

I made mistakes. I trusted the wrong people, and I lost myself somewhere along the way. But I’m not here to point fingers.

I’m not here to drag anyone down.

I just want to say: I’m done performing. I’m done being a version of myself that makes people comfortable.

I’m learning how to be human again.

I hope you’re doing the same.

Merry Christmas.

Riley.

No hashtags. No links. No curated photo. Only black text on a white background.

I stared at it for a long time, then clicked post.

The moment it was live, I placed my phone on the nightstand, face down. My hands were shaking, but not from fear. It felt like the end of something I didn’t need to carry anymore.

I sat there for a moment longer, breathing in the quiet.

It wasn’t some cinematic, soul-cleansing release, but it was real. I’d set something down, and my hands didn’t quite know what to do without the weight.

Outside, Lucy was singing off-key again, this time something wildly off tempo and suspiciously not a Christmas carol. I smiled to myself, the edges of my nerves softening.

Okay. Time to get dressed.

I peeled myself off the bed, padding across the creaky floorboards to my suitcase. I didn’t have much to choose from, only the clothes I’d grabbed in a panicked rush when I fled LA, but I’d picked up a few things in Medford. Simple and cozy.

I pulled on a soft sweater the color of warm pine and black leggings.

My hair was still slightly damp from the shower, curling a little more than usual, and for once, I didn’t fight it.

I added a little blush, a soft swipe of mascara, and a warm nude lip.

Not for a photo. Not to impress anyone. Just because it made me feel good.

And then, because I couldn’t help it, I glanced toward my phone.

It sat there on the nightstand like a little grenade.

Don’t check it. Let it breathe. Let you breathe.

But curiosity was a tricky thing. It didn’t come screaming, it whispered.

Look. One peek.

I picked it up.

Notifications. So many notifications.

My heart thudded in my chest. I swallowed, thumb hovering.

Then I opened the app.

The first comment I saw had me blinking hard.

Wow, Riley! Good to hear from you!

Riley, I’m sorry I ever believed the noise. You didn’t deserve that.

We’ve missed you, girl!

It kept going.

People weren’t just reacting, they were responding.

They were seeing me.

Not everyone, of course. There were still a few snide remarks buried in the thread. People who needed a villain. But they didn’t drown out the good.

The good was louder.

I sat back on the edge of the bed, scrolling through the comments, and something inside me shifted.

Maybe the girl I used to be, the girl who loved creating, who wanted to share light and not chase it, wasn’t lost forever.

Maybe she’d just been buried for a while.

There was a knock at the door, shaking me from the words.

“Hey, you decent?” Lucy called, amusement in her voice. “Can I come in?”

I laughed, wiping at the corner of my eye even though no tears had actually fallen. “You can come in. I’m good.”

The door cracked open, and she poked her head in, then immediately let out a low whistle. “Damn, look at you. Giving festive forest nymph.”

I snorted. “That’s not a real aesthetic.”

“It is now. Trademark it.” She walked in and held up a pair of boots. “You ready to face the chaos? Oh, wait, were you on your phone?”

I looked down at the phone still in my hand, the screen lit up with a dozen more notifications. My thumb instinctively hovered again, but I locked it and set it back down on the nightstand.

“Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I posted something.”

Lucy blinked. “ You posted something? On your account?”

I nodded, pulling in a breath that didn’t feel tight for once. “I needed to. Not for them. For me.”

She walked over, curious but patient, and sat beside me on the edge of the bed. “What’d you say?”

I hesitated, then handed her the phone. “You can read it.”

She scrolled slowly, her face softening with each line. When she reached the end, she glanced up at me with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

“Riley, this is so damn good.”

My lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. “It felt like pulling a splinter I didn’t know had been buried under my skin for months. Doesn’t fix everything. But I feel better.”

“You sound better,” she said, nudging her shoulder into mine. “This is your voice. Not PR Riley. Not fit-check-and-filter Riley. You.”

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers slowly. “Do you think maybe there’s a way back? Not to what it was before. But to something better? Something more me ?”

Lucy didn’t hesitate. “I know there is. And I think this?” She held up the phone. “This is you cracking the door open again. Not for them. For you .”

That was the plan, after all. To hide out for a while. To be still and disappear and let the noise fade.

But now, that plan felt unfinished.

I had more to say. More to live. More to be .

I stood and slipped on the boots Lucy had brought in. “Come on. Let’s go tackle the chaos. I’ve got more French toast left in me.”

“Atta girl,” she said, grinning wide.

We were halfway down the hall when Lucy’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen and stopped walking.

Her whole face shifted. “Oh, hell no,” she muttered.

I turned. “What?”

She held up the screen, her expression darkening. “Ava just posted. It’s… wow. It’s pathetic, honestly.”

My stomach twisted, but the fear didn’t come. Just a dull, tired throb. “What’d she say?”

“She’s calling your post manipulative. Says you’re trying to play victim. But like everyone in her comments is dragging her. It’s a mess. She’s clearly spiraling.”

I reached for my phone again. Just one glance.

And there it was. Her desperate attempt at relevance, her flailing grasp to rewrite the story I hadn’t even tried to spin.

But this time, I didn’t feel the need to defend myself.