Page 49 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER FORTY

Garrett

There were three things I hated: small talk, cameras, and pretending like everything was fine when it damn well wasn’t.

And yet, here I was, shirt tucked, beard trimmed, surrounded by fairy lights and folding chairs, acting like this was the sort of thing I did all the time.

And in the middle of it, there she was.

Riley.

She stood across the rec center, laughing with Lucy and Sadie, one hand unconsciously resting against her belly.

My kid.

Our kid .

No matter how much chaos the world tried to throw at us, that single truth had become my anchor.

I dragged a hand through my hair, scanning the crowd. Beckett was double-checking the sound system, muttering under his breath.

Asher was near the back, arms folded like a sentinel, eyes tracking every movement Riley made as if she might vanish if he blinked.

The turnout had surprised me.

More people than I expected had shown up, not only from Medford, but from the neighboring towns, too. Some curious. Some supportive. A few clearly waiting for a scandal to unfold live.

Too bad. They were getting a fundraiser.

The idea had started with Sadie, of course. Everything good around here usually did.

She’d wanted to raise money for the community outreach center she was trying to expand for children who needed somewhere to go, and Riley had offered to help organize it.

Beckett had come up with the theme. Asher had somehow gotten the vendors to donate food and drinks. And I’d built the goddamn stage.

“Garrett,” came a voice beside me. Lucy. She handed me a glass of apple cider and gave me a long look. “Relax your face. You look like you’re off to war.”

“Feels like I am,” I muttered.

She smirked. “Well, tonight’s not the battlefield. It’s fun . Try to enjoy it.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one being dissected in online forums and whispered about in grocery store aisles.

Still, I took the cider. And to my surprise, I did enjoy it.

Because it worked.

Sadie always threw a good party, but this New Year’s Eve bash had to be one of her best. Especially because Riley was recording it, posting it online. Doing what she did best, but for charity, for other people, not her brand.

And she was shining.

Phone in one hand, laughing as she narrated a video of the raffle table, panning over trays of donated pies and the handmade “Wish Wall” Sadie had set up by the exit.

People loved it.

You could see it in their faces, how drawn they were to her. How even the skeptics leaned in when she spoke.

She had a way of making every moment matter. Making you matter.

I stayed back and watched, letting her do her thing. This was her world, not mine. But damn, it was something to see.

“She’s good at this,” Beckett said, stepping beside me, brushing sugar off his hands from whatever cookie he’d just swiped.

“No kidding.” I folded my arms, tracking her with my eyes. “She makes it look easy.”

“She always did,” came Asher’s voice from the other side. “Back in LA, she used to get stopped in grocery stores. People knew her. Trusted her. Like she was their friend. Lucy told me all about it.”

I glanced over. He wasn’t watching the crowd—he was watching her .

“She is their friend,” Beckett said, softer now. “She doesn’t realize how much they still want her.”

A quiet fell between us. The kind that only came when none of us wanted to say the next thing out loud.

“She talked to you about the offer?” Beckett finally asked, voice pitched low.

I didn’t answer right away. I sipped the cider and stared at the stage. Riley was up there now, taking a selfie with two kids from town who were bouncing in excitement.

“She said she doesn’t think she wants the reality TV package,” I replied.

“But?” Asher pressed.

“But the offer’s still on the table,” I admitted. “And it’s not nothing. Exposure. Sponsors. Probably enough money to put our kid through college twice.”

“Yeah,” Beckett muttered. “And enough attention to ruin what little peace we’ve got left.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m just saying,” Asher added, voice tight, “she’s not immune to that world. None of us are. Especially not when it comes wrapped in praise and paychecks.”

“She’s different now,” I said, though the words tasted uncertain.

Beckett shot me a look. “She’s healing, yeah. But healing and changing aren’t always the same thing.”

It sat heavy between us, this fear we didn’t know how to name.

That she might go back.

That LA might call her back into the chaos, the curation, the version of Riley that couldn’t exist in a town like this.

That we might lose her.

Asher scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “We should talk to her. Let her know we’re here, whatever she decides. That we’re not trying to hold her back?—”

“But we are,” Beckett cut in, tone blunt. “Not in a selfish way, maybe, but we are. We want her to stay. We want this .”

He waved a hand at the laughter, the music, the paper stars strung from the rafters.

And we did. God, we did.

We’d built something real with her. Something rare.

But what if it wasn’t enough?

Before any of us could spiral further, Lucy appeared holding her phone like a torch and grinning as if she’d won the lottery.

“You three,” she said, interrupting the heavy cloud of brooding with a single sharp look. “Stop being dramatic in a corner. Come see this.”

“What is it?” Asher asked warily.

“Come on,” she said, already turning.

We followed her over to one of the tables set up near the raffle booth. She spun her phone around so we could see the screen.

It was Riley’s post. Or rather, the comments on it.

Hundreds of them. Thousands.

Scrolling, scrolling, still going.

“She posted the fundraiser video,” Lucy said. “Talked about Medford, the town, the people, the cause. And look at this.”

The top comments weren’t trolls or paparazzi gossip hounds.

They were fans. Real ones. Old ones. New ones.

This is the kind of content we’ve missed. Love you, Riley.

Medford looks like a dream. If you ever need volunteers, count me in.

You look so happy, Riley. You deserve this life.

And my favorite:

I’d watch Riley Brooks live her life in a cabin and make cookies with locals every day of the week.

I blinked.

“That’s…” Beckett began, voice caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief.

“Support,” Lucy said simply. “You should see the amount she’s helped to raise for Sadie’s charity. It’s incredible .”

As the final moments of the year ticked down, we all found our way to the center of the room.

The countdown had started, and the rec center glowed with the warm hum of twinkle lights and soft chatter, the kind of cozy magic that made you believe in fresh starts.

Riley was there, standing on the stage with a mic in one hand and her other hand instinctively resting on her belly again.

Her eyes searched the crowd and landed on us, me, Beckett, and Asher, huddled together like always. Her expression softened.

Five.

Four.

She stepped forward, raising her voice enough to rise above the cheers.

“Before the clock strikes midnight,” she said, breathless and glowing, “I want to say something.”

Three.

Two.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

One .

“I’m home.”

Happy New Year!

The room exploded in cheers and laughter, confetti cannons puffing paper hearts and stars into the air. Someone whooped. Lucy cried. Sadie clutched her chest like someone had handed her a newborn puppy. And me?

I could barely move.

Because Riley had dropped the mic, literally, and jumped down from the stage to get to us.

“Are you serious?” I asked, not quite trusting my voice.

She was already nodding, eyes glassy with happy tears. “I’m staying in Medford. With you. With all of you. I want this life. I choose it.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She surged forward and kissed me. My hand caught her waist like muscle memory.

Then Beckett was pulling her in, kissing her forehead, her lips.

Asher stepped in last, muttering something about how she’d better not be messing with us before cupping her jaw and kissing her so slowly, so confidently, I felt it in my ribs.

She laughed when he let her go. “Definitely not messing.”

People were dancing around us. Fireworks sparked in the parking lot outside. But time had folded in on itself, and all I could see was her.

Riley. Us.

Not perfect. Not normal.

But ours.

And maybe that was all we ever needed.