Page 23 of Possessive Mountain Man

One minute, I’m wrapped up in Hayes, warm and safe and sure of everything.

The next, I’m back home—in my apartment, in my bed, going through the motions.

The days blur together. Coffee. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

I should be happy. I have a job lined up for the fall. My future is bright. But every day feels gray and washed out, like I’m living in the shadow of something I can’t quite reach.

Dad doesn’t push. He’s there, hovering in the background, but he doesn’t bring up Hayes. Not directly.

But he watches me. He sees the way I’ve lost the lightness I’d finally found again.

One Saturday morning, a few weeks after I’ve returned back to monotonous life, he knocks on my door and lets himself in before I can answer.

I’m on the couch, still in pajamas. There’s a book open on my lap, but I’m not really reading.

“Morning, kid,” he says, setting a bag of donuts on the coffee table.

“Morning.” I give him a tired smile.

He sits, looking too big for my tiny couch, and studies me for a long moment.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asks.

I blink at him. “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?”

He shrugs. “For… intervening.”

I look away. “I get it. You’re my dad. You were trying to protect me.”

“I was trying to protect both of you,” he says. “Hayes… he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known. But he’s stubborn. Set in his ways. He thinks he doesn’t deserve nice things.”

I swallow hard, my chest aching.

“And you?” I ask.

He smiles, sad and a little wry. “You’ve always deserved the world, kid.”

Silence stretches between us.

“You miss him,” Dad says. It’s not a question.

I nod, my throat tight. “It’s not just him. I miss the space. I feel…”

“Claustrophobic?”

I nod. “It’s like I can’t breathe here sometimes.”

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

“I wasn’t trying to tear you two apart,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you both thought it through. That you weren’t rushing into something you’d regret later.”

I sniffle and swipe at my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Just be happy.”

He stands, brushing crumbs from his jeans.

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