Page 62 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
My stomach tightens. "What kind of stuff?"
"The worst kind. Making her out to be some desperate slut who jumped from him straight to his dad." Griff's jaw clenches. "People she thought were friends are commenting, laughing about it."
"I know he’s your son, Griff but damn… that’s shitty."
"Yeah." Griff runs a hand through his hair. "I only found out because Ford told me. Apparently, she told him yesterday when they were together."
I try not to focus on the "when they were together" part. "So that's why she's walking around like a zombie tonight."
"Can you blame her? Imagine having your ex air your private business for everyone to see, twisting it to make you look bad." Griff's expression darkens. "If he wasn't my son, I'd?—"
"I know," I cut him off. I do know. I feel the same protective rage churning in my gut. "But right now, what Skye needs isn't us planning revenge. She needs support."
Griff nods, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're right. Talk to her if you get a chance. Let her know we've got her back."
For the next hour, I try to find the right moment to approach Skye, but the bar stays relentlessly busy. Finally, around midnight, there's a lull when half the crowd leaves at once, heading to some after-party at someone's cabin.
I find Skye in the back storage room, counting bottles of tequila. She doesn't hear me come in, and for a moment, I just watch her. Her shoulders are hunched, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Hey," I say softly.
She startles, nearly dropping the clipboard. "Buck. You scared me."
"Sorry." I take a step closer. "I wanted to check on you. For real this time."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "I'm fine, Buck. Really…"
"Yeah, and I'm Miss America." I lean against the shelves, crossing my arms. "Griff told me about Daniel's posts."
Her face falls, that carefully maintained mask cracking. "Great. So everyone knows."
"Not everyone," I say quickly. "Just us. And we care about you."
She looks away, but not before I catch the sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's humiliating."
"It's bullshit," I correct her. "And anyone who believes it isn't worth your time."
"Easy for you to say," she mutters. "It's not your life being picked apart online."
"No, but I've had my share of public humiliations." I step closer, until we're just a foot apart. "When Miranda left, everyone in town had an opinion. Everyone thought they knew what happened."
She looks up at me, surprise flashing across her face. "I didn't know that."
I shrug. "Point is, I get it. And it sucks, but it passes. The people who matter know the truth."
A single tear escapes, sliding down her cheek. Before I can think better of it, I reach out and brush it away with my thumb.
"You know what got me through it?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
"Knitting." I say it with a straight face, but my lips twitch slightly at the edges.
Her brow furrows. "Knitting?"
"Seriously. Can't spiral into dark thoughts when you're counting stitches." I smile. "I've got extra needles with me. After closing, we can knit together."
She laughs softly, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."
