Page 87 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
I think about Devil's Pass and its tiny corner stage where local bands sometimes played on weekends. How Ford told me they'd been talking about expanding that, maybe hosting more live music nights. Griff mentioned once that he used to play bass in a band years ago, and he promised to play for me sometime.
Now I'll never hear him play.
"Skye? You with me?" Ty's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Sorry," I mumble. "Just... tired from the drive yesterday."
Charlotte shoots me a concerned glance from across the table, where she's deep in conversation with Shawn. I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I probably just look constipated.
I excuse myself to use the restroom, needing a moment alone. In the small, dimly lit bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look terrible—dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, a tightness to my expression that I can’t seem to shake.
What am I doing here, pretending to be interested in some random guy when my heart is still in Colorado? When did I become the kind of person who runs away instead of facing things head-on?
When I return to the table, Charlotte and Shawn are laughing about something, their heads bent close together. Ty smiles when he sees me, but all I can think is how he's not Buck or Griff or Ford.
"Charlotte," I say, interrupting whatever Shawn is telling her. "I'm sorry, but I need to go. I'm not feeling well."
Her eyes search mine. "Of course," she says immediately. "Let me just settle the tab?—"
"Already taken care of," Shawn says, looking disappointed.
We say our goodbyes, Ty slipping me his phone number on a napkin that I shove into my pocket with no intention of ever using it. The cool night air hits my face as we step outside, and I take a deep, shuddering breath.
"I'm so sorry," I say as we walk to Charlotte's car. "I know you were having a good time."
"Don't apologize," she says firmly. "Shawn gave me his number. I can call him another time if I want to."
Back at her house, I change into pajamas and crawl into bed, finally letting the tears come that I've been holding back all night.
"What have I done, Char?" I whisper as she sits on the edge of my bed. "I’m sure they hate me now."
"They don't hate you," she says softly, squeezing my hand. "From everything you've told me about them, they sound like good guys who totally understand that you did what you had to."
"But will they ever forgive me?" My voice breaks on the question.
"I’m sure they will," she says. "Maybe just give it a little time."
I lie awake long after she leaves, staring at the ceiling. The thought of reaching out to them terrifies me, but beneath the fear is something else—a quiet certainty that I've made a mistake I need to fix.
Chapter 26
Ford
Denver's skyline shimmers in the distance through a faint haze of pollution and mountain air. Griff's hands grip the steering wheel, while Buck shifts restlessly in the backseat.
We haven’t talked much since we left Flounder Ridge. Each of us seems to be lost in our own thoughts about Skye, about Daniel, and about what we're about to do.
It wasn't my idea to confront Daniel face-to-face—that was Griff's suggestion—but I agreed immediately. Some things just need to be said in person.
"You think he'll even be there?" Buck finally breaks the silence, leaning forward between the front seats. "What if he's out to lunch or something?"
"Then we wait," Griff says, his voice flat. "I'm not driving all the way to Denver just to turn around without doing what we came to do."
It’s been five days since Skye left. Five days of wondering if I’ll ever see her again. Five days of wondering if she’s doing okay. I thought a million times about texting her but decided against it each time. She obviously needs space.
"We need to be smart about this," I say, turning away from the window. "If we go in guns blazing, he'll just get defensive. We need to appeal to whatever decency he has left."
Griff snorts. "Bold of you to assume he has any."
