his own father probably resents him for swooping in
“Mountain Daddy” more like “Trust Fund Daddy”
can't believe I thought he was hot, this is giving manipulator
the Barrett brothers invested their money and he's out here doing shirtless content?? embarrassing.
My throat burns.
Because here's the thing about Everett Morgan that these strangers will never understand… he didn't leave because he didn't love this place.
He left because he lovedtoo much. Lovedmetoo much. And staying would have meant watching me move on, watching me pretend he was just my brothers'friend, watching his heart bleed out in slow motion while I smiled through family dinners like nothing was wrong.
I did that to him.
I made him choose between his home and his sanity.
And now some reality TV producer is weaponizing Everett's grief for engagement metrics.
You could tell them.
The thought slithers through my brain, unwelcome and insistent.
You could reply to that thread. Explain that he left because of you. That he came back because his grandmother's death reminded him life is too short to run from the things that matter. That he's not cashing in—he's fighting to save the only home he's ever known.
You could defend him.
You could save him.
But at what cost?
My brothers would never forgive me. Not for the relationship—they'd get over that eventually, probably—but for the lying. Eleven years of lying. Eleven years of looking them in the eye and pretending Everett was nothing more than a family friend.
That kind of betrayal doesn't just heal.
And Everett... God, Everett. He's finally in a position to save this lodge. My brothers are invested—literally. If this blows up, if the scandal becomes aboutusinstead of the lodge, it could tank everything they've built together.
I can't be the reason he loses this.
I can't be the reason helosesthem.
So I sit in the dark, phone clutched in my trembling hands, and watch the comments multiply.
This is what helpless feels like.
I've spent my whole life behind a camera. Documenting. Preserving. Capturing moments so they can't slip away.
But I can't capture this. Can't frame it or filter it or make it beautiful.
I can only watch.
And hurt for him.
And hate myself for being too much of a coward to do anything about it.
My phone buzzes.
For one stupid, hopeful second, I think it's him. That somehow he's awake too, that he's seen it, that he's reaching out?—
