Chapter 3 #2
His eyes burn into mine. His jaw is clenched. His nostrils are white. He spits out, “Everyone says that. But it was my fault. I was behind the wheel. I caused it. I’m alive and they’re not.”
“Gruene… that’s too much. It’s too much to carry, and it’s just not true.” I quietly say.
He turns his head, finally looking at me. His eyes are burning with self-loathing and regret. Filled with pain and anguish.
It hits me like lightning.
We’re both standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t our fault, blaming ourselves for allowing shit to happen, but we didn’t. Shit happened to us. It didn’t happen because of us. But we’re still standing .
That has to count for something.
“I don’t know how to be around people anymore,” he mutters quietly.
A sad smile crosses my lips. “Same. But here we are.”
He looks down at me, and I look up at him, both of us confused and conflicted. He says, “I don’t know what this is.” Grabbing the back of his neck, he squeezes. “I wish you’d never come here. But I’m glad you did. I don’t know what’s next…”
“Me either.” I mutter.
“I don’t know if I want whatever this is. I don’t know if I’m ready or deserving.” His voice is cautious, reflective, but underneath it… I hear the possibility.
Me either.
“Okay.” I reply.
He looks at me, and for the first time, I see it.
Not just grief. Not just guilt. Need. And it matches mine.
Exactly.
Gruene
What the hell am I doing?
I just bared my soul, and it’s the closest I’ve come to a confession in six years.
She’s sitting next to me on the dock with sunscreen on her legs and her hair tied in a lazy knot. Her fingers are wrapped around mine like it’s the most natural thing in the fucking world.
Like I didn’t just open a vein and spill the ugliest part of my soul onto the wood between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry. She just holds on . That’s what undoes me. Because no one holds on anymore.
Not to me. Not since the funerals. Not since the wreck. Not since I came to, alone on the riverbank, and watched my whole world turned upside down under the surface of that green water, uncaring of the life I was supposed to keep them safe in.
I haven’t touched anyone in years . Haven’t wanted to. Not until now. Not until her. And I still don’t know if I deserve to.
The morning moves around us slowly, but we stay on the dock like time can’t quite find us here. I have time before I open, so I let her ask questions. They aren’t invasive. She’s careful. She asks quietly, wanting real answers.
What was Molly like?
What did Aubree love?
What’s the scariest part of being alone?
That last one, I don’tanswer. Because it’s not the silence. Not the ache. Not even the nightmares.
It’s feeling something again. And worse, thinking of— losing it.
I’ve lived through that once. I’m not sure I’m capable or strong enough to do it again.
She appears at the shack midday. She doesn’t ask, just shows up while I’m sorting rafts and stands in the doorway with her eyebrows lifted like she dares me to tell her to leave. Reece is handling the river.
I don’t say anything.
She sits on the same stool as last time, barefoot and folded in half, arms around her legs like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I want to be useful,” she says after a while.
I glance up at her, quickly. “You’re good.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean it. Tell me what to do.” She motions to the pile of busted life jackets I still haven’t dealt with.
I toss her a fresh buckle kit and show her how to weave it through the nylon strap. Her fingers tremble at first. Then, they don’t. She picks it up quickly and works quietly. She doesn’t ask for praise and doesn’t chatter. She just… helps.
The longer she sits there, the more something in me… unwinds . Not all the way. Not fully. But enough. Enough to remember what it’s like to breathe without all of this weight on my chest. Enough to remember what it’s like to be seen without pity.
I glance at her again. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she tugs the strap into place.
This is what it feels like to want again.
Reece pokes his head into the shack before the last run of the day, all sweaty and wearing a smirk, fully aware that I’m not alone in here. “Barlow called. Wants to know if we’re still supplying tubes for the VFW float on Friday.”
“Tell him yeah. I’ll have ‘em loaded Thursday night.” I reply, shooting him a glare, silently telling him to shut up and head back out.
Reece nods but simply raises his brow at me as he looks at Blakelyn and back to me.
Narrowing my eyes, I jerk at the door with my chin. Get the hell out of here, man. Don’t say a damn thing.
He grins, but nods again. “Right. Got it, boss man.” He leaves without another word, but he’s whistling.
Asshole.
Blakelyn glances at me. “Should I not be here?”
Not as oblivious as I’d hoped.
“You’re good.” I retort.
Her lips purse, “He looked?—”
I cut her off. “It’s not a usual kind of thing.”
She tilts her head. “You’re okay with me staying?”
I nod. “You’re not staying. You’re here. There’s a difference.”
Something flickers in her eyes. It’s not amusement. It’s understanding.
She knows this is something.
I feel it again.
That hum beneath my skin. That tug in my ribs. That part of me that’s waking up one slow, terrifying heartbeat at a time, though I don’t want it to.
A knock comes to the door. As I open it, she’s standing there. She brought dinner… to my porch.
It’s simple, just two grilled cheese sandwiches wrapped in paper towels and a gallon-sized Mason jar of sweet tea that looks like something out of a memory I forgot I had.
“Sit,” she says, not asking, nodding at the steps.
It wasn’t a question, so I do.
She hands me a sandwich and curls her legs under her on the step beside me, her bare knee brushing mine. And we eat.
No plates. No table. Just the porch. The dark. The stars and the river whispering from right there, just out of reach.
“I had a nightmare last night,” she says quietly, breaking the silence. “That’s not unusual for me, but this one…” I freeze as she continues. “I don’t remember all of it. Just the feeling.”
“What feeling?” I ask, though I don’t want to.
“That I was still trapped. Still his.” She’s whispering.
What the fuck?
So, she had someone. Someone who hurt her…
I’m not surprised. I recognize the signs. But shit… who the fuck hurt her?
I say nothing, but my whole body tenses.
“I woke up in the dark and for a moment… I couldn’t remember if I’d really left.” Her voice shakes.
My jaw tightens.
She sets her sandwich down and wipes her hands on her shorts before leaning forward, staring at the darkness.
“I hate that he still owns space in my head.” She whispers.
“He doesn’t.” I growl.
She turns to face me. “He does, though. Just like your accident owns you.”
I stare at her, jaw tight, hands clenched. She’s not wrong.
“You’re still punishing yourself for surviving,” she says. “And I’m still terrified I’m going to vanish… again.”
Silence. It’s heavy… sharp.
Suddenly, she reaches out and lays her hand flat against my chest, just over my racing heart.
It’s not soft. It’s sure.
I stop breathing.
“You feel that?” she whispers.
My heart hammers against her palm. I jerk my head, nodding.
She mutters, “This is real. This is now.”
I grab her wrist without thinking. Not hard. Just tight enough to ground myself in the heat of her skin. “I’m not ready,” I rasp, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingertips.
She nods. “Me either.”
And yet neither of us lets go. We stay there, staring at each other, pulses racing, breathing accelerated, not moving… stuck in the space between want and fear .
Finally, she exhales and stands. I let her. She leaves with a whispered, “Goodnight, Gruene,” and I walk to the edge of the river and stare down into the black water. Thoughts, so many thoughts, swirling through my head.
I imagine her there.
Blakelyn.
Not lifeless. Alive.
Floating on her back with her eyes closed, her mouth parted, and the midday sun on her face.
Free. Untouched. Safe.
And I think…
I want her to stay free.
Even if it means never touching her again.
Even if it means tearing out every piece of myself I’ve buried just to keep her from breaking.
Another voice deep inside me whispers what I already know.
I’m not that selfless.
Not anymore.
Not now.
Not with her this close.
And not with her waking up the parts of myself I thought I buried that night on the river.