Chapter 6
Blakelyn
It’s him.
Even before the door opens, even before I see the outline of his body behind the tinted windshield, I know. Every nerve within me freezes.
My hands go cold. My knees lock. My breath leaves me in one sharp exhale that doesn't come back.
Tyler.
The name I haven’t said out loud in two months. The one I thought I could bury in river water and sunlight and the quiet heat of a man who touched me like I was worth holding onto.
He’s here.
He found me.
The truck idles for a long moment. No one moves. Not me. Not the floaters stacking coolers. Not the group of teenagers waiting for life vests. The entire dock seems to pause—like the moment just before lightning strikes. Then, the door swings open.
He steps out like he owns the gravel, the air… the very morning.
He’s tall and wide. His sunglasses are pushed up into his sandy blond hair. Designer boots, that don’t belong anywhere near a river, are on his feet. That same cocky tilt to his mouth, that charms people who don’t know better, is on his face. He’s handsome, but poison.
He doesn’t look around. He looks at me.
“Baby,” he calls, like no time has passed.
My stomach turns and I feel the scream in my throat before I even process the urge to run.
But I don’t move. I’m frozen in the gravel in front of the tubing shack, barefoot, wearing Gruene’s oversized flannel and cutoff shorts that he would say “show too much leg.” My hair’s still damp from the shower I took after we—after we?—
Oh, God.
He takes a step closer. “Been a long time, sweetheart.” His voice sounds sweet, but I hear the rage behind it.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Everything in me is trying to claw its way out through my spine as images of him punching me in the ribs, or the spleen, grabbing my hair in his fists and yanking so hard, whole clumps came out in his fingers, of him looming over me after kicking me in the vagina so hard I stopped breathing from the pain filling my whole body.
“Got your note, babydoll” he says, still feigning calm. “Cute. Real dramatic.”
The note I left on the kitchen counter… The one I couldn’t sign because I couldn’t stand to see my name next to his.
I finally find my voice “You shouldn’t be here, Tyler.” It’s thin… wrecked, but loud enough he can hear me clearly.
He smiles and my throat goes dry at the fury I can see beneath the facade. “I have to be here. You ghosted me, Blakelyn. Took the damn car… disappeared in the middle of the night. And you left me a note . You owe me. And you’re going to get in the damn truck.”
I’m not. I will not get in that truck.
You will never lay a hand on me again, Tyler.
A low sound breaks from behind me before I can respond.
Gruene.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s him. I feel the heat of him even before he speaks. It’s calm. Too calm as he says, “She doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing. And she won’t be getting in your truck . ”
Tyler’s head snaps toward the voice and the rage he’s been hiding breaks free, for a scant second, before he masks it.
Gruene steps out of the shack like he’s been waiting for this—for him .
Like he’s been building this moment in his chest since the second he realized what I’d run from.
He’s in a plain black tee and jeans. His arms are covered in river grit and dried sweat.
His eyes are dead calm. His stance is relaxed. But I see it… the coil under his skin.
Tyler sizes him up, running his eyes over the scars, before he scoffs. “Let me guess. The local charity case?”
Gruene doesn’t even blink, he just replies. “Get in your truck.”
Tyler laughs. “You think this is your business, river rat?”
Gruene doesn’t respond to the insult. He just leans back on his heels and says, “You brought it to my dock, city boy.”
“She’s my wife. ” Tyler rages.
I am not your wife.
“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m not.”
Tyler turns back to me, eyebrows raised. “Funny. You sure acted like it for three years. But I suppose you were actually just my whore .”
I flinch like he punched me, and Tyler moves.
Not fast. Not sudden. Just one step forward. Intentional.
Gruene notices. “I wouldn’t,” he says, voice low. “Not here. Not with her. Not while I’m breathing.”
Tyler sneers. “You think she’s gonna stay with you? Some washed-up river rat? She spread her legs, and you think she actually wants you now?”
My blood goes cold.
Gruene doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, but his hands curl into fists so tight I hear his knuckles crack.
“ Stop ,” I whisper. “Tyler, stop.”
He takes another step toward me, all hint of civility gone. Rage is pulsating off him and my throat threatens to close off.
I back up, swallowing, gasping for air in my fear.
“You think you’re free now? You think this little fantasy is real?” He laughs harshly. “You’re mine , you’re worthless trash and you better get the fuck in the truck. Now!”
“You need to leave,” Gruene snarls, stepping between us.
Tyler’s jaw flexes. “You think I won’t come back, river rat? Back up or you’ll be wearing more scars.”
Gruene’s jaw tightens but his voice is calm as he replies, “I know you won’t.”
Tyler laughs again. “You don’t know what she is. Walk away and mind your own business.”
“Neither do you,” Gruene snaps. “Because you never took the time to see her. And she is my business.”
Tyler lunges.
I scream, but not out of fear—out of rage .
It happens in slow motion—Gruene steps in, grabs Tyler by the collar, shoves him back so hard his boots skid on the gravel until his back hits the truck.
His hand is balled in Tyler’s shirt, his face inches away while his other fist slams into his ribs, just once. I hear bone crack as Tyler wheezes.
“I will bury you if you ever come near her again,” Gruene growls.
Tyler spits at his feet. It’s bloody. And Gruene throws him. Hard.
Tyler hits the ground, coughing, stunned. Gasping for air. I’m almost positive his ribs are broken.
Good. Now you see what it feels like.
Reece’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Sheriff’s on the way.”
Tyler freezes.
I drop to my knees. My legs are shaking so hard they can’t support me. My heart is in my throat. Gruene quickly turns and kneels beside me, his hands on my face. “You okay?”
I nod, but I’m not.
I’m not.
My whole body trembles.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, shielding me with his body. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I don’t cry. I don’t break. I just breathe. Because I believe him.
Even with Tyler still on the ground ten feet away, bruised, bleeding, and hateful.
I believe Gruene.
And that changes everything.
Gruene
I don’t even remember what sets me off.
It’s not the way he looks at her. Not the way he calls her baby like it’s a leash.
Not even the way she goes still the second she sees him, like her body’s remembering how to brace for impact.
His words are harsh and cruel, meant to wound, but it isn’t even that.
It’s the way she tries not to cry. The broken flicker in her eyes.
Her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth and her biting it so hard it bleeds.
The color leaving her face as she inhales like she’s swallowing every ounce of fear just to stay upright.
I see red as I stand, stepping between them.
“Get in your truck,” My tone is calm though I am not. I could beat him to death right here. The violence is within me. It’s coiling in my blood like a moccasin waiting to strike, but I control it. I hold it in.
He hobbles to his feet and leans against the truck, just slightly. He says, “Whatever you think she is to you, you’re wrong. I can legally do whatever I want, and no one will touch me.”
I laugh once—sharp, humorless. “You want to try pulling legal rights? On a dock full of witnesses? After she ran from you ? This isn’t Austin, boy.
And you don’t know anyone here. This is my town.
That dock is my dock. That river is my river.
And you could disappear in it in seconds.
So, like I said, get in your truck and get the hell out of here. Don’t come back.”
Tyler’s face twitches, showing a hint of fear beneath the polish. He didn’t expect resistance. He definitely didn’t expect someone like me.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he says, stumbling forward just an inch. He stops as though he thought about it.
There it is.
That shift. That tiny flicker of temper behind his teeth. The kind of anger that’s always just barely controlled. The kind that looks like a tantrum in a suit. The kind that turns violent behind closed doors.
I’m not a locked door.
I’m the wall behind it. And I’ll protect Blakelyn from him.
“Be smart,” I say, my voice low. “Get back in your truck and never come back.”
“Or what?”
Reece appears beside me, phone in hand. “Sheriff’s already on his way,” he says, tone flat. “So, unless you want a record, I’d start reversing that bitch-ass excuse of a truck, city boy.” Reece’s hands are already fisted. He’d back me if I needed him to. I don’t.
Tyler’s eyes flick between us. Calculating. Annoyed. Fearful.
He should be.
“You think I’m scared of some washed-up river hick and a townie with a badge on speed dial?”
“I think you’re scared of something,” I say. “Or you wouldn’t be here acting like this.”
He glares. “You don’t know shit about us,” he snaps but he’s already opening the door.
“You’re right,” I say calmly. “I don’t. But I know what she looks like when someone’s broken her. I’ve seen it. I felt it the second she stepped onto my dock.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw and his nostrils flare.
“You don’t even know what you took from her,” I add, voice razor-sharp. “And the worst part? You don’t care.”
He reverses direction, quickly trying to move past me and Reece. Lunging for Blakelyn.
She flinches and curls into a ball and I fucking see red.
Grabbing the front of his shirt, I shove him back hard enough to make gravel skid under his boots, again, and slam him into the truck. He bounces off of it. “ Do not touch her. ” I rage.
“You gonna hit me again, river rat?” he laughs, eyes lit with the kind of crazy that comes from men who hit women.
“No, I’m not going to hit you,” I say with calm rage— I’ll end him —sensing it, he pales. I shove him again, even harder.
He stumbles—hands up, ready to start swinging back—I take one long step forward, lean in, and let him see everything in me.
The grief. The guilt. The rage. The promise.
I’m in his face, but my voice is deadly calm. “If you ever come near her again, I’ll end you. You know I will. You feel it. You understand it. No one will even know you’re gone. You’ll just cease to exist .”
His eyes widen. He’s the one afraid now.
Good.
He jumps into the truck and hastily cranks the engine, peeling out and throwing gravel at us and the floaters who have been standing here, watching the scene unfold.
I glance over as I hear a whimper. Blakelyn is curled into a tight ball in the dirt and gravel, in the fetal position, one that looks far too comfortable for her.
Like her body finally stopped holding everything back. And she knows how to make herself as small as possible to protect herself the most.
I’m at her side in an instant.
“Blakelyn,” I breathe, kneeling down, hands on her face, her shoulders, anywhere I can touch to prove she’s still here.
She’s trembling, silent. But her eyes are locked on mine.
There’s fear, hints of panic, but also clarity, and what looks like relief.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, cupping her face.
She nods, and I hold her. Right here, with everyone watching.
I don’t care.
She’s safe .
I swear to God, that’s all I’ll ever care about again.
Reece says he’s got the business, and we can go back to the cabins to await the sheriff. We don’t.
I take her to the shack. It’s quiet, shaded, and private. She sits on the bench in the corner and curls her knees to her chest as I pace and we wait.
“He hurt you?” I ask eventually.
She nods. “Yeah. He did. But it wasn’t always physical.”
My hands curl into fists. “But he did, he hurt you physically.” I ask though I already know the answer and she’s already said it. I just saw it. In his stance, the way he stalked toward her, and in the way she tried to shield herself.
She nods. “Yeah… he hit me… plus, more.”
I sit beside her, but don’t touch… not yet.
She leans into me anyway and my hand finds the back of her head like it belongs there, just cradling it.
“I don’t know how he found me,” she whispers.
“You cover your tracks?”
“Everything. No paper trail. Different name. A prepaid phone with a new number. I made sure.”
I nod. “He found you, so there was a trail somewhere.”
Her whole body goes rigid as she whispers, “I thought I covered my tracks.”
I don’t answer but I’m going to find out how he found her.
The sheriff shows up, takes the report, gets the video feed from the shop, and tells Blakelyn to call if she even thinks she sees him somewhere.
When he leaves, we sit in silence for a long time. The buzz of the cicadas outside mixes with the low hum of the fridge in the corner, and her breathing against my side.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she eventually says.
“Then don’t be.” I reply.
“You think it’s that easy?” She whispers.
I sigh. “No. It’s not. But I’ll stand in front of you until you remember how to breathe without looking over your shoulder.”
She exhales and it sounds like the first clean breath she’s taken since the truck pulled up.
“Thank you, Gruene” she whispers.
I nod, but inside me, something’s burning. Because this was the start, not the end.
He found her once. He’ll try again. Men like that don’t just walk away. He will be back… and next time, I won’t just throw him… I’ll bury him if I have to.
He will never hurt Blakelyn again.