Chapter 8 #2
He drives into me again and again, fast and deep, until my body’s arching and shaking, with every nerve burning. And then, I’m coming. Hard. My thighs lock around him as my pussy clenches and a hoarse cry rips from my throat, “Gruene, oh Gruene! Ohhhhhh… Yes… fuck yes… Oh, shit…. Gruene… ”
He follows seconds later with a rough, broken sound, “Blakelyn… Oh, shit… Blakelyn… ” He spills inside of me before he collapses on top of me.
We lie there, tangled and breathless, our hearts pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. The only sound in the room is our labored gasps and the fan mingling with the window unit.
There are no words. We make no promises. There’s just presence.
Him and me.
Just the weight of him pressed against me, grounding me like maybe I haven’t been floating through a nightmare all this time.
I run my hand up his back, over the scar that slices across his shoulder, and he doesn’t flinch.
Not this time. And I think—maybe—this is how it starts.
Not with trust. Not with peace. But with skin on skin, and the quiet confession of two broken people who couldn’t walk away from each other.
This matters.
Gruene
She falls asleep curled into me like she’s always belonged there.
She has no hesitation, no guarded distance. Her breath is on my chest, and her fingers are against the scar on my side, like she knows it's there and doesn’t care.
I don’t move but I don’t sleep, either.
Something about this—her skin on mine, her scent in my sheets, her trust in my arms—doesn’t feel survivable.
Not for a man like me.
I used to think silence was peace. Now, I know better.
Silence just makes it easier to hear the ghosts and right now, they’re screaming.
A soft exhale against my ribs.
The echo of a child's laughter I’ll never hear again.
The way her fingers trace circles where my daughter used to lay her head when she crawled into our bed on stormy nights.
It’s too much.
I don’t pull away. Some twisted part of me thinks maybe this is what I deserve—to lie here haunted and raw while the one good thing I’ve touched in six years sleeps like I won’t ruin her, too.
I get up sometime in the middle of the night. I can’t stay in bed. She stirs just before dawn. She doesn’t say anything, just opens her eyes, lifts her head, and blinks when she sees me in the chair like she forgot where she was for a second.
Then, she smiles.
Small. Soft. Fucking beautiful.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice scratchy from sleep.
I nod, saying nothing.
She stretches and I watch her. I can’t help it. Then, she grabs my t-shirt from the floor and pulls it over her, covering her nakedness. Padding across the cabin, she leans down to press a kiss to my chest. I pull back. Her face falls and she murmurs, “I—I should go.”
I say nothing, though I want to scream at her not to.
She doesn’t push. She never does. That’s part of what makes this so dangerous.
She grabs her clothing from the floor, walks down the stairs, and leaves. I don’t follow, and I don’t say a word.
Standing at the window, out of sight, I watch her walk back to her cabin in my old t-shirt, bare legs and morning hair and the calmest expression I’ve ever seen on her face. I just shoved her away and she just… left.
That’s what it’s supposed to look like. If I let her in, this is what I could have.
But I still don’t let myself want it.
By midmorning, Reece is whistling on the dock like he’s trying to get under my skin.
It works.
“You want to get punched?” I mutter.
He just grins at me. “I’m happy for you.”
I shoot him a look.
“I am,” he says. “She’s good for you. And you’re not scowling like someone just spit in your beer, which is new.”
“Nothing’s changed.” I snap.
He shrugs and cheekily says, “Sure it hasn’t, Gruene. You need to keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll believe it.”
I walk away before I punch my best friend in the damn face.
He’s right. It has.
I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
She doesn’t come by once it gets dark.
I don’t ask why, but I catch myself checking her porch light twice. And I listen for the sound of her footsteps.
I tell myself it’s just habit… just caution… just whatever lie I need to tell myself to keep from walking over there like some teenager who doesn’t know what to do with his hands when they’re not on her skin.
Two days pass. Then, three.
We don’t talk, but not because we’re avoiding each other. At least, I don’t think we are.
The air between us is just thick now. Heavy with what we didn’t say. With what we did.
That wasn’t sex, Gruene. It was more… so much more.
On day four, she knocks on my cabin door.
I’m up already, drinking coffee before the sun’s even cleared the trees, so I open the door.
She’s standing on my porch in shorts and a sports bra, barefoot, with a towel over her shoulder and a determined set to her mouth. “I’m going in.”
I set my mug down.
She jerks her chin toward the river. “The water. It’s early enough no one’s out. I want to do it. I’ll stay close.”
I stare at her slowly with my stomach knots. “You want to swim in the river?”
“Yes.” She says.
“You remember what happened the last time you went in, Blakelyn.” I reply through clenched teeth.
Her face softens but she nods. “Yes, Gruene, I remember.”
Me, too. She flipped out of her tub, banged up her hip, and I fucked her on the riverbank after hauling her out of the river and having a panic attack.
“And you still want to?” is all I say.
She lifts her chin. “I have to. I don’t want to be scared of the river, Gruene.”
I exhale through my nose because I get it.
I don’t like it.
I get it.
She wants to reclaim something.
Maybe it’s about power. Or fear. Or memory.
Or maybe she’s just tired of flinching.
I follow her down to the water, not because she asks, but because I have to.
She steps into the river slowly, her feet sinking into the silty bottom. Her breathing is shaky as the current catches her calves, pulling at her, but she widens her stance and stays upright.
She doesn’t look back at me, standing here watching her with my heart in my throat and my pulse so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything else.
She doesn’t ask me to come closer. She just walks forward until she’s chest-deep, arms wrapping around herself like armor.
The current is pulling at her. I see it.
I see her fighting it. But she’s winning.
Then—slowly—she dunks under, disappearing beneath the green water.
My heart stops beating. But then, she rises… laughing. Her head is tilted back. Her hair is slicked down her back. River droplets are dripping from her lashes. And fuck me, I’ve never seen anything more alive.
Then, she looks at me and grins.
She softly says, “Are you coming in?”
I freeze as the water glistens behind her like a grave and shake my head. “You know I can’t.”
She floats closer, still grinning. “You could, Gruene . You have. I’ve seen you.”
“No.” I flatly reply.
Her expression shifts and her lips purse, but she simply says, “Okay,” softly, not pushing. “Then, just stay.”
I do.
She swims for ten more minutes, then wades out, teeth chattering and nipples pebbling beneath the wet cling of her now see-through sports bra.
She doesn’t seem to care that she’s practically naked with her wet clothes.
I sure as hell don’t care, she’s beautiful. Like a Siren, but I toss her the towel and wrap an arm around her anyway, pulling her close.
She tucks her head under my chin, her body trembling.
Without intending to, I say the one thing I’ve been choking on since the second I tasted her lips. “This is more than I meant for it to be.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide, hopeful, and cautious, but she says, “It is for me, too.”
And just like that, we both stop pretending.