Chapter 13 #2
Maybe we’re both learning how to breathe again.
Together.
We dress in silence.
But it’s not the bad kind. It’s not the Tyler kind.
And I hate that I’m even comparing the two.
Gruene is nothing like Tyler.
Tyler is poison. Gruene is… hope.
Our silence is full, thick with unsaid things and soft glances and that strange, gentle ache that comes after experiencing something so intimate it feels like prayer.
When he hands me my shirt, his fingers linger on mine. When he tucks my wet hair behind my ear, his knuckles tremble. And when I whisper, “Thank you,” I don’t mean for the orgasm.
I mean for everything.
We walk back to the cabins just before dusk.
I expect the world to feel different. Lighter. Clearer. But it doesn’t because healing isn’t a finish line.
It’s a choice. Every day. Over and over again.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but I know this one thing with certainty.
Gruene isn’t a stranger anymore.
I’m not running… and maybe… that’s enough.
Back on my porch, I pause before going inside.
He watches me, one hand braced on the frame of the door like he’s waiting for a signal from me.
I smile at him. He exhales as he steps in, and I follow.
We’re in bed again—bare skin under tangled sheets, both of us breathing calm and steady. He whispers my name in the dark like it’s a secret or a question he’s afraid to ask. “Blakelyn.”
“Yeah?”
He swallows and I feel it under my cheek, where I’m lying on his chest. “I’m not—I don’t do this. I haven’t done… this…”
“I know,” I whisper. “Neither do I.” I know what he’s saying.
I’m the first person he’s let in since his family died.
My heartrate quickens, but we don’t promise anything. Neither of us tries to define what this is… what we are.
We just hold on to each other… and breathe.
Together.
Gruene
The water’s long since dried on my skin, but I’m still soaked in her .
She’s sleeping in my bed, bare skin pressed to mine, curled on her side, tangled in my sheets like she’s always belonged there. And I can’t fucking look away… not even for a second.
Her mouth’s parted in sleep. Her fingers twitch once as she dreams. A soft sound escapes her throat—something between a sigh and a whimper—and I swear to God, my chest cracks open with it.
What the hell am I doing?
What the hell have I done?
I’m too involved… I care too much.
And it can only end one way…
I sit at the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, fingers tight in my hair like I can scrub the ache out of my skull, but it’s not a headache.
It’s her .
It’s the way her voice broke when she told me she dreamed of Aubree.
It’s the way she held on to me in the water… not like she was tethered to me and needed me to stay afloat, but more like I was something worth anchoring.
It’s the way I lost myself inside her again —so deep, so damn hard I forgot what grief even tasted like.
Only now, I feel like I’m being split in two.
Half of me wants to wake her up and do it all over again… the other half wants to run .
I get up and leave the bed… not because I want to… because I have to.
If I stay in that bed with her for one more minute and hear, no feel, her soft breathing against my chest and the tickle of her wild hair over my shoulders while the scent of sex still clinging to my skin, I’ll focus on her… instead of everything that came before her.
That’s not something I’m allowed to do.
Not when Aubree’s giggle still echoes in my ribs.
Not when Molly’s voice still whispers through my dreams.
Hastily yanking on my jeans, I leave the cabin without looking back.
The porch is quiet. It’s surprisingly cool, even though the sun’s already burning through the mist that hovers above the river. I stand there for a second, my bare feet on the rough wood, and stare at the current. It reminds me who I am.
Gruene Cavanaugh.
Husband.
Father.
Widower.
Fucking ghost of a man.
I built this place as a graveyard. Every board, every beam, every stretch of riverfront was supposed to be a monument to what I lost. But she’s here now. And for the first time since that fucking night… the dead aren’t the only ones breathing here.
I walk down the steps, follow the drive, and cross to the shop office. The locks are stiff in the morning, and I have to jiggle the key twice before the door gives. Inside, the air is stale and smells like sunscreen and neoprene.
Flicking on the lights, I sink into my desk chair.
There’s work to do—there always is. Emails, bookings, payroll, restocks and weekend prep—but I can’t make myself focus.
I keep seeing her bare shoulders rising out of the water…
her thighs around my waist… the way her mouth dropped open when she came.
And the fucking way she said my name… like it was more than a name… like it was a lifeline.
Damnit to fucking hell.
Slamming the laptop shut, I push back from the desk, hands shaking.
“You’re spiraling.” The voice comes from the doorway.
Reece.
Of course, he saw it.
He’s got a coffee in one hand and an eyebrow raised like he’s watching a slow-motion train wreck.
“You don’t even know what I’m spiraling about.” I snap.
He shrugs. “Don’t need to. I know you, Gruene. You’re my best damn friend even though you’re pretty shitty at it. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. I knew you with Molly and Aubree. I knew you after it happened. And I know you now. It’s not hard to put it together, man.”
I grit my teeth. “She’s different,” I mutter.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” He calmly says. He can tell I’m spoiling for a fight and he’s not taking the bait.
“She’s not a fucking rebound.” I slam my fists against the desk.
“No one said she was.” He replies.
Damnit, Reece. I need someone to rage at.
I glance up. He’s watching me carefully from beneath the brim of his hat. He’s not judging. He’s not mocking. He wouldn’t. He’s just… watching.
“Then, what’re you thinking?” I snap.
“I’m thinking,” he says slowly as he leans his shoulder against the door jam, regarding me with his clear blue eyes, “that for the first time in six years, you’re not completely drowning. You’re living. And that scares the shit out of you.”
I don’t answer because he’s right.
Fucker.
Turning on my heel, I head home, back to my cabin.
I can’t face her like this, not with my head spinning and my chest full of ghosts.
I strip the sheets from my bed, toss them into the wash, and stand under a scorching hot shower until my skin burns, and the water runs clear again.
But no amount of scrubbing can erase the feel of her.
Or the truth of what I felt when I was inside her.
It wasn’t just lust.
It’s not just heat.
It’s something deeper.
Darker. Dangerous.
Hope.
Two hours later, she knocks once, then pushes the door open without waiting for me to answer.
She’s wearing denim cutoffs and a cropped red tank top that shows too much shoulder and cleavage. Her hair is twisted up in some messy knot that makes me want to drag it down and see what she does when she’s breathless again.
But her face is cautious… guarded. She has small lines between her brows on her forehead.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey.” I reply.
I stand from the table, tension already coiling in my gut at what she’s about to say. The air is thick with tension.
“You left,” she says. “I woke up all alone…”
“I did.” I nod. Her tone isn’t angry. She’s not accusing me. It’s just filled with flat resolve… that might be worse.
“To think?” She asks.
I nod.
She bites her bottom lip, as her amber eyes search mine. “And… did you?”
I don’t know what to say.
Yes.
No.
Too much.
Not enough.
What the fuck do I say?
It’s like she can read my mind. She nods and exhales before sighing. “Don’t say something you don’t mean just because the sex is good, Gruene,” she says softly. “I’ve had enough of that kind of man and I’m not doing it again.”
What the fuck? I’m not her fucking abusive ex.
That slices something open in me. “I’m not Tyler.” I snap.
“I know you’re not.” She calmly, too calmly, replies.
“Then, stop looking at me like I am. I would never hurt you like that. I’m not capable of that.” I growl.
She flinches and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t leave. She just stands there, looking at me with her heart in her eyes and I clearly see that while I’m not hitting her… or worse, I am hurting her.
Fuck me.
“I’m scared,” I say, my voice rough. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I know that I am. Every second I’m near you, Blakelyn, I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope, and I don’t know how to fucking balance.”
She swallows. “Then, don’t. Just fall,” she whispers. “With me.”
And just like that— I do.
I’m across the room in two steps. My fingers curl around her hips and I pull her to me like I need her to breathe. She doesn’t hesitate. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and her mouth crashes into mine like she’s been waiting all damn day.
It’s messy… hungry. It’s too much, and yet, not enough.
It’s fucking real… and right now, that’s everything.
We don’t make it upstairs to the bed.
Lifting her onto the table, I shove her shorts down without unsnapping them and drag her panties down with them. Before they hit the ground, I’ve unsnapped my jeans, pulled them down just enough to release my cock, and I bury myself in her like I’m coming home.
She’s so wet for me… all the fucking time. Gliding in, I bottom out as her thighs widen and her hips thrust up. She moans into my mouth, her nails scraping down my spine, her legs locking around my waist and her ankles crossing over my ass. I thrust hard, deep, and desperate.
We don’t talk as she meets me thrust for thrust. The sounds of slapping skin and our combined moans fill the room. .
Leaning down, I kiss her, my tongue mimicking my cock.
She sucks it and moans, causing ripples to race down my spine.
Reaching between us, I roll her clit. Her back arches and she screams into my mouth as she comes.
Her pussy clenches around me as she spasms and moans into my mouth. I follow, coming deep inside of her.
Fucking hell, Blakelyn.
This… this is the language we understand.
We’re still breathing erratically as we collapse in a tangled heap on the floor, breathless and shaking, sweat cooling on our skin in the humid cabin air.
She rests her head on my chest and exhales. I hold her, pulling her closer into me though we’re both sweaty and the cabin is hot. Because for once, I want to—no, I have to.
I still don’t know how to tell her that I’m afraid that this storm between us might wreck us both.