Chapter 15
Blakelyn
His shirt is still draped over the foot of my bed when I wake up.
Gruene’s.
It smells like river and sweat and something sharp I can’t name—something that clings to my skin and seeps under my ribs until it’s the only thing I feel.
Reaching for it before I’m fully awake, I pull it to my chest like a tether. Almost as though I don’t hold onto something that smells like him, I might forget last night was real. But I haven’t forgotten.
He grabbed my wrists like he couldn’t breathe.
He looked at me—really looked at me—like maybe I’m the first person he’s let in since his entire world drowned.
He kissed me before he took me like I was the only thing worth surviving for.
My thighs ache. My lips are raw. I don’t want to move but I’m alone in the bed, and the air beside me has already cooled.
Rolling to the side where he slept—where he laid his body over mine like a shield, like a confession—I stare at the ceiling.
The silence in the room isn’t empty. It’s heavy. Still warm from him. Still echoing with the way he whispered my name when he came.
I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet with me, and that’s when I see it.
A note. It’s folded clean in half and left on the windowsill where the light barely hits it.
He didn’t just leave. He left a note.
I press it open with my fingertips.
Headed to the shop.
Didn’t want to wake you.
Don’t go near the river alone again.
Please.
-Gruene
Just four lines and his name, and yet, it feels like the most intimate thing I’ve ever held.
My eyes close as I press the note to my chest.
I don’t care that he left before sunrise.
I care that he didn’t run .
He could’ve. He’s done it before. But he didn’t.
Not this time… he left a note.
And he told me to be careful.
That means something.
Even if I don’t know exactly what yet.
I stay in his shirt all morning, letting it fall over my thighs while I make coffee and ignore the world outside of my cabin. My legs still feel loose, like they’ve forgotten how to hold me up. My mouth tastes like him. My chest aches with all the things I didn’t say.
I should’ve said something.
Last night, when he looked at me like he was unraveling, like everything hurt—I felt it and I remained silent.
Not because I didn’t want him.
Not because I didn’t believe him.
But because I’ve forgotten how to let someone see me when I’m not holding myself together.
He opened a door and I just stood there in the hallway.
Shit!
Setting the coffee down, I drop into the chair at the table and try to remember how to breathe without guilt pressing into my spine.
He told me he didn’t want to lose someone again.
He let me see what it costs him to touch me.
And I… just let him carry it.
I need to see him.
Not to fix anything… Not to demand more… Just to be there.
Because he’s still carrying the weight of two ghosts. And if I’m going to be a part of his life—even for a second ? —
I need to show him I’m not another one waiting to disappear.
It’s even hotter than it was yesterday.
The sun presses down hard, and the humidity clings to my skin before I even make it past the trees.
I’m wearing cutoff shorts, the tank top from last night, and flip-flops that keep catching on the gravel. I don’t care. I walk down the winding road toward the shop, my pulse tapping like a warning against my throat with each step.
When I round the curve, the lot is mostly empty except for a few trucks and the open trailer full of tubes.
I spot him immediately.
He’s shirtless. His tanned, scarred skin is glinting with sweat as the sun’s relentless rays hit him. His dark hair is falling into his eyes as he stands on the edge of the boat ramp, waving in the heat. He’s barking orders at Reece and two teenage boys while dragging tubes out of the river.
He personifies everything I’ve been trying not to need.
The dark circles under his eyes give away the fact that he didn’t sleep again last night.
I grip the hem of my shorts as I stare at him.
He doesn’t see me right away, but Reece does. He lifts a hand, gives me a sharp nod, then he says something I can’t hear from this distance.
Gruene turns and the second his eyes hit mine, the world stills. His whole body shifts. He drops the rope he’s holding, straightens, and takes a step forward like he’s not even thinking. He takes another, and then, another.
He’s standing in front of me.
He doesn’t say a word as he reaches out, slides his hand behind my neck, and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm where it bounces off my lips. His skin is damp where it’s touching mine. His voice, when it comes, is sandpaper and sky. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He exhales hard as I let my fingers skim his jaw. My thumb brushes the line of stubble that’s grown in heavier today. “I didn’t say anything last night,” I whisper. “I should’ve. But I didn’t know how… or what to say.”
His eyes are locked on mine. “You didn’t have to.” He replies.
“But I wanted to.” I can’t stop myself from whispering. His hands are still on my neck and he’s so close to me, I forget that we’re in the lot of the shop in full view of Reece, the workers, and any tubers.
“You let me stay,” he grunts.
My heart races.
I’m in so deep with him.
“Come on,” he says after a beat, he glances around, realizing we’re out in the open, in full view of anyone who wants to look our way. “You shouldn’t be out in this heat. It’s over a hundred today.”
I chuckle. “It’s pretty damn hot. It almost punches you in the face. But I wanted to see you.”
His eyes flick to mine, and he almost grins, almost. “Yeah?”
I nod and he steps aside, gesturing to the shop. “Then, come inside.”
He pours cold water from a pitcher in the fridge into a mason jar and sets it in front of me like it’s a peace offering.
We sit at the desk in the back of the shop, the fan overhead ticking loud and lazy.
He leans back in the old office chair with his legs spread. One hand runs up and down the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with himself while I perch on the edge of the side of the desk.
“You look tired,” I say softly.
“I am.” he grunts.
“You didn’t sleep?” I ask.
He hesitates before he shakes his head. “No. I rarely do, Blakelyn. You know that.”
Inhaling, I ask, “Because of me… or because of… them?”
He stills and looks down at his hands. He sighs.
“Both. You’re in my head… but at night, when I close my eyes, I see them, and I feel guilty.
” My breath catches. “I laid there for hours after you fell asleep and thought about whether it made me a bastard. If it was disrespectful. If Molly would hate me… if Aubree would understand.”
My heart shatters at the pain in his voice… the guilt… the uncertainty.
He doesn’t look up as I reach for him. I can’t not . My hand covers his. “Gruene, you’re alive .”
His voice is ragged. “I don’t always feel like I am.”
“You are.” My own is tight with emotion.
He is. He’s here and I’m here and he’s not responsible for what happened to them.
“Why did I live while they died, Blakelyn? Why am I the one still here? Aubree was a child. Molly was a good person. She wasn’t perfect, but I’m damn sure not either.
Of the three of us, it should have been me.
I shouldn’t be living my life, moving on, while they’re just gone.
” The anguish within his voice is gutting me.
“I don’t have the answer to that, Gruene.
No one does. Everything that happens, good and bad, has a purpose.
I’ve always believed that. I still do. Even when I don’t understand.
And I don’t understand why your wife and beautiful baby girl were taken from you…
or why I fell for a man who turned into a monster.
But I have to believe that there was— there is— a reason.
” I exhale as tears fill my eyes. Somehow, I hold them back.
“I don’t understand it, but I do believe it. You said you went to church with Molly and Aubree. I believe God exists. So do you. With that faith and belief, I hope in time clarity comes.
“You are breathing, Gruene. So am I. That is not a coincidence. It’s not a mistake. Maybe we were supposed to meet right here, right now. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen. My grandma always said, ‘God doesn’t make mistakes, Blakelyn.’ I wholeheartedly believe that.”
He lifts his eyes, and they’re soaked in something raw. They’re glassy and filled will pain, anguish, torment, confusion, but also… hope. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “For so long I’ve existed … I don’t know how to live .”
Rounding the rest of the desk, I walk over to him. Leaning down, I cup his cheek, and he tenses, watching me. “Then, we learn together.” Climbing into his lap, I hold his face in both hands. “You’re not alone anymore, Gruene,” I murmur. “And I’m not either.”
His lips part but no words come out.
So, I kiss him. It’s slow. It’s deep. It’s real.
I pour everything I feel with my whole heart into the kiss because I’m not ready to say it yet. He groans against my lips. His hands fist in my shirt—his shirt—I feel the shift… not in his body… in his soul.
His mouth turns hungry… not frantic… not rushed but starved in the way that only comes from going years without something you need to live.
His hands drag up the back of my thighs, gripping, spreading, and anchoring me to him. “You’re too good,” he murmurs, his voice broken against my lips. “Too good for me, Blakelyn.”
“I’m not.” I whisper between kisses.
“You are.” He growls before taking my lips again. His tongue slides over mine and I moan deep into his mouth.
“I’m just me,” I moan, pressing my forehead to his as I breathe heavily. “And you are what I want, Gruene.”
He groans low in his chest. “Fuck, Blakelyn.”
“Take me,” I whisper. “To my cabin… to the bed you stayed in last night.”
He stills beneath me. His chest heaves. His hands tremble and then, he nods.
Just once… like he’s handing me something sacred… like he’s ready to try .