Chapter 5 Flashlights and Truth Bombs
Flashlights and Truth Bombs
Kate
The darkness is suffocating.
I can't see my hand in front of my face. Can't see the counter I was just standing at. Can't see anything except the occasional flash of lightning through the windows that only makes the shadows worse.
My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
"Grayson?" I call out, hating how small my voice sounds.
I hear footsteps. Steady. Confident. Moving through the darkness like it's nothing.
"Kate?" His voice is closer than I expected. Rough but not unkind. "Where are you?"
"Kitchen!" I stretch my hands out in front of me, trying to feel for the counter, for anything solid. "I can't… I can't see anything."
I take a step forward.
My foot connects with something on the floor, whatever I dropped when the lights went out. I stumble, arms windmilling, panic spiking.
Strong hands catch me. Steady me.
I grab onto him without thinking, gripping his shirt with both hands, pressing myself against his chest like he's the only thing keeping me from falling into an abyss.
He stiffens for a second. Then his arms come around me. Solid. Grounding.
Then I feel his hand rest on my back. Steady. Anchoring me without hesitation.
The rain pounds harder outside, drumming against the roof and windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The cabin remains dark. So dark I can't even see his face.
But I can feel him. The warmth of his body. The solid strength of his arms. The steady rhythm of his breathing.
I hold on tighter, burying my face against his shoulder.
Neither of us moves.
He starts to move, and I panic.
"Don't leave me alone," I whisper. "Please don't leave me alone in the dark."
"I won't. I'm right here." There's something in his tone I haven't heard before. Patience. Maybe even gentleness.
"I'm taking you to the living room. Then I'll get flashlights."
"Promise you won't leave me alone?"
He's silent for a beat. Then: "I promise."
He guides me through the darkness, one hand on my arm, the other stretched out in front of us. I keep one hand fisted in his shirt, refusing to let go.
We reach the couch, and he helps me sit down.
"Stay here," he says. "I'll be right back."
"Grayson…"
"I'm going to the kitchen. It's ten feet away. You'll be able to hear me the whole time."
I nod, even though he can't see me. My hands are shaking. My breathing is still too fast.
I hear him move away. Hear a drawer open. The sound of him rummaging through what sounds like junk.
Then light.
A flashlight beam cuts through the darkness. Not much, but enough.
I exhale, some of the panic easing.
Grayson moves to the side door that leads to the garage. The flashlight beam bounces with each step.
The panic comes roaring back.
"Please don't leave me in the dark," I blurt out, already scrambling off the couch.
He stops at the door. Looks back at me. I can see him now in the flashlight's glow. His face is unreadable, but he doesn't tell me to sit back down.
Instead, he waits.
I rush over and grab the sleeve of his shirt like a lifeline.
He doesn't say anything. Just opens the door and leads me into the garage.
The space is small, cluttered with tools and storage boxes. Grayson moves with purpose, making his way to a shelf against the far wall.
He pulls down a handful of thick candles — the kind that burn for hours. Soon, their warm glow fills the small space.
He hands one to me.
I grip it with both hands like it's a safety blanket. The flame flickers but holds steady. The wax is already starting to warm against my palms.
Rain pounds against the garage roof. Loud. Echoing. Almost deafening.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod.
We walk back inside together. Me clutching the candle. Him carrying the rest.
In the dining room, I spread the candles across the table. Grayson lights them one by one. The warm glow pushes back the darkness, and I finally start to breathe normally again.
"Good thing I finished cooking before the power went out," I say, my voice still a little shaky. "Pasta alfredo. Baked potatoes. Fresh bread."
Grayson glances at the stove, where the pots are still sitting.
"You cooked all that?"
"Nervous energy." I laugh, but it sounds brittle. "I bake when I'm stressed. Or cook. Or clean. Basically, I do anything to keep my hands busy."
He nods slowly. Says nothing.
I start talking again. I can't help it. Nervous energy is still buzzing through me like electricity.
"Just... don't leave me alone tonight, okay?" I say it once. Then again five minutes later when he moves toward the stairs. And again when he looks like he's thinking about retreating to his room.
Somehow, I convince him to sit down and eat dinner with me.
He doesn't say a word the entire time. But he's there. Present. Solid.
I talk like he's responding. Like we're having an actual conversation instead of me rambling while he eats in silence.
I set both plates side by side at the table.
Grayson quietly moves his plate farther away.
I slide my chair closer to him anyway.
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't protest. Just keeps eating.
The storm rages outside. Wind howling. Rain pelting the windows. Thunder rolling through the valley like a freight train.
But inside the candlelit dining room, everything feels still. Quiet. Strangely intimate.
I sneak a glance at him across the table. The candlelight softens the hard lines of his face. Makes him look less guarded. Less like a man who's built walls around himself and more like someone who's just tired.
This feels like a date, I think. A sweet candlelight dinner on a cold night.
Even if only one of us is participating.
—
After dinner, I stack the plates in the sink.
"I'll do the dishes when the power comes back," I say over my shoulder. "It's my thank-you for not letting me trip over a bear in the dark."
"There are no bears in the cabin," Grayson says dryly.
I grin. "You don't know that. This place is old. Anything could be hiding in here."
He shakes his head, almost smiling. Almost.
Then he stands up, heading toward the stairs.
My stomach drops.
"Don't leave me alone here," I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He stops. His back to me. His hand on the banister.
For a long moment, he doesn't move.
Then he exhales. Long and slow. Defeated.
He turns around and sinks onto the couch across from me.
I immediately move to sit opposite him, pulling my knees up and tucking a pillow beside me. Relief floods through me.
Grayson doesn't look at me. Instead, he stands again, walks to the fireplace, and starts building a fire.
I watch in silence as he arranges kindling and logs with practiced ease. He lights it, and flames lick up the wood, crackling and popping.
The warm flicker fills the room, casting soft shadows across his face.
He settles back on the couch, staring into the fire.
I sneak glances at him.
He looks like he's carrying more than he lets anyone see.
"I really didn't mean to fry the office," I say nervously, breaking the silence. "The espresso machine looked user-friendly. Like, plug-and-play. I didn't know about voltage requirements."
Grayson says nothing. Just keeps staring into the fire.
So, I keep talking.
I tell him about the chaos. The shouting. Maxwell's sarcasm. How Brad from IT screamed so loud I thought he was going to pass out. How the server room literally smoked.
I vent about the office being outdated. How management won't upgrade anything. How no one takes accountability when things break.
Grayson listens. Quietly. Patiently. Never interrupting. Never judging.
It's strange. Talking to someone who doesn't fill every silence with their own opinions. Who just... listens.
A loud clap of thunder cracks above the cabin, so close it rattles the windows.
I jump, my heart leaping into my throat.
Without thinking, I shift closer to him on the couch. Inch by inch.
My arm brushes his.
He doesn't move away.
I scoot closer still, until I'm pressed against his side, gently resting my head on his shoulder.
Grayson stiffens. His whole body goes rigid.
But he doesn't pull away.
The fire crackles. The rain pounds. The storm rages.
And I sit there, tucked against the side of the grumpiest man I've ever met, feeling safer than I have in a long time.
Grayson lets out a long sigh.
I glance up at him. "What?"
"Nothing," he mutters, his voice low. "This night just got even longer."
But he doesn't move away.
And neither do I.