Chapter 11
Blakelyn
I don’t wake up panicked.
There’s no dream clawing at my throat. No phantom hands around my wrists. No shadow of Tyler in the room with me.
There’s only light.
Early morning sunshine stretches in through the gauzy curtain like it’s trying to comfort me without asking for anything in return. And… silence . Beautiful silence.
I breathe it in… for the first time in a long time, silence doesn’t feel like fear.
The aches hit me slow… not emotional… physical.
My hips. My thighs. My shoulders.
It’s the kind of soreness you remember with a blush, a shiver, and something dangerously close to a smile.
Tugging the sheet tighter around me, I stare at the ceiling and replay it all.
The dock.
His voice.
That kiss.
The way he growled into my skin like he hadn’t touched anyone in six years and forgot how to hold back.
The way he looked at me after… like I’d gotten under every wall he thought was still standing… like it scared the hell out of him.
And then he left… but not like before.
This time, he didn’t disappear. He stepped back.
Breathed.
And he let me breathe, too.
I sit up slowly, my muscles protest in the best way and I look myself over.
There’s no dried blood on my skin from fists or boots.
I’m not covered in bruises that don’t belong .
There are marks… from his fingers on my hips, from my shoulders hitting the wall and the table, but they were earned through passion, not pain.
There’s no guilt curling inside my stomach like a storm cloud.
Only the echo of the way he whispered again into my throat and held me like I was the first thing he’d ever wanted after all he’d lost.
My chest aches, but not in a way that makes me want to curl in on myself.
I ache because he didn’t stay—but I think he wanted to.
The coffee pot gurgles as though it’s annoyed to be woken up this early.
I dig through the cabinet until I find the cinnamon I picked up at the gas station and sprinkle a little into the filter on top of the dark rich grounds the way Grandma Nan used to. She used to grin and say, “It gives it that juge , baby girl. And that juge is a little thing to show you care.”
I smile as I do it, thinking that not that long ago I thought I’d never do domestic little things like this again.
Tyler poisoned everything good.
He even made coffee feel like a trap. He made kitchens feel like cages where I had to be fearful of if the eggs were too firm…
or too runny. Because of him, because I stayed out of fear and shame, my body felt like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
It was just a vessel for him to abuse… however he chose.
This morning, I’m grinding beans. I’m humming under my breath. I’m smiling as I do the little things again. Lifting my arms high above my head, I reach for the stars and arch my back, stretching in a way that feels so damn good. Then, I yawn and laugh as I curse the Texas heat.
One thought fills my head.
This is mine.
There’s something folded on the tabletop outside.
Spotting it through the window, I freeze.
My pulse skips and for one raw second, I think… Tyler.
Even though I know better. Even though he showed up and Gruene ran him off. I haven’t seen a trace since.
Trauma is like that, though.
It sits in your marrow, waiting for shadows to turn into threats.
I step outside barefoot. The boards of the porch are still warm from yesterday’s heat.
The note is written on a plain sheet of white printer paper. There’s no envelope, just a thick fold of paper with two words scrawled across the top in black ink.
Still here.
I stare at it until my throat starts to close. He could’ve said, “ I’m sorry.”
He could’ve said, “ I want you.”
He could’ve said, “Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”
But he didn’t. He said he’s still here.
And that’s a promise.
Sitting down on the porch step, I clutch the note like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s the start of something that doesn’t come easy—but comes anyway.
I stay on the steps with the note in my palm, watching the sun rise fully before I wander down to the river. It’s already warm out, but the breeze off the water carries a soft chill that prickles my skin.
Hello, Texas summer.
There’s a low fog on the water. Mist lifts from the surface like the river’s still waking up, too… like the suns rays are burning off the last of the night from the surface.
The dock creaks under my weight. It’s familiar now. It’s mine.
Sitting at the edge, I let my toes dip into the water.
I have no idea how long I’m out here, just enjoying the moment, the stillness. I’m immersed in the river as it wakes up and the serenity fills my soul.
It’s so nice. So peaceful. Such an illusion, but I welcome it.
I don’t hear him right away, but I feel him. Like gravity.
That pull in my gut that started the first time he spoke to me though he didn’t want to like me.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
I turn to look up at him. He’s walking down the dock barefoot, shirtless, a coffee thermos in one hand and sleep still etched into the corners of his eyes.
He looks like he doesn’t regret last night… like the man who kissed me with grief still in his throat and let me have all of him anyway.
“You left a note,” I say, my voice breathless. He does that to me.
He nods but doesn’t say another word.
“Careful, this is the second time.” I chuckle.
His mouth twitches at the corners, revealing a hint of a smile. “You needed a note.” My entire body responds.
He’s so beautiful. So broken, but just… beautiful.
I laugh softly. “You think I didn’t need something before last night?”
He pauses as he reaches the dock’s edge, his eyes flickering over my face. “You didn’t need me then.”
Does he think that?
“And now I do?” I ask softly.
His eyes darken and he responds, “Yeah.”
I nod because he’s right. I do. Not to fix me. Not to save me. But because last night mattered.
He sits, settling beside me with his thigh against mine. It’s the only part of us that’s touching, but it sends a current through my entire body. He simply hands me the thermos.
Lifting it to my lips, I take a sip. It’s black, strong, and has the faintest hint of cinnamon.
Wait…
“I taste cinnamon,” I tease.
He shrugs like it’s nothing but says, “You said you liked it.”
He added cinnamon to his coffee… for me.
Warmth fills me as I reply, “I did. But I didn’t think you listened.”
He shrugs again. “I hear more than I say, Blakelyn.”
I sip. The temperature of the coffee burns my tongue but it feels good… like waking up all over again.
“You okay?” he asks after another quiet moment.
I don’t lie. “I’m sore,” I say, turning to face him. He tenses beside me, but I quickly go on. “I’m sore in a good way, Gruene. I didn’t sleep much but only because my heart won’t shut up.”
He flinches slightly. “If you regret it?—”
“I don’t.” I immediately reply. “I don’t regret anything.”
His shoulders drop.
I can’t stop myself from asking, “Do you?”
He continues to stare at the moving green water. “I don’t even know what I feel, Blakelyn. That’s the part that scares me.”
“That you feel something?” I ask before I can think it through.
He shakes his head, “No. That with you, I finally feel everything. ”
Me, too, Gruene.
We sit like that for a long time, with only our thighs touching. Just… being. And yet, somehow, it’s more intimate than anything we did last night.
“I’m going to screw this up,” he blurts out. I glance over. His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark. His shoulders are hunched. “But I’m not gonna lie to you about it. I’m not gonna disappear. I just need… patience, Blakelyn.”
I whisper, “I’m not asking for perfect, Gruene.” His eyes lift to mine and I say, “I’m asking for real.”
He inhales deeply before holding it and exhaling slowly. Then, he nods. “I can do real.”
Reece calls his name from the other side of the cabins, interrupting us, “Gruene, where are you at?”
He yells back, “On the dock. Be there in a sec.” Sighing, he stands slowly, stretching out the tension in his back as he looks down at me. “You coming over later?” he asks.
I tilt my head all the way back, meeting his eyes, trying not to gasp at the way the morning sun creates the perfect shadows on his face. “Is that an invitation?” My voice is unintentionally breathy.
“It’s a yes or no question.” He bluntly says.
I smirk. “Then, yes. I am.”
His smile is faint, but it’s there. Butterflies dance in my stomach and my chest suddenly feels too small.
Turning on his heel, he leaves. I don’t go back inside right away.
Instead, I walk along the riverbank, my toes sinking into the mud and silt as grass brushes my calves.
I stop by the giant cypress and run my hand along the bark, feeling the texture underneath my fingers and wishing it was Gruene’s imperfect skin.
This is how it begins.
Not with declarations. Not with forever. But with still here.
Gruene
There’s a pressure in my chest I can’t breathe through.
It’s not panic. It’s not guilt. It’s something worse. It’s hope . And it feels like it’s going to fucking kill me.
I stand under the cold spray of my outdoor shower behind the shop long after the water runs out of pressure.
Long after my muscles stop screaming at me from the way I took her.
I’m sore in places I haven’t been in years.
I can’t forget the way I wanted her… the way I let myself have her—again, and again, and again—like I didn’t already know what wanting something like that would cost.
I never should have touched her in the first place. But I did. So, it should’ve been a one-time thing. A mistake not to be repeated. Something we could both pretend didn’t matter in the morning.
But it wasn’t. It isn’t .
She isn’t.
I still taste her.
I still see her.
I still feel her heartbeat against mine like it’s tethering me to something I don’t deserve.