Chapter 13
Blakelyn
There’s a moment right before the sun comes up…
That half-second where the world holds its breath and the sky turns this bruised, aching shade of lavender…
That’s how I feel when I open my eyes… like the pause before something breaks… Or blooms… Or both.
Gruene’s not beside me on the couch.
That doesn’t mean he’s gone.
Not this time.
Standing, I stretch and fold the blanket, draping it over the back of the couch before going to look for him.
I find him outside. He’s sitting on my porch steps with his head bent low and his fingers laced between his knees.
He’s barefoot, shirtless, and damp curls are sticking to the back of his neck like the Texas heat has already made an appearance this morning.
His mug’s half full, forgotten beside him.
Steam is rising in lazy spirals from it and curling around his shoulders like ghosts.
I stop just inside the screen door, my heart stuttering at the sight of him.
Every time I see him, my reaction is exactly the same.
There’s something about seeing him like this.
Quiet. Real. Unarmored.
It undoes me.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just watch him breathe. And feel it—that fragile, impossible truth…
He kept his word.
He’s still here.
Eventually, he looks over his shoulder.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t smile. He just says, “The coffee’s probably cold,” like it’s the beginning of something instead of the end.
I step outside, the wood cool under my bare feet, not reaching for him. I just sit next to him.
We’re so close but we aren’t touching but near enough that he could if he wanted to.
We don’t talk. Not yet. Not until the sun starts to lift over the horizon, stretching gold across the water like it’s reaching for us, too.
“I dreamed about her,” I whisper. “Last night.” He doesn’t ask who.
He knows. “She had dark curls and dimples and your eyes. She was barefoot and running through the edges of the water. She was laughing.” Gruene’s whole body stills.
“I woke up crying,” I say. “I’ve never even met her, but it felt like a goodbye I didn’t know I needed. ”
His voice is low and cracked. “Aubree always kicked her shoes off before she got to the river. She said it made her faster.”
“I believe it.”
He nods. “She was the fastest and the purest thing I ever loved.”
I don’t touch him. I just sit.
Sometimes grief doesn’t want to be held. It just wants to be.
The coffee’s gone and the sun’s too high to ignore when he turns to me and says, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?”
I think about it for half a second, then, I shake my head. “No.”
It doesn’t matter. I’d go anywhere with you.
We take the back trail through the woods behind the cabin, following the river. His pace is steady. Mine is just a little behind him. He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t really wait, but he glances back, twice, just enough to let me know he hasn’t forgotten I’m there.
We walk for a long time. I glance at my watch and see we’ve been walking for about half an hour. Suddenly, the path narrows before it opens up again, revealing a bend in the river I haven’t seen yet. I’ve never been this far back. It’s quieter here. Wilder. More untouched.
He gestures to the land. “This is mine,” he says.
“You own this?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I inherited it. My grandparents left it to my parents. They were gonna build out here… a weekend spot but they never got around to it, and then, they died. It came to me, and well, I kept it.”
I look around at the lush grass. It’s higher here. About thirty or so feet above the river. But the river is still right there. Trees circle the perimeter, thick and full. It’s a stunningly perfect spot. It looks like a postcard. “It’s beautiful.” I murmur.
He doesn’t look at the river or the land. He’s looking at me as he says, “Yeah. It is.”
We don’t talk much after that.
He shows me the stretch of river where he taught Aubree to swim. The tree she fell out of once when she climbed too high and he thought she broke her leg. The flat rock she named “Princess Stone” because it was “where the river throne goes.”
I take it in, listening to the love in his voice as he shares pieces of himself, his life.
I can’t show him anything out here. I don’t have a river.
I don’t have a childhood that smells like sunscreen and cypress, and cedar, and oak.
Like hope. I don’t have memories of a child I loved more than life itself, or someone I walked down the aisle with, and then, I lost them.
But I have him. For now. It feels like I have him.
And that’s starting to feel like something.
I don’t even know how it happens. One second, we’re standing on the edge of the riverbank of his property, my toes are in the mud and his hands are shoved in his pockets like he doesn’t trust them not to reach for me, and the next, I’m stepping forward, peeling off my shirt, and undoing the button on my shorts.
He watches me like I’m some kind of miracle and a mistake all at once. And then, he follows .
He follows me into the river. I don’t know if he meant to or he just forgot… but I’m in the river and he’s beside me.
The water is curling around my calves when Gruene steps in. My eye widen and I gasp, “Gruene… you’re in the water…”
He looks down, as though shocked. The current’s softer here, not as rapid. It’s almost… calm. It’s still flowing, you can see the current in the water, but it’s not aggressive. There’s no pull. I don’t have to fight to keep my balance. It’s still cold, but it’s quiet.
He swallows, and then says, “I’m in the river.”
I nod. “Are you okay? We can get out.”
He pauses and then he reaches for me. His hand links with mine and he shakes his head. “I think I’m okay.” He pulls me deeper. The water reaches my knees, and then, my thighs. Reaching out, Gruene grips a low hanging branch, and he lays back still holding my hand.
I’m unsure but I lie back beside him. And we just… float.
The water drifts over us for a long time. Then, he stands and touches me. His fingers dance over my arms and I stand beside him. His touch isn’t hungry. It’s reverent.
His palm slides up my spine, over my ribs, curling around the back of my neck like he’s remembering every inch of me he’s already mapped. Tilting my head back, I kiss him. I can’t help it.
We don’t rush.
His lips cling to mine like he’s starving for comfort , not control. River water coats our skin, and I taste sweat on his tongue.
His hands cradle my hips, guiding me back toward the shallow bank until my feet find solid ground and I’m anchored.
Kneeling in the water, he peels my panties down my legs.
I lift one foot and then the other so he can remove them.
I’m completely naked as he throws them onto the bank and presses his mouth between my thighs.
I shiver as his tongue flicks against my clit. “Gruene—” I gasp, fingers threading into his wet hair.
He growls against me, low and deep, the vibration alone enough to make my knees buckle.
His tongue worships me while his lips suck and press kisses.
He alternates between slow licks to quick flicks against my clit, before humming over it and nipping it.
I moan, “Gruene… ohhhhh… Mmmmmm… yes… God… yes… Ohhhhhhh...” He sucks it into his mouth applying suction at the same time as he flicks it and my knees lock while my back arches. I yank his face further into me.
“I’ve got you, baby” he murmurs. “Let go.”
And… I do.
Because somehow, with him… with this broken, beautiful man … I’m not afraid to fall anymore.
I scream his name into the trees, “Gruene…” as my body bucks and quivers.
When he rises, my body is still trembling from the aftershocks of my intense orgasm.
But it’s not over… not even close.
His eyes lock on mine, wild and dark, as he manages to push his soaked jeans down over his hips. He yanks his boxers with them and tosses both to the grass behind us.
He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t hesitate. He just lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, and he slides into me in one perfect, impossible thrust that steals my breath and gives me life in the same second. “Oh my God —” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders.
His hands grip my ass, holding me steady, his mouth pressed to my temple as he stretches me. “Say my name,” he breathes as my pussy pulses around him.
“Gruene.” I groan as he moves.
“Again.” He growls, pumping into me, again.
“ Gruene... ” I moan.
The water laps at our waists, splashing onto our chests, as he moves inside me—slow and deep, stretching me, filling me, bottoming out and hitting that sweet spot, again and again, like he’s trying to memorize every sound I make… every shiver… every broken breath.
It’s so intense. It feels so good. I’m so full… I don’t know what to do with it. But I want more.
My heart is a live wire. My lungs can’t keep up with my breathing. My skin is too tight, too raw, too ready and every thrust makes me burn .
He buries his face in my neck and whispers something I can’t make out, something that sounds like “ please ” and “ more” and “ don’t go ”.
His hips jerk, he’s slamming up into me so fast that his balls are slapping against me and my clit is being stimulated as I grind down against him.
My nails dig into his shoulders as I use them and my hips to fuck him back.
My body tightens, my vision blurs, and I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming as I come.
It triggers his release and we’re crashing together… hard, fast, and so fucking real .
A strangled moan is pressed against my throat, as his whole body shakes with the intensity of his release.
We’re both gasping, trying to fill our lungs with air. We don’t separate right away.
He stays buried in me, his arms wrapped around my back, his sweaty forehead pressed to mine. My hair is soaked from river water and sweat and sticking to both of us.
As I ride out my sexual high, for the first time, I feel like maybe this isn’t just about drowning anymore.