Chapter 16 #2
He stares at me for the longest time. His eyes flit over my face as his breathing is as ragged as mine. Grabbing my face, he kisses me.
It’s desperate… hard… rough. His lips cling to mine like he’s still figuring out what it means to want something and not race away. My lips part and he takes full advantage, his tongue sweeping past them.
I kiss him back like I’m tired of waiting… because I am… because this is real… because we’re here.
And this needs to be where the story changes.
Gruene
I taste her long after she’s gone.
Even as she walks back to her cabin with her jaw tight and her eyes burning—not from the kiss, but from everything I haven’t said…
everything I don’t know how to say. I stand there like a fucking coward again, letting her walk away when what I should do is follow.
Own it. Be the man she thinks I can be, instead of the man I’ve been since the river swallowed my whole world.
But I can’t.
Because my hands still remember how it feels to reach for people who will never walk through the door again.
Because I still wake up gasping, hearing Molly and Aubree scream for me before the water choked their voices out.
Because the thought of loving someone again—of failing someone again—makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of that incline all over again, one step away from sliding back into hell.
Dragging a hand down my face, I head for my truck, gravel crunching beneath my boots, August heat pressing down on me like a second skin.
The tubing crowd’s thinned out since the weekend rush, but there’s always cleanup.
Always some kid leaving a tangled mess of inner tubes like we’re his personal maid service.
Reece said he’d handle it, but I need something to do before I lose my fucking mind.
Something other than thinking about the look in her eyes when she said, “I don’t need you to be fucking perfect! I just need you to stop running!”
That hit harder than it should have.
Because she’s right. I am running. I’ve been running for six fucking years.
The shop is quiet when I get back. Too quiet. Reece’s Bronco is parked out front, but the front desk is empty. There’s a note scrawled on a receipt.
Ran to town.
The guys are on tubes and watching the office.
Back soon.
— Reece
Balling it up, I shove it in my pocket.
The air’s thick with leftover humidity, the river slow and shimmering down past the bank.
I step out back and see the guys goofing off as they stack and sort tubes.
I head to the river and start collecting abandoned tubes, throwing them further up the bank.
It’s mindless work, but maybe that’s the point. I need mindless. I need simple.
Nothing about Blakelyn is simple.
She’s fire .
Bright. Bold. Unapologetic.
And she looks at me like I’m worth standing still for.
That’s what fucks with me.
I don’t know how to hold something like that without dropping it.
Without breaking it.
By the time I’ve cleared the last of the dock and hosed everything down, my shirt’s soaked and the sun’s dropped low enough to drag shadows across the gravel. I peel the shirt over my head, toss it into the back of the truck, and sit on the tailgate, sweat cooling on my skin.
I should leave it alone.
I should let her move on.
Just back off completely and let her have her fresh start without the weight of me dragging her under.
But then I picture her in that classroom. Bright-eyed. Brave as hell. Probably standing in front of thirty kids with nothing but a whiteboard and a heart she’s still stitching back together. And I know I can’t stay gone.
Not now.
Not after the way she kissed me back.
Not after the way she stood in that river and didn’t flinch when I broke apart.
I don’t leave the shop until after eight.
The drive from the shop to my porch takes three minutes. Her cabin lights are still on.
My boots crunch the gravel between our places. It’s a short walk. Five minutes. Less, if I’m not dragging my feet like I’ve got something to prove to no one.
I knock.
And wait.
The door opens, and she’s standing there barefoot, a pair of worn flannel shorts on and a tank top that clings to her like the heat does. Her hair’s down, loose and wild. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me like she’s not sure whether to slam the door in my face or pull me inside.
“I owe you something,” I say.
Her brows draw together. “You don’t owe me?—”
“An explanation,” I cut in. “Not an apology. Not bullshit. Just the truth.”
She doesn’t move, so I keep going.
“I lost them six years ago. Molly and Aubree. You know that. The guilt never left. It sits inside of me. It festers. But it’s not just the grief that eats me alive—it’s knowing I was driving.
I was behind the wheel. I made the call to keep going when the storm got worse.
I didn’t stop. I thought I could make it.
And I didn’t. Not for them. Not when it counted.
” Her mouth parts. But I’m not done. “I’ve been sleepwalking since that day.
Breathing because I have to, not because I want to.
Waking up and going to work and pretending I’m still a man instead of just a ghost in his clothes.
And then you showed up, and you looked at me like I wasn’t ruined. Like I was still in the goddamn room.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You are in the room, Gruene.”
I step closer. “I don’t know how to be this.
I don’t know how to want something and keep it.
But I want you. And that scares the fucking shit out of me, Blakelyn.
I want you even though I shouldn’t. I keep touching you because I can’t not touch you.
You say shit like you want more and I want to run but I keep coming back, because I want more, too , even though I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve you. But here I am. All the broken, fucked up scarred, emotional wasteland parts of me. ”
She takes a breath, saying nothing. She just looks at me with her eyes wide and her mouth parted. Then, she leans back and opens the door.
I step inside.
The cabin is quiet. Soft lamplight spills across the hardwood, casting shadows on the walls and catching the golden flecks in her honeyed eyes as she turns to face me.
“I started today. It was a big deal. I was scared shitless.” she says. “I wanted to tell you. But you didn’t show.”
“I know.” I reply, my stomach tightening at knowing I let her down.
“I thought maybe it didn’t mean anything to you.” She says quietly. “That I don’t mean anything to you. Not really.”
“It means too much.” I swallow. “ You mean too much.”
The silence that follows is thick… tense.
She steps closer and I meet her halfway.
Our mouths crash together before I can second-guess it. It’s like we’re both reaching for the same lifeline in the dark. Her hands are in my hair, mine on her hips, and everything else blurs. I back her toward the couch, urgency pulsing between us.
Her fingers fumble at the hem of my shirt. I help her pull it over my head, then, I tug hers off in turn. Our bare skin collides, coming together, and the kiss deepens. Her teeth catch my bottom lip as I groan, lifting her.
She wraps her legs around my waist. “Bed,” she pants.
“Yeah.” I grunt, crossing the room. I toe off my boots, still holding her, still kissing her. Then, we’re falling into the sheets like it’s the only place we’ve ever belonged. Our clothes disappear in a mess onto the floor, as we continue to kiss, our teeth clashing, our tongues dueling.
She falls back onto the bed, pulling me over her.
Her body is warm and slick beneath me. Her thighs part and I settle into the apex as she presses against me, arching when I run my mouth down her neck, across her collarbone, tasting salt and skin and her.
I trail lower, slow, aching, memorizing every curve, every gasp, every shudder.
Her hands claw down my back when I suck one nipple into my mouth, then the other, drawing sounds from her that brand themselves into my chest.
She moans my name, “Gruene…” her hips grinding up to meet mine. “Please.”
I don’t ask what she wants. I already know, but I freeze for half a breath as my cock slides along her folds.
Her eyes find mine and she nods. Soft. Certain. Yes.
Need takes over like a tide.
Grabbing her leg, I hitch it higher around my waist, and line myself up. My breath catches as I slide into her bare. Deep. Thick. Raw. The way we started. The way we feel each other in every place that still aches.
She gasps. Her back arching, her body swallowing me inch by inch. Tight, wet, and mine.
“Shit—Blakely…” My forehead drops to hers as I sink all the way in.
She holds me there. No rushing. No hiding. Just her heart pounding under my palm and the way she looks at me like I’m still someone worth wanting.
I start to move slowly, measured. But it’s not gentle—it’s heavy. Full of everything I’ve been holding back. Grief. Guilt. The ache I’ve buried so deep I almost forgot what it was like to let someone touch it.
She wraps her legs around my waist, locking her ankles behind my back, her breath hot in my ear. “Don’t stop.”
“Not a chance.” I growl, grinding deeper inside of her. Her hips meet every thrust. Our skin slaps, hot and wet, and her nails score lines down my spine. Her mouth finds mine, and I drink from her like she’s the only thing that’s ever tasted like home.
The pace builds. The room disappears. It’s just us—breath and need and something that feels dangerously close to hope.
She starts to tremble and comes apart beneath me, gasping, shaking, clenching tight around me in pulses that drag me straight to the edge.
I groan, teeth gritted, and hips stuttering. “Where?” I rasp.
“Inside,” she breathes, pulling me closer. “I always want you inside.”
Slamming into her, I pull out to the tip and bury myself deep. Two strokes and I let go, shaking as I come hard and raw and real inside her.
Oh, Blakelyn.
I never want to leave this moment.
I’m giving her a piece of me I didn’t think was still alive.
She holds me as my body still quivers, one hand in my hair, and the other on my back.
Neither of us move. Neither of us speak.
I press my mouth to her shoulder, heart still hammering, and whisper something I haven’t said out loud in six fucking years, “I don’t know how to let myself believe this is real.”
She pulls me closer and for the first time, I don’t pull away.