Chapter 17
Blakelyn
I’m alone in the bed when I wake up. Again.
The sun’s creeping through the slats of my blinds like it’s trying to apologize for shining on a morning that feels this hollow. My body aches in all the ways that say he was here—his weight, his heat, the rawness he left behind—but the other side of the bed is cold. Empty. He’s been gone awhile.
Pulling the sheet tighter around me, I press my fingers to the spot where his hand was tangled in mine just hours ago, and try not to cry.
This is not just about the sex.
It never was.
It’s about everything that happens after . Or doesn’t.
It’s about the silence.
The space he slips into the second he’s done.
And I let him. I keep letting him.
Over and over again.
I get up. I shower. I dress and pull on my flats and a navy t-shirt dress with tiny golden flowers because it makes me feel something like brave. Pinning my hair back in a low bun, I brush mascara over my already dark lashes.
Then, I look in the mirror and for the first time since I got here, I hate what I see. Not because I don’t look put together but because I do.
Because I know how to smile on the outside and teach fractions and ask kids about their favorite books while I feel like I’m slowly breaking in private.
Because somewhere between June and now, I started mistaking being wanted for being seen.
Gruene wants me. That’s obvious. The sex is explosive. I have zero doubts that he enjoys fucking me.
But he doesn’t see me.
Not really.
Not in the ways that count.
Not in the ways I deserve.
The middle school smells like fresh wax and new beginnings. The halls are buzzing with first-day nerves—kids bouncing in new sneakers, clutching binders too big for their backpacks, whispering in nervous bursts to some friends they haven’t seen since May.
I paste on my smile.
“Hi! I’m Miss Walker. I’ll be your homeroom teacher this year.”
I shake hands with parents who give me too much information and students who give me none. I pass out syllabi. I learn names. I laugh when someone asks if I’m old enough to be a teacher.
I tell stories about my “crazy” summer.
I don’t mention the man who lives next door. The one who takes and takes and vanishes before the sheets cool. The one who kisses like he means it and then leaves like he doesn’t.
I swallow it. I survive but by the time lunch rolls around and I’m alone in my classroom staring at a turkey sandwich, I feel like I’m going to scream… not from the kids… from me. From the version of myself I keep betraying just to stay close to someone who isn’t even really here.
He doesn’t check on me.
Not at lunch. Not after school. Not that I really expected him to… but it would’ve been nice.
To be seen.
I walk to the cabin from my car after parking. My bag strap digs into my shoulder and sweat curls the edges of my hair. Unlocking the door, I drop my things and stand in the middle of the kitchen like I don’t recognize my own life.
Then, I do something I haven’t done since the night I left Tyler… I scream.
I scream into my hands until my throat burns, and my knees hit the floor and the worn wood presses into my skin.
And then, I cry… for all of it. For the way Tyler used to twist my words until I apologized for bleeding. For the way Gruene touches me like I matter, and then disappears like I never did. For the way I keep waiting for someone to stay without needing to be convinced.
And then, I stop… just like that.
I wipe my face. Stand up. And start cleaning. Because that’s what you do when your heart’s a mess and your life’s in pieces and there’s no one coming to pick you up off the floor.
You pick yourself up.
He knocks just after eight.
I don’t look through the peephole. I already know who it is.
Gruene… of course.
I open the door and there he is.
His baseball cap is pulled low. His shirt damp from the river and sweat. His eyes search mine like he’s checking for damage but not ready to ask how it got there.
“What?,” I say.
He shifts. “What do you mean what?”
“It’s late. I’m tired.” I flatly say.
His jaw tightens but I’m not here to make it easier for him anymore.
“Did you want something?” I ask, holding the door open only an arm’s length.
“Because you won’t be getting fucked tonight.
So, let’s just skip the shit. Go on back to your cabin for another night of silence after you get exactly what you want. ”
He blinks. “Blakelyn?—”
“No.” I straighten. “Don’t Blakelyn me. You don’t get to show up like this, fuck me into the mattress, and then, disappear until it’s convenient again. That’s not who I am. I’m not your fuck buddy. I’m not a pair of legs that spread, you pump, you come, and you leave.”
His face pales as his mouth opens. Shock covers his face but I’m already walking away, tossing the dish towel onto the counter, leaving the door open like an invitation he hasn’t earned.
“You have something to say?” I call out over my shoulder.
“Then, talk. But you don’t get to touch me unless you see me first. I’m not a cum collector. ”
Holy shit, Blakelyn. That’s blunt.
No, I don’t care!
I’m sick of this shit.
He doesn’t move. For a second, I think he’s going to leave, like always. But then, I hear the door shut behind him. And footsteps.
As I reach the sink, I turn, facing him, revealing nothing. He follows me into the kitchen, stopping ten feet away, like he’s afraid coming any closer will make me disappear. His hand rises, but not to touch me. He grasps the back of his neck, squeezing it. “I’m not good at this, Blakelyn.”
“No shit.” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He says.
“Then why do you keep doing it?” I ask.
Silence. The kind that hurts more than yelling. The kind that feels like maybe this is the end of something that never really began.
Then, he says it. Soft. Barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to need someone without hating myself for it.”
I blink.
Well, shit.
That’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to me.
He runs a hand over his mouth. “Molly—she needed me. Aubree did, too. And I let them down. I drove them into that river, and I lived when they didn’t.
Every time I start feeling something for you, I remember that.
And I panic. I pull back. Because needing you feels like inviting that nightmare all over again. ”
My chest aches but I don’t move toward him.
He has to come to me.
“I get it,” I say. “But you don’t get to use your grief as a reason to treat me like I’m disposable.” I say, clear and firm.
“I’m not. I mean… I am. I have. But you’re not. I—you’re not disposable, Blakelyn.” I hear the turmoil he’s under.
“Then, show me. Prove it. Because I feel like I’m just a warm body… and I don’t like feeling like that, Gruene.” I whisper.
He looks at me like I’m both the fire and the water.
And then, he crosses the kitchen. He reaches for me, but he doesn’t kiss me.
He just holds my face in both hands and presses his forehead to mine.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I made you feel that way.
I don’t want to keep running,” he breathes. “But I’m scared as hell to stop.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Then, I open them. “Then stand still… for once. Stand still and let me see you.”
We don’t have sex but he doesn’t leave either.
We lie in bed, fully clothed, facing each other. We just breathe.
Just being.
I fall asleep with his hand in mine.
There are no promises. There are no lies. There’s just one small truth…
Maybe this is what healing looks like.
Maybe this is the beginning of something that hurts… less.
Gruene
I don’t sleep. I can’t.
I lie there in her bed, on top of the sheets, my arm resting over her waist, and I listen to the rhythm of her breathing, steady and slow against the storm of mine.
Her hand’s still curled in mine. She hasn’t let go… not after what I told her.
I confessed… bared my soul.
I admitted what I haven’t said out loud in six years—that needing someone makes me feel like a loaded gun with the safety off.
But she just held my eyes and said, “Then stand still. For once. And let me see you.”
I did and I’m still here, even now, with every muscle in my body screaming at me to run.
No. I’m not running.
I want to be here. I want Blakelyn.
Even though I’m still not sure I believe that I deserve to.
She rolls a little in her sleep. Nudges closer. Her body presses against mine like it knows what I still won’t say.
I don’t move. I barely breathe because I don’t know what the hell happens next.
It’s different now… and I don’t get to keep pretending it’s not.
The cabin feels too quiet when I get up and leave just before dawn.
I don’t wake her. I can’t.
There’s too much in me that still doesn’t know how to give her the morning after she deserves. Not until I figure out what to do with the mess in my head. But I do grab the small pad for her grocery list and leave her a note, tucking it under her coffee mug.
Then, I step out into the early morning air, river mist curling around my boots, the world still soaked in the heavy hush of dawn. August heat hasn’t kicked in yet, give it another hour, and the fog smells like cedar, cypress, oak, and dew and something sharp and honest.
I walk the gravel path down to the shop dock, where one of the kayaks is half pulled out, probably from Reece yesterday. He never finishes what he starts unless it’s something involving beer or boobs.
I grin, then, I stop. Smiling feels foreign… like my face has to relearn how to stretch that way.
Shaking it off, I get to work. I haul rental coolers out from storage. I restock the sunscreen bins. I double-check the life jackets. The routine grounds me, pulling me into something tangible, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
Blakelyn.
Not just her body.
Her fire.
Her voice.
The way she stood there in her kitchen last night and finally told me no.
Told me to see her.
And I did.
God, I did.
I don’t think I’ve stopped seeing her since she showed up with her hair tied up and her mouth set in that determined way, carrying a trunk full of small boxes containing her life in the back of that dented old Honda in June.
She walked straight into my guarded world and refused to flinch, and now, I’m the one flinching.
Because she’s asking for more.
She’s demanding it. As she should. She deserves it.
But I still don’t know if I’m built for more anymore.
Reece shows up late, not actually, but I’ve been here for two hours, and Blakelyn drove past on her way to the school an hour ago. “Damn, you’re already working? When do you sleep, man?” he asks, slapping the back of my shoulder.
I grunt. “Whenever my brain shuts off.”
He nods. He understands.
He’s been my closest friend for my entire life.
No one understands better.
Except maybe her… Blakelyn.
I catch him watching me. “What?”
Reece shrugs. “You’re different, man. Ever since Blakelyn showed up.”
I don’t answer because he’s right and that scares the hell out of me.
I stop by the school around noon.
It’s not planned, I just find myself driving past it, then pulling in, like my truck decided for me.
The front office secretary recognizes me—probably from tubing waivers or field trip sign-offs—she waves from behind the glass, but I don’t go in. I just sit there, engine idling, hands on the wheel, staring at the brick building that looks like every middle school in every small Texas town.
I think about her inside.
Teaching kids. Smiling when she doesn’t feel like it.
Fighting for herself in ways I never even had to consider.
She’s stronger than I am.
That’s the truth.
And maybe that’s what’s so damn magnetic about her.
I walk to her cabin and hover outside her door like a man deciding whether to jump or retreat.
I raise my hand. Drop it. Raise it again.
Then, I knock once and step back.
She opens the door in a tank top and pajama shorts. Her hair is piled on top of her head. Her glasses are slipping down her nose. She looks like something soft and real and home.
My chest tightens and I forget how to speak.
Oh, damn… I’m a goner.
“Hey,” she says.
I swallow, “Hey.”
We stare at each other.
It stretches too long but I don’t leave. “I owe you something,” I say.
She folds her arms. “You said that last night. But I guess you owe me a lot of somethings.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Her brow arches, “Are you gonna give them to me? Or just stand there like a ghost?”
I angle my head, and she grips the edge of the door. I walk toward her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like I’m crossing a bridge I can’t go back from.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I start, then stop, shaking my head.
I can’t give her the same tired old lines.
“No. That’s a lie.” I start again. Her eyes widen but I keep going.
“I know how . I just didn’t want to. Because wanting you means waking up to the risk of losing everything again.
” I’m so close to her now. I could reach out and touch her cheek.
She hasn’t moved. But I don’t touch her.
“I already lost everything once. And I’m still here.
So maybe, that means I can survive it again.
Or maybe it means I’m not supposed to spend the rest of my life surviving.
Maybe I’m supposed to fucking live again.
” Her breath catches in her throat. I reach out, unable to stop myself.
I touch her jaw. It’s soft… certain. “I can’t promise I won’t mess this up.
But I can promise I won’t leave you in that bed alone again.
Not without something real to show for it. ”
She’s trembling or maybe I am.
Then, she nods. Just once, and steps aside, letting me in.
We sit on the couch. She stretches her legs across my lap, and we talk… about nothing… about everything.
I tell her about Aubree’s favorite color—purple. About how she used to put stickers on her stuffed dog’s forehead and call him a unicorn.
About Molly’s laugh when she drank too much wine and burned the grilled cheese… to a crisp, and how I ate it anyway and told her it was delicious.
She tells me about a girl in her class who called her “Miss Can’t Dress For Nothing” and how it weirdly made her day because it reminded her she’s strong enough to handle middle schoolers.
We laugh.
We laugh.
Sometime around midnight, she curls into my side and whispers, “Don’t break me, Gruene. Please.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I answer honestly. “I’m scared I already did.”