Page 24 of The Space Between
Still tangled in my sheets. Skin sticky with sweat and memory. Thighs pressed together like they remember the weight of his body, even if my brain’s still catching up.
Gruene.
I didn’t dream about him. Not last night. Not that I can remember… but I feel him everywhere.
Between my legs, though he hasn’t touched me there. On my lips. Under my fingernails. Every place he did touch me stillthrums.And I want more.
Not just his body. His weight. His breath. Hiseverything.But more than that… I want to beinsidewhatever that moment was. That charged, trembling space where neither of us couldlook away as I came undone in his lap, and then, he followed… and wedidn’teven have sex.
That’swhat scares me.
That wasn’t justlust. It felt likeruin.
By midday,the heat is unbearable, and the portable A/C and fans can’t keep up. The cicadas scream in the trees like they’re trying to split the air in two… and I can’t sit still.
I pull on a bra, a white tank top, and faded cutoffs, shove my sunglasses on my head, and slip my feet into flip flops before marching down the path toward the tubing shack, needing toseehim.
But the shack is empty. The bay doors are rolled up, the fans humming, but Gruene’s nowhere in sight. Reece is by the loading dock, throwing towels into a storage bin next to stacked tubes and kayaks.
“Hey,” he calls, wiping sweat from his brow. “He’s upriver. He headed out for a supply run.”
I nod, feeling dismal that he isn’t here and getting pissed off at myself for feeling that way. “Thanks.” He nods and continues stacking rafts before walking into the shed.
I should turn around. I should go back to the cabin.
Instead, I do something reckless. Somethingstupidbecause my head is not right.
I walk to the edge of the dock, grab one of the single tubes, and push it into the water, and then, I climb in.
I have no drinking water. No sunscreen. And no plan.
Just the river and the burn and the aching space between what Iwantand what I’m afraid I’ll never be allowed to have.
The current issoft at first.
Gentle. Lazy.
It’s relaxing and peaceful.
But halfway around the first bend past the cabins, it hits small rapids and picks up.
I don’t panic. I know this water now.
I’ve watched it. Walked it. Touched it.
But Idon’tknow it. Not the way he does.
The tube jolts suddenly, catching on a limb under the surface that I didn’t see. I lurch sideways, one hand flying out to steady myself. The other grabs for the edge of the tube… too late.
I fall. Hard. My hip slams into a boulder, also hidden underwater. I gasp as pain shoots up my side, and then, the water swallows me whole.
The shock from the coldness of the water hits first. Then, the silence. Then, the instinct.
I kick, breaking the surface. I gasp.
The current’s stronger now. Not dangerous. Not deadly. But fast enough to drag me a few feet farther before I get my bearings.
I sputter, tread, then grab the tube and try to swim to the bank—thank God it flipped with me— My feet slip on the river rocks as I get closer, but I manage to haul myself and the tube onto the bank. I flop back with my legs still in the water.
