Page 25 of The Space Between
My hands are shaking. My breath saws in and out of my chest.
I’m fine. But I’mnot.Because something inside me just cracked.
Something old, scared, and small. Andthat’swhen I hear him, “What the fuck?!”
I turn my head.
He’s running. Not walking. Not striding.
Racingdown the embankment like the devil himself is behind him.
His eyes are wild. His voice ragged. He hits the edge of the water and doesn’t stop—just wades in, yanking me and the tube fully onto the bank. Throwing the tube with all his might, he leans over me. “What thehellwere you thinking, Blakelyn?!”
I scramble to my knees. “I?—”
“No vest? No call? You didn’t even tell Reece that you took a tube! You just got into the fucking riveraloneandwent? Itoldyou no one goes in alone? What thefuckis wrong with you?” He’s raging, pulling his own hair, pacing.
He did tell me that. I knew I shouldn’t have.
Poor Reece.
Shit! I hope I didn’t get him in trouble.
“Gruene, I was fine?—”
“You flipped!” He screams.
I flinch, “I’m okay?—”
“You could’vedied,Blakelyn.If you’d gone under and no one knew you were out here, you could havefucking died!” The words fade out and he stops. Like the words physically hurt.
His chest heaves. His arms drop to his sides. His fists unclench, and then, clench again. “I watched you go under.”
Oh my, god.
I blink and open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me talk.
“I saw your head disappear under the water and I—” He chokes on it. “Ifelt it.”
My breath catches and my heart shatters.
“I ran because I thought—” His voice breaks. “I thought I was too late, again.”
And suddenly it’snotabout the raft or the river or me being careless. It’s aboutthem.It’s abouthim. And the way he hasn’t forgiven himself for surviving.
“I’m sorry,” I brokenly whisper. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me with this raw, gutted look. Like I peeled something back he wasn’t ready to show.
Ihatethat I hurt him. Even accidentally. It was selfish.
Climbing to my feet, dripping and barefoot and wrecked, I step toward him, wincing as my hip pulls from where I slammed into the underwater rock.
He doesn’t back up, but he doesn’t reach for me either. He’s taking deep, gutted breaths with his hands fisted so tight his knuckles are white at his side.
So, I reach for him. Laying my hand on his chest, I whisper, “Feel that?” His eyes close. “I’m still here, Gruene. I’mstillhere and I’m sorry I scared you. I—I have to tell you something. My name… my nameisBlakelyn, but it’s not Vaughn. It’s Walker. My name is Blakelyn Walker. I want you to know who I am. Who I really am.”
He opens his eyes. Then, we’re crashing into each other like the tide just came in.
