Page 32 of The Space Between
“You think you’re free now? You think this little fantasy is real?” He laughs harshly. “You’remine, you’re worthless trash and you better get the fuck in the truck. Now!”
“You need to leave,” Gruene snarls, stepping between us.
Tyler’s jaw flexes. “You think I won’t come back, river rat? Back up or you’ll be wearing more scars.”
Gruene’s jaw tightens but his voice is calm as he replies, “Iknowyou won’t.”
Tyler laughs again. “You don’t know what she is. Walk away and mind your own business.”
“Neither do you,” Gruene snaps. “Because you never took the time toseeher. And sheismy business.”
Tyler lunges.
I scream, but not out of fear—out ofrage. It happens in slow motion—Gruene steps in, grabs Tyler by the collar, shoves him back so hard his boots skid on the gravel until his back hits the truck. His hand is balled in Tyler’s shirt, his face inches away while his other fist slams into his ribs, just once. I hear bone crack as Tyler wheezes.
“I willburyyou if you ever come near her again,” Gruene growls.
Tyler spits at his feet. It’s bloody. And Gruenethrowshim. Hard.
Tyler hits the ground, coughing, stunned. Gasping for air. I’m almost positive his ribs are broken.
Good. Now you see what it feels like.
Reece’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Sheriff’s on the way.”
Tyler freezes.
I drop to my knees. My legs are shaking so hard they can’t support me. My heart is in my throat. Gruene quickly turns and kneels beside me, his hands on my face. “You okay?”
I nod, but I’m not.
I’m not.
My whole body trembles.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, shielding me with his body. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I don’t cry. I don’t break. I justbreathe.Because Ibelievehim.
Even with Tyler still on the ground ten feet away, bruised, bleeding, and hateful.
I believe Gruene.
And that changeseverything.
Gruene
I don’t even rememberwhat sets me off.
It’s not the way he looks at her. Not the way he calls herbabylike it’s a leash. Not even the way she goes still the second she sees him, like her body’s remembering how to brace for impact. His words are harsh and cruel, meant to wound, but it isn’t even that. It’s the way she tries not to cry. The broken flicker in her eyes. Her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth andher biting it so hard it bleeds. The color leaving her face as she inhales like she’s swallowing every ounce of fear just to stay upright.
I see red as I stand, stepping between them.
“Get in your truck,” My tone is calm though I am not. I could beat him to death right here. The violence is within me. It’s coiling in my blood like a moccasin waiting to strike, but I control it. I hold it in.
He hobbles to his feet and leans against the truck, just slightly. He says, “Whatever you think she is to you, you’re wrong. I can legally do whatever I want, and no one will touch me.”
I laugh once—sharp, humorless. “You want to try pulling legal rights? On a dock full of witnesses? After she ran fromyou? This isn’t Austin, boy. And you don’t know anyone here. This ismytown. That dock is my dock. That river is my river. And you could disappear in it in seconds. So, like I said, get in your truck and get the hell out of here. Don’t come back.”
