Page 41 of The Space Between
I stack plates and scrape leftovers into the trash while he dries the pans with that rag he always throws over his shoulder.
His hands are rough. Capable. Hands that know how to build and carry and fix things. I catch myself watching them too long, captivated by the way they flex around metal, the way the veins rope under his skin.
I shouldn’t want him. But I do.
I shouldn’t feelsafewith him. But Ido.
“Do you ever float the river?”I ask after a while.
He pauses and wipes his hands on the rag, not meeting my eyes. “No.”
“Why?” I ask.
His jaw tightens and I realize what I just asked.
I want to apologize for speaking without thinking, but I don’t. I can’t. The silence stretches so long it aches. Then he says, “I can’t carelessly float down a river, my wife and daughter didn’t come out of.”
My breath catches.
He says it without inflection. There are no tears. There was no emotion. It’s just fact. But it hits like a gut punch. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I—I… that was thoughtless. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He nods once, his jaw set like concrete.
Without thinking, without planning it, I step forward and press my hand to his chest, right over his heart.
His body goes rigid, but he doesn’t pull away. His breathing accelerates and his nostrils flare.
“Do you ever miss being touched?” I ask softly.
His eyes snap to mine. “Don’t,” he warns, voice low, almost a snarl.
I don’t move. “I’m not trying to fix you,” I say. “I’m not looking for anything you can’t give, Gruene.” My palm gently glides over the raised scars under the soft material of his shirt. His breath hitches as I continue to touch him. “I just want to feelsomethingreal.” He looks like he’s going to step back.
Run. Shut down. But then, he does the last thing I expect.
Cupping the back of my neck, he pulls me in. His lips cover mine as he kisses me like he’s starving.
It’s not tentative. It’s not cautious. It’s months—years—of silence, rage, guilt, and grief slamming into mine with all the force of something he never planned to let loose. His mouth claims mine, rough and desperate. His teeth scrape over my bottom lip. His tongue glides over mine like he’s uncertain if he wants to duel it or worship it. He doesn’t know how tostart slow,like he’s afraid if he waits even a second, I’ll vanish right out of his hands.
I open for him without hesitation… without conscious thought. Iwantthis… wanthim…like I’ve wanted nothing else since I showed up in this town, too afraid to hope for anything good again.
He groans low in his throat when I grab the hem of his shirt and tug hard. It’s like a switch flips.
His hands are suddenly everywhere—under my shirt, over my skin, dragging my tank top up. His fingers are trembling but fast, as though he’s scared of stopping.
I lift my arms, and he pulls it off, tossing it aside.
When he sees me—braless, breathless—his chest stutters with a breath that punches the air out of the room.
“Fuck,” he rasps.
Just one ragged word.
Bending his head, hedevoursme.His mouth closes over one breast, hot and hungry. His tongue swirls over my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth… hard. His stubble scrapes my delicate skin, and I cry out—loud—arching into him as my nails dig into his back.
He lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing.
My legs wrap around his waist, my arms tighten around his shoulders, as he stumbles backward, his light eyes locked on mine like he’sdaringme to look away.
