Page 60 of The Space Between
Not with declarations. Not with forever. But withstill here.
Gruene
There’sa pressure in my chest I can’t breathe through.
It’s not panic. It’s not guilt. It’s something worse. It’shope. And it feels like it’s going to fucking kill me.
I stand under the cold spray of my outdoor shower behind the shop long after the water runs out of pressure. Long after my muscles stop screaming at me from the way I took her. I’m sorein places I haven’t been in years. I can’t forget the way Iwantedher… the way I let myself have her—again, and again, and again—like I didn’t already know what wanting something like that would cost.
I never should have touched her in the first place. But I did. So, it should’ve been a one-time thing. A mistake not to be repeated. Something we could both pretend didn’t matter in the morning.
But it wasn’t. Itisn’t.
Sheisn’t.
I still taste her.
I still see her.
I still feel her heartbeat against mine like it’s tethering me to something I don’t deserve.
Toweling off, I drag my jeans over damp legs, fighting to get the denim up. I finally do and head into the shop, even though it’s not even eight and no one’s coming by this early.
I need to move. I need todosomething to stop myself from walking into her cabin, pressing her into the cabinets, and getting lost in her fucking mouth and those looks and moans that unravel me.
I check inventory that doesn’t need checking. I restack dry bags. I clean the same counter three times until Reece walks in and throws a half-eaten breakfast taco at my head. “Sheesh, man. You polishing the damn wood grain off that counter? Take a breath.”
I catch the taco but don’t answer him. I ignore him and he smirks, watches me for a beat, then, he crosses his arms. “So... you two finally get biblical or what?” I glare at him.
He grins wider and whistles. “You’re glowing.”
“Fuck off, Reece.” I snap.
He laughs, surprised and a little proud sounding. “Damn. You really did, Gruene.”
I don’t respond to his obvious fishing because if I open my mouth, I might say something I can’t take back.
Something like, “I can’t stop thinking about herorI think I left a part of me in her hands last night and I’m not sure I want it back.”
He says, “You deserve some happiness, man,” and moves behind the counter starting to sort life jackets. He mercifully says nothing else, but I know he’s watching me, waiting to see if I’ll talk but knowing I won’t.
He’s not just my employee. He’s my closest friend and the only family I have left… now.
He knows me better than anyone and he knows when something’s shifted.
And something definitely has…
By noon,I’ve already burned through two tank refills, power washed the patio I just did last week and repaired the trailer hitch on the old flatbed I rarely use. I’m soaked in sweat and sawdust. My shoulder injury is acting up, the scar tissue is throbbing but all I can think about is the way her nails dug into my back last night. The way she whispered my name like it was the only word she trusted as she came for me, from me, over and over and over again.
Gruene.
Not Gruene, the asshole neighbor. Not Gruene the broken man who can’t let anyone in.
But Gruene, the man she chose to want.
Still here.
That’s what I wrote.
