Page 69 of The Space Between
And maybe… that’s where we begin.
CHAPTER 13
Blakelyn
There’sa moment right before the sun comes up…
That half-second where the world holds its breath and the sky turns this bruised, aching shade of lavender…
That’s how I feel when I open my eyes… like the pause before something breaks… Or blooms… Or both.
Gruene’s not beside me on the couch.
That doesn’t mean he’s gone.
Not this time.
Standing, I stretch and fold the blanket, draping it over the back of the couch before going to look for him. I find him outside. He’s sitting on my porch steps with his head bent low and his fingers laced between his knees. He’s barefoot, shirtless, and damp curls are sticking to the back of his neck like the Texas heat has already made an appearance this morning. His mug’s half full, forgotten beside him. Steam is rising in lazy spirals from it and curling around his shoulders like ghosts.
I stop just inside the screen door, my heart stuttering at the sight of him.
Every time I see him, my reaction is exactly the same.
There’s something about seeing him like this.
Quiet. Real. Unarmored.
It undoes me.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just watch him breathe. Andfeelit—that fragile, impossible truth…
He kept his word.
He’s still here.
Eventually, he looks over his shoulder.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t smile. He just says, “The coffee’s probably cold,” like it’s the beginning of something instead of the end.
I step outside, the wood cool under my bare feet, not reaching for him. I just sit next to him.
We’re so close but we aren’t touching but near enough that he could if he wanted to.
We don’t talk. Not yet. Not until the sun starts to lift over the horizon, stretching gold across the water like it’s reaching for us, too.
“I dreamed about her,” I whisper. “Last night.” He doesn’t ask who. He knows. “She had dark curls and dimples and your eyes. She was barefoot and running through the edges of the water. She was laughing.” Gruene’s whole body stills. “I woke up crying,” I say. “I’ve never even met her, but it felt like a goodbye I didn’t know I needed.”
His voice is low and cracked. “Aubree always kicked her shoes off before she got to the river. She said it made her faster.”
“I believe it.”
He nods. “She was the fastest and the purest thing I ever loved.”
I don’t touch him. I just sit.
Sometimes grief doesn’t want to be held. It just wants to be.
The coffee’s goneand the sun’s too high to ignore when he turns to me and says, “Come with me.”
