romance reads

G+B Chapter 16: Blank Pages

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

Graham’s arm slid from my waist, and I felt his weight shift behind me. 

His bare feet padded softly across the floor, and I heard the slide of his dresser drawer opening, the rustle of clothing, then the drawer closing. His door cracked open, and a minute later, the shower kicked on. 

I opened my eyes just long enough to register the dim blue sky through the window before drifting back to sleep. 

When I stirred again, Graham was pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

“Graham?” I mumbled.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, lifting the blanket higher over my shoulders.

“Are you leaving?” 

“I’m needed on-site today,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

“Mmkay,” I said.

He planted another kiss to my forehead, and I was asleep again before he left the room.

I turned, reaching across the bed for Graham, but my hand found cool sheets instead.

My brows furrowed and my eyes drifted open. 

Oh yeah. He’d already left. 

Sunlight stretched into the room, falling across the empty spot beside me. He must’ve been gone for a few hours already. 

I climbed out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. There was a notecard propped against the coffee machine. 

“Coffee’s prepped and ready to go. Love you. G.” I read aloud.

God, this man might actually be pure perfection.

I hit the start icon on the machine, then moved to the small window above the sink and drew open the curtains.

Some small patches of snow still lingered, but more of the yard was visible now than it had been a few days ago. For the first time in weeks, the heavy gray clouds were gone, replaced by puffy white ones and a clear blue sky. It seemed like spring was finally on its way.

I turned away from the window and sat at the kitchen table while I waited for the coffee to brew. 

My notebook was still on the table where I’d left it yesterday. I slid it in front of me, but something sticking out from between the pages caught my attention.

I pulled it from my notebook.

“Another card?”

I knew this is where you’d end up. Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. Anyway, I have something for you. You’ll have to find Bear first. He holds the key. 

Coffee forgotten, I set the notecard down and went looking for Bear. I checked the living room first, remembering Graham setting him on the couch when we’d gotten back from the apartment. But Bear wasn’t there. I scanned the living room. There were only so many places he could be. He wasn’t on the coffee table or a bookshelf, nor was he sitting by the fireplace.

Where the hell did he go? 

I headed down the hall to check Graham’s room, since that’s where we’d been spending our nights together lately, but quickly discarded the idea. I would have noticed Bear in there when I’d woken up. 

That’s when I noticed my bedroom door was shut. I never shut my door. 

I opened the door, and there he was. Bear was propped up against the pillows on my bed, and tucked in his lap was another notecard. 

I picked up the notecard first, then Bear. Just as I was about to read the notecard, something hit the floor with a clink.

It was a small key. 

I grabbed it from the floor and turned it over in my fingers. I didn’t recognize it. It was too small to be a house key, and it wasn’t like I needed one of those anyway.

I turned my attention back to the notecard. 

You dropped the key, didn’t you?

“No,” I said, scowling at the card. 

I set Bear back on the bed and gave him a serious look. “Do not tell him I just did that. This stays between you and me.”

I continued reading Graham’s note.

Now that you have the key (that you’ll swear you didn’t drop), you’ll find what it belongs to in the place I once found you.

My brows scrunched together. “The place I once found you? What the hell does that mean?” 

The apartment? No, it couldn’t be. I didn’t have a way to get there. The shed in the woods I’d gotten stuck in during the blizzard? I shook my head. Hell no. He wouldn’t risk me going out there. Assuming I could even find it again.

Where the hell could he be talking about? 

I left my room and headed back toward the living room. Then it hit me. His office! The day I’d found my old notebook!

His office door was shut. There was keyhole, but it looked too large for the one in my hand. 

I turned the knob, and it gave way. “So, not the door then.”

I stepped inside his office and looked around but saw nothing that the key might fit into. No box, no chest, nothing. Maybe it was for one of the drawers in his desk? But I’d already looked through them before and didn’t remember seeing any keyholes.

It was worth a shot to check again, though, so I walked around his desk and sat in his chair. In the middle of the desk, right above my knees, there was a long, narrow drawer. And in the center, a keyhole. 

I slid the key inside. It was a perfect fit. 

I unlocked the drawer and pulled it open. 

A bright pink bow sat on top of a piece of white tissue paper. I pulled the bow and tissue paper away, and my breath caught. 

It was a brand-new sketchbook. It had a tan leather cover, engraved with my name—Bambi, this time. Not Hazel, like on the notebook. I undid the tie that held the sketchbook closed and opened to the first page. 

I hope you love it and get great use out of it. Thought you deserved something better than a beat-up old notebook.

I love you, Bambi.

Graham.

Tears filled my eyes. He really was perfection.

I lifted the sketchbook from the drawer and noticed something else underneath it.

There were four smaller packages wrapped in white tissue paper. I pulled the first one out and tore the paper away. It was a pack of sketching pencils. The second one was pens. As I started to unwrap the third, a loud ringing interrupted me.

I looked around, confused as to where the ringing was coming from. For a split second, I thought it might be Graham’s phone, that he’d come home without me realizing because I’d been so absorbed in unwrapping my gifts. But then I noticed that the ringing was coming from the drawer.

I quickly tore off the paper from the fourth package. Tucked inside the box was an iPhone, its screen flashing with Graham’s name and a photo of him.

I pulled the phone from the box and swiped across the screen, answering the FaceTime call.

His face came into view.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, grinning like a fucking madman. “I see you found my gifts.”

I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I can’t believe you sent me on a scavenger hunt before I’ve even had my coffee. You’re diabolical, Graham.”

“The first notecard was literally set against the coffee machine, Bambi.” 

“Yeah, I know. But I found the second one while I was waiting for the coffee. I couldn’t not go looking for Bear.”

“Of course not.” Graham chuckled and shook his head. “Well? Do you like your gifts?”

“I love them,” I told him, tears welling in my eyes all over again. “Thank you, Graham.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said, a strange echo following his words.

I squinted at my phone, trying to get a look at the background. Something about it seemed familiar. 

“Where are you?” I asked. 

I heard the front door shut, and a moment later, Graham appeared in the doorway. 

“Home,” he said, looking at me. 

I set my phone on the desk and ran into his arms. He hugged me tightly, lifting me from the ground and spinning us in a circle. 

“I love you so much. Thank you for everything, Graham. Thank you!” 

I pressed kiss after kiss to his cheek until he was laughing so hard that I was shaking against him.

“Anytime,” he said, setting me back down. “Anything to see that smile of yours.”

“God,” I said, sucking in a sharp breath. “Stop being so cute. You’re going to—” I hiccupped. “Make me cry—” Another hiccup. “Again.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He wrapped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. 

“I thought you were at work,” I said, looking up at him. “How did you even pull this off?”

“I was. I’d been putting it all together for a while, but I set it all up before I left this morning.”

He released me and headed for the kitchen. “You’re a damn heavy sleeper, you know that.”

Huh. I didn’t use to be. But now that I thought about it, ever since I’d started sleeping in Graham’s room, I’d been sleeping better than ever. 

“Oh. That reminds me,” I said, following after him. “I thought you worked from home?”

“I usually do. I’m occasionally needed on site, but it doesn’t happen that often.”

Graham started setting things out on the counter. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“Celebratory PB&J’s.” He held up the jar of peanut butter in one hand and the jelly in the other. “Duh.”

There was something so endearing about him standing there with a goofy grin on his face, peanut butter and jelly in his hands, that all I wanted was to freeze this moment in time. 

“Don’t move!” I shouted at him, before hurrying back to his office to grab my phone. “I mean it! Not a muscle!” 

I snatched it up from the desk, opened the camera, and ran back to the kitchen to snap a photo. 

“Perfect,” I said, grinning at the picture. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” he said, turning back to make our sandwiches.

“Can I just ask? Why the phone? The art supplies I get, but I’ve gotten so used to being without a phone that it almost feels weird having one again.”

Graham set our PB&J’s on the kitchen table, then pulled out a chair for me.

“You needed one,” he said, taking his seat. “If something happens while I’m out, I want you to be able to reach me. And vice versa.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess I never really thought about it that way.”

“Exactly. I’m not required to be on site very often, but there are times, like today, where I am. Most job sites are pretty safe, but accidents can happen.”

“Was your job site today safe?”

“Definitely. Probably the safest one I’ve been to yet. It’s a summer camp about an hour from here. Camp Green Cay. The owner, Dane, and his girlfriend Kylee are renovating the main lodge. If anything, Kylee is the only dangerous thing on the site. She’s a spitfire, that one. Not hard to tell that she’s the one who actually runs the show.”

I took a bite of my sandwich. “I like her already.”

“I’m sure you do.” He laughed. “Lord help us the day you two meet.”

“Can’t wait.” I smirked.

“I’ve actually gotta head back in a few days. I can give her your number.”

“That would be great,” I said.

After we finished eating, we headed back into Graham’s office to collect my new things and bring them into the living room.

We spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, talking about what I might draw first in my sketchbook. Graham listened to me gush over my new pens and pencils. He let me take way too many photos of him and an embarrassing number of selfies of us without a single complaint. I, of course, set the goofiest photo of him as his new caller ID. 

By the time we settled into bed that night, I realized what I wanted to put on the first page of my sketchbook.

“I know what I’m going to draw,” I told Graham.

“What is it?”

“The cottage.”

“The cottage? Why?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “It’s just… this feeling I have. I want the cottage to be the first thing I draw.”

There were a million different feelings wrapped up in that little cottage, most of which I didn’t have names for. It just felt… right.

Graham pulled me against him, and I rested my head on his chest. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Chapter Seventeen →

G+B Chapter 11: Undeniable

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

The crack of the axe split through the quiet morning. 

Again. And again. And again. 

My fingers tightened around my colored pencil, the tip ripping through the paper. I tore the page out, balled it up, and tossed it aside. It rolled across the kitchen table, joining the rest of the crumpled pages I’d already ripped from my notebook. There had to be at least ten pages now.

I groaned and dropped my head to the kitchen table. 

Graham had been in the front yard since I’d woken, hacking away at log after log, each strike of the axe further chipping away at my resolve. 

Don’t look, Bambi. Do. Not. Look!

I lifted my head from the table anyway and immediately regretted my decision.

Graham stood in the yard, his shirt clinging to sweat-soaked skin as he raised the axe overhead. His forearms flexed as he brought the axe down, splitting the log into two perfect halves.

He propped the axe against the stump, then dragged the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. The movement bared a stomach that was all hard angles and fluid strength, each block of muscle gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the light. My traitorous eyes snagged on the deep V disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans.

My thighs clenched.

In one smooth motion, he hooked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. He swung the axe again with effortless precision, buried it deep into the splitting block, and exhaled a heavy breath. 

I bit my bottom lip, just barely holding back a whimper.

God, he should not be allowed to be this attractive at nine o’clock in the morning. It’s entirely unfair.

Graham turned, his eyes meeting mine through the window. His chin lifted, one corner of his mouth tugging upward like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He tipped his head toward the front door, silently telling me to come outside.

Shit. Well, now you’ve gone and done it, Bambi.

I slid my chair back from the table, my nerves tying themselves into knots as I walked out the front door. I stopped at the edge of the porch, suddenly too nervous to take the final steps down to the yard.

Graham leaned against the axe, resting an arm across the top of the handle. “You just going to stare all day, Bambi?”

There was a retort ready at the tip of my tongue. I swear there was. But my eyes caught on a bead of sweat trailing from behind his ear and down his neck. I tracked it lower. And lower. Until it settled in the hollow of his throat. 

“Well?” 

My eyes snapped back to his. 

“You wanna give it a go?” 

My eyes flicked to the axe still buried in the stump, then back to him. “You know you can just buy the wood at the store, right?”

“And why would I do that?” he asked, pushing off the axe.

He stepped closer again. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Graham didn’t look at the trees. Not once. Instead, he held my gaze, and my throat went impossibly dry. 

“Come on,” he laughed. “Give it a try.”

He took my hand and led me down the three steps into the yard. 

He placed a new log on the stump, then moved behind me. His hands settled firm and steady on my shoulders, and he turned me toward the stump. His chest hovered at my back, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of my shirt as if there were nothing separating us at all. 

His hands slid from my shoulders and down my arms until he reached my hands. He covered my hands with his, then guided them to the end of the handle, adjusting my grip. 

“Good,” he said. “Just like that. Now, don’t let go.”

He released my hands and took hold of my waist. 

“Move back just a little.” He eased me backward until my back was pressed firmly against his chest. He leaned in, his voice low but steady. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”

I adjusted my stance, sucking in a sharp breath as my bottom brushed against the front of his jeans and the noticeable ridge beneath. 

His fingers tightened around my waist.

Oh fuck.                                

I slowly turned my head toward him. His eyes were fixed on mine, his gaze darkened and his jaw clenched.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then he said, “Raise the axe above your head. Follow the line down.”

I faced forward and tried to focus on the instructions he gave, but I was too aware of him to move. His breath at the back of my neck. The solidness of his chest. His hold on my waist. 

“Bambi.” 

I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“Right. Sorry,” I rushed out. 

Graham let go of my waist and stepped to the side.

I lifted the axe above my head and swung. It was heavier than I expected, and my foot slipped, throwing me off balance. 

Graham reacted instantly. His arms locked around my waist, pulling me into his chest.

I braced my hands against him, steadying myself. His heartbeat hammered beneath my palms, his breath coming in short, choppy bursts. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

I glanced back at the stump. The axe had missed the log completely and was lodged in the ground.

“I think I’ll leave the wood chopping to you, though.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

When our eyes met, his gaze dipped to my lips, lingering there before sliding back to my eyes. 

My mind immediately wandered to last night’s kiss, reigniting the desire I’d been trying so hard to ignore.

I looked away, hoping he couldn’t see the effect he had on me.

“So, lunch?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m starved.”

I swallowed hard. Somehow, I had a feeling he meant for more than food. 

“Great,” I said, my voice coming out more high-pitched than intended.

His hands eased from my waist as though he didn’t want to let me go. When he stepped back, cool air rushed into the space between us, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

I felt his eyes on me as I headed toward the cottage, the weight of his gaze following me across the yard. I told myself not to turn around, but halfway up the porch steps, I paused and glanced behind me. Graham was still standing where I had left him, watching.

I don’t remember him ever openly watching me like this before. A glance here and there, maybe, but never like this—with the sort of heat in his gaze that made me feel like I could melt on the spot. Had our kiss really changed things between us so much, or was I only now noticing what had always been there?

“Let’s go, you big lumberjack.” I turned away and continued inside. 

While I washed my hands at the sink, I heard the front door open and shut. His boots thudded across the floor as he made his way through the living room to stack the chopped wood in the rack by the fireplace. 

I walked to the fridge and peered inside. “How do sandwiches sound?” I called out, grabbing the deli meats and condiments.

When I turned from the fridge, Graham was already standing in front of me. 

“Geez, man, I thought you were still in the living room.”

“Sorry,” he said, his lips quirking upward. He moved past me to pull two plates down from the cabinet. “Sandwiches sound good.” 

We stood side by side at the counter, each layering meat and cheese onto our bread. His elbow brushed my arm as he reached for the mayo. My hip brushed his as I reached for the lettuce. Every point of contact between us sent a spark skittering through my nerves.

“You almost had it, you know,” he said.

“Had what?” I asked, bringing my plate to the table. 

“The log.” He brought his own plate to the table and sat in the chair across from me. “You were pretty damn close.”

“Pfft. Hardly. Did you forget that I buried the axe in the ground instead of the stump or the log?”

“We’ll make a lumberjack out of you yet.”

I arched a brow at him. “Please don’t. The lumberjacking is all you.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “Pass me a napkin?”

“Sure.” I plucked a napkin from the holder and held it out to him. 

His fingers grazed mine.

God, was he doing that on purpose?

“Thanks,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Yeah, he definitely was. 

“Yep.” I brought my sandwich to my mouth and took a bite.

I focused on chewing. On the table, as if the grain of the wood were suddenly fascinating. Anything to keep myself from looking at Graham across from me. 

Leave it to him to make something as ordinary as lunch feel charged with a few small touches.

He shifted in his seat, his boot bumping mine beneath the table.

My hand stilled, my sandwich halfway to my mouth.

I waited for him to move his foot, but instead, it settled more fully against mine. 

This motherfu–

His foot slid against mine again. 

I bit into my sandwich. More focused on chewing, swallowing, breathing than ever before.

I finally looked up. “Graham.”

“Bambi,” he said coolly, sliding his foot lazily over mine once more. “Problem?”

I held his gaze as I set the rest of my sandwich on my plate. I did not move my foot.

His foot glided over my boot until it reached the back of my calf, then drifted down in an unhurried stroke before doing it again. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting slightly in my seat to alleviate the pressure building between my thighs.

His gaze dipped below the edge of the table for half a second. When he met my eyes again, he wore a barely-there, corner-of-his-mouth, I-know-what-you’re-doing smirk.

Then Graham abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and stood. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he said, stepping away from the table like nothing had happened at all. 

I glared at his back as he disappeared down the hall. 

Fucking. Bastard. 

I exhaled a slow, shaky breath and slumped back in my chair, staring at the empty seat across from me. 

The pipes groaned as the shower turned on down the hall, and my mind, traitorous as ever, supplied me with images I should not have been thinking about. 

I slumped deeper in my chair, pressing my thighs together harder. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, dragging my hand down my face. 

I slid my chair back from the table and escaped to the living room. I flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. 

Do. Not. Think. About. It. 

In the end, though, my efforts were futile. 

I covered my face with a throw pillow and groaned into it. “Damn it.”

Chapter Twelve →

G+B Chapter 10: PB&J’s and Bonfires

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I stood in the center of my bedroom, running my fingers over the pink sweater Graham had bought me. My sweater. Not a raggedy old, hand-me-down one full of holes and two sizes too big. 

My very own, very pink, sweater. 

It was the last item from today’s shopping trip that needed to be put away. I held onto it a little longer, wishing I could preserve the feeling it gave me, before setting it inside the drawer. 

I threw on a different sweater, a loose tan one with a wide collar that hung off my shoulder, pulled on some new leggings, and left the bedroom. When I wandered into the living room, Graham was just finishing up his work and was gathering his papers and files together. 

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“Give me five, and I’ll get something going.”

“I can do it,” I said. 

He arched a brow at me and cast a worried glanced behind me at the kitchen. 

“I won’t burn it down. I promise.”

A smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I’m too curious to say no,” he said. 

He started making his way toward the kitchen, but I threw my hands out and pressed them against his chest to stop him. He was solid beneath my palms. It felt like I was trying to push back a brick wall. 

“No, no, no. I got it. Just go and do… whatever it is that you do. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He wrapped his hands around my wrists, and leaned toward me. For a split second, I thought he might kiss me, and my pulse skipped beneath his fingers. “Fire extinguisher is under the sink,” he said just above a whisper. 

He chuckled, then turned and left me to my own devices. 

“Jerk,” I mumbled under my breath. 

When I was sure he was gone, I got to work. Five minutes later, dinner was on the table. I stood there, hands on my hips, satisfied with my handiwork.

“Graham!” I called out. “Dinner’s ready.”

The door to his office opened a second later.

He made it halfway to the table before abruptly stopping. He looked from the table to me, then back to the table again.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“The best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you’ll ever have,” I said.

Graham was silent for all of five seconds before laughter erupted from him.

I might have been offended if I hadn’t been so caught off guard. 

He was laughing. Genuinely laughing.

I don’t think I’ve seen him laugh like that… well, in forever.

His laugh was rich and deep, the sound of it seeming to vibrate through my whole body. 

I decided then that this… this was something I wanted to hold onto instead. There were a million sweaters in the world, but Graham laughing? That beat sweaters any day. 

Graham’s laughter faded, and when he looked up at me, I noticed something I hadn’t before. I had gotten brief glimpses of it when we were out shopping, but now it was all so clear. 

The constant tension I’d gotten so used to seeing wasn’t there anymore. The tight set of his jaw had softened, and his shoulders no longer looked like they were carrying the weight of the world. There was a lightness to him. To every part of him. 

“What?” he asked, his head cocking to the side. 

I blinked. “What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Oh god. I had been staring at him. Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could look away. 

“Never mind,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he pulled out his chair and sat down. “These look great. PB&J’s were always my favorite.”

“I remember,” I said, taking my seat. “I told you. I remember a lot of things.”

Like how he always wanted a freakish amount of peanut butter on his sandwiches. “The more the better,” he’d always said.

I could see it so clearly. The two of us back then. Sitting at the little kitchen table in the apartment, eating PB&J’s and arguing over whose were better.

It made my heart ache for how things used to be. For what we’d been. 

I looked up from my sandwich, watching as he took a bite of his own, peanut butter smushing out at the sides. 

I smiled. Maybe we weren’t as far from that as I’d thought. Maybe we were already finding our way back. 

After we finished eating, we took our plates to the kitchen. Graham washed them, and I dried them and put them away.

“It’s a nice night,” he said after handing me the last plate. “The sky is clear.”

I glanced out the kitchen window. It was the first time since the blizzard that we had a full view of the night sky. “Yeah.”

“Perfect night for a fire. Join me?”

“Sure,” I said, setting the plate in the cabinet. 

He grabbed the flannel blanket from the back of the couch and headed to the back door. His hand paused on the knob. “Come on.”

The cool night air nipped at my skin as we stepped onto the porch, making goosebumps rise along my arms. Above us, stars glittered against the blue-black sky.

I settled onto the bench in front of the firepit. Graham draped the blanket across my lap before crouching beside the firepit to start the fire. The first flames flickered to life, sparks spiraling upward into the night as the fire crackled and grew.

Once the fire was burning steadily, he lifted the edge of the blanket and slid in beside me.

The bench grew impossibly small beneath his broad frame. His shoulder and thigh pressed against mine, radiating a heat that had nothing to do with fire.

He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, his fingertips grazing the slope of my neck. His arm lowered, his fingers sliding down the curve of my shoulder, his palm settling against my skin. 

I forced myself to stay still, fixing my gaze on the fire, on the way flames curled and twisted into the night. But I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the weight of hand or the heat of his body beside me, bleeding through the thin fabric of my sweater and leggings. 

“You okay?” Graham asked, looking down at me.

I tried to tell myself that this was no different than when he held me in the shack, in the shower, or in front of the fireplace. 

But it felt different. 

It was different.

Because he wasn’t looking at me the way he had then. Maybe it was the firelight, the way it carved soft shadows along his jaw and made the flames dance in his eyes. Maybe that was why they looked softer, gentler, like there was something in them that hadn’t been there before.

Something that looked an awful lot like… affection. 

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming our much more breathless than I’d intended.  

Graham’s head lowered, just a fraction, and I forgot how to breathe. 

His eyes held mine, almost searching, and his fingertips pressed more firmly against my skin.

I relaxed in his hold and leaned in toward him. 

His hand lifted, gently cupping my cheek as he lowered his head another inch. Close enough now that I could feel his breath coasting across my lips.

My head tilted back, my eyes falling closed as the faint touch of his lips whispered against mine.

An indescribable warmth unfurled in my chest and spread through every part of me. 

Graham pulled back a fraction, but his hand still rested on my cheek, his thumb softly stroking my skin. 

The arm around me tensed, his fingers pressing harder into my skin, so at odds with the gentle way he was touching my face. It almost seemed like there were two halves of him pulling in opposite directions.

He rested his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling more quickly than it had been before. I placed my hand on his chest, his heart drumming quickly beneath my palm.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then pulled away just enough that I could see the smallest smile on his face. His other hand came up to cup my cheek, and he pressed his lips to mine again.

This kiss was firmer. More deliberate. It set every nerve in my body on fire.

My fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. Whether it was to pull him closer or hold on for dear life, I didn’t know. Maybe it was both. Either way, I didn’t want him to stop.

One of his hands slid from my cheek and came to rest at the back of my neck to angle my head just so. His tongue swept along the seam of lips and my lips parted for him on a soft exhale. His tongue brushed against mine as his mouth moved slowly, luxuriously over mine. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of it. 

When we finally broke apart, our breaths were heavy between us.

“What was that for?” I asked, still a little breathless.

Graham slipped his arms around my waist, his hands settling at the small of my back. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, brushing the tip of my nose with his. 

“Everything.”

Everything?

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I knew deep within me that whatever it was, he meant it. 

I leaned into his side and rested my head against his chest. 

Around us, the fire crackled softly, pine branches swished gently in the breeze, and every so often the distant call of an owl drifted through the night.

The fire burned lower and the chill returned to the air.

I shivered and tucked myself a little closer to him.

“Cold?” Graham asked.

“Just a little chilly.”

“Let’s head in, then,” he said. “It’s getting pretty late, too.”

Graham got up first, then helped me to my feet. He took the blanket and draped it around my shoulders. “Come on, my little icicle. Let’s get you inside.” 

“Okay,” I laughed, following behind him. 

 We made our way down the hall and stopped outside Graham’s bedroom door. 

“I never thanked you for today,” I said. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes. I did. So, thank you. It really meant a lot to me. Anyway… Goodnight, Graham.”

“Night,” he said. 

I turned to head toward my room. 

“Bambi, wait.” His hand shot out, catching my wrist. 

“Yeah?”

He held my gaze and took a single step forward, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. He gently lifted my chin with his other hand and pressed a featherlight kiss to my lips. 

“That’s better,” he said, his lips hovering so close to mine I could feel his words against them. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

He released my wrist and stepped into his room, closing the door softly behind him. 

I stood frozen in the hallway, my cheeks burning.

When I finally managed to get my feet moving again, it felt like I was floating to my room, suspended somewhere between bliss and disbelief. 

If anyone had asked me how I thought today would end, it wouldn’t have been with Graham kissing me.

For four years, I’d thought he didn’t care about me. He’d left, so… I assumed he didn’t. I never believed that he’d share the same feelings for me that I had for him. 

But now, with the touch of his lips still lingering on mine, I knew he did.

Though I still didn’t know why he’d left, and if I let myself dwell on the thought for too long, it still hurt. I hoped that one day he’d share the truth with me. 

For now, though, in this moment, it didn’t matter why. 

Because Graham was here. And he’d kissed me. 

I threw myself backward onto my bed, and covered my face with my hands, fighting the urge to squeal and kick my feet. I blew out a shaky breath, dropped my arms behind my head, and stared at the ceiling, unable to keep myself from grinning like an absolute lovesick fool.

Chapter Eleven →

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G+B Chapter 9: Cabin Fever – Graham

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

It’s been two days. Two fucking days.

Two days of the generator deciding when it felt like working. Two days of the heat cutting in and out. Two days of Bambi being simply Bambi.

Two. Fucking. Days.

And I couldn’t fucking think straight.

How had I gotten so far gone that fucking breathing in the same room as Bambi was a problem?

I glanced over at her. She sat beside me on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, her notebook open in her lap. Her attention was fixed on the page, the little scrunch of her nose forming as her hand moved fluidly across it. She paused, brought the end of her pen to her lips, and nibbled absently on the cap.

Fuck.

I looked back at my laptop. I opened my inbox, forcing myself to concentrate on reading the email in front of me, but it was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

Bambi shifted beside me, her knee grazing my thigh, and the touch sent electricity racing through me.

Was the couch always this fucking small?

I shifted to the side just a hair. Just enough to give me some breathing room.

Except.

Bambi moved with me.

She stretched her arms above her head, her back arching slightly. Her shirt rode up just enough to reveal the soft curve of her waist. When she lowered her arms, the collar of her shirt slipped down, baring one shoulder and the faint swell of her breast beneath it.

My pulse knocked hard beneath my skin. God, this woman was going to be the end of me… and she wasn’t even doing anything.

I dragged my eyes away and shifted another inch to the right. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying like hell to regain even an ounce of fucking composure.

I closed my email and pulled up a spreadsheet but ultimately deemed getting any work done hopeless. Every scratch, every stroke of her pen, was a reminder that she was beside me.

It was unbearable.

I shifted for the third fucking time.

Bambi looked over at me, that damn pen in her mouth again, her brows creased together. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said too quickly.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“Nope. Everything’s perfect.”

Just fucking perfect.

“You know what?” I shut my laptop. “Actually, I think some fresh air might be nice. How about a drive?”

Her notebook snapped shut and she jolted upright so quickly, my very clearly malfunctioning brain thought she was going to launch herself at me. My heart almost stopped.

“Yes! Oh please, can we, Graham?” she pleaded, as she got to her feet. “I am dying to get out of the house.”

You’re dying? I nearly said. How bout me?

I’ve been trying to keep my head screwed on straight for the last forty-eight hours. Every. Little. Thingshe did threatened to unravel me. I was beginning to feel like my brain had been hardwired to Bambi.

“Perfect,” I said. I set my laptop on the coffee table a little harder than I meant to and headed toward my room.

“Get changed. We leave in ten.”

I closed the door behind me and rested my forehead against the wood.

Jesus, Graham. Pull. Yourself. Together.

Ten minutes later, I was standing by the door, waiting for Bambi. 

When she emerged from her bedroom, I nearly choked on my own breath. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

Her shirt—what used to be my shirt—had been cut across the middle, turning it into a crop top that exposed the smooth expanse of her stomach. Her sweatpants hung low on her hips, accentuating her hourglass frame, making the curve of her waist impossible to ignore.

“You are not wearing that,” I said firmly. 

And not just for my own goddamn sanity, either. Every fucking member of the male species wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off her.

The thought made something ugly claw at my chest.

“Graham,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“It’s thirty degrees outside, Bambi. You’re changing. Now.”

“I have nothing else to wear.”

“Like hell you don’t.” 

She crossed her arms and glared at me. “Everything I own is yours, Graham.” 

“So?”

“So! I can’t wear your clothes forever, Graham!” She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

“The only things that are truly mine are a single ratty sweater that doesn’t even fit me and an old pair of boots,” she said. “I just wanted something that felt like… mine.”

Her words landed like a punch to the gut. She was right. There wasn’t a single thing here that belonged to her. Her clothes. Her soap. Her shampoo. Everything. They were all mine. 

All because I pulled her from her home without a second thought about what else she might need besides warmth and food.

And I knew by the look on her face that this wasn’t really just about a shirt.

It was about choice. Her choice. Her ability to choose something for herself. 

I’d taken that away from her. 

And the worst fucking part is that I knew exactly what it felt like to have someone make a choice for you while you had no say in it. Caroline had taken my choice away, too, and I resented her for it my entire life. 

I’d done the same to Bambi. 

I’d been no better than Caroline. 

But I would be. 

My trauma didn’t have to be Bambi’s. Fuck no. Bambi deserved better than that. 

“Alright, then,” I said. “Let’s get you some new clothes.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Bambi squealed and bounced on the tips of her toes. 

“You’re still not wearing that,” I said. Some decisions were still mine. Whether she liked it or not.

She rolled her eyes, but as she turned toward her room, I caught the faint curve of a smile pulling at her lips. She returned a minute later wearing one of my sweatshirts and her leggings. Not a single trace of skin in sight. 

I’ve gotta remember to throw away all the damn scissors, I thought as we headed outside. 

As we pulled out onto the main road, the aftermath of the blizzard could be seen everywhere. Broken limbs hung haphazardly from trees. Power lines had been torn from their utility poles and tangled around them. Snowbanks towered at the edges of the pavement, left behind by the snowplows that had cleared the roads. A little while later, I pulled into the downtown shopping center.

“Woah,” Bambi said, looking out across the shopping center.

“You’ve never been here?”

“No, never. We didn’t really have the budget to shop at places like this.” She let out a huff. “We could hardly afford the bare essentials as it was. Food and rent. That’s what mattered.”

And drugs.

She didn’t have to say it for me to know that was where her mind had gone.

My grip tightened around the wheel. I’d seen Caroline’s statements after she was admitted. Later, when I’d met with the bank about the apartment, I’d learned just how far behind they really were. They’d been lucky they weren’t evicted.

Bambi had been doing what she could, working shifts at a sketchy diner just to keep them afloat, but Caroline had burned though nearly every dollar on getting high.

Anger flared in my chest at the thought of everything Bambi had been forced to go through because Caroline couldn’t keep her shit together. It was a parent’s job to take care of their children, not the other fucking way around.

I blew out a slow breath, forcing the thought aside. I didn’t need Caroline taking up space in my head right now. This trip was about Bambi.

I pulled the truck into a parking spot and killed the ignition. “Well, come on then.” I smiled. “Let’s get you something that’s not mine.”

Bambi chuckled and climbed from the truck.

“I didn’t not like wearing your clothes, you know,” she said softly.

I almost lost my footing as I rounded the truck. She really shouldn’t be saying things like that. It did something funny to my chest.

“I didn’t not like seeing you in them,” I replied.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be saying things like that.

I glanced away, shoved my hands in my pockets and started heading for the main entrance.

“So, where to first?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged.

“Pick any store you want, Bambi. Or all of them. We don’t leave until we find something you like.”

“Okay,” she smiled. Then, of course, she made a beeline for the single brightest store in the entire shopping center. I almost needed to shield my eyes from the obscene number of bright lights and polished chrome. It was enough to give a man a migraine that would last a week.

Turns out Bambi agreed.

“We need to leave,” she said not five minutes later, squinting up at me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as she grabbed my arm and all but dragged me from the store.

“Not into chrome these days?”

She glared up at me. “You’re not funny. That store was awful.”

“Yes, I am,” I countered. “But no, that was pretty bad.”

“You pick the next one,” she said.

“Alright,” I chuckled, and steered us toward a more understated store with an appropriate amount of lighting.

I followed Bambi through the aisles as she browsed, watching her pick up item after item, scrunch her nose at it, and set it back down.

“This store is for old people, Graham.” She held up an atrocious floral blouse and shook it at me. “I’m twenty-four. Not eighty.”

“I don’t know,” I teased. “I think this shade of blue would really—ow!”

“Don’t make me punch you again,” she warned, biting back a smile.

The next few stores were more of the same. In the two stores after that, Bambi spent more time looking at price tags than she did the clothes themselves.

“Bambi.” I said after she’d scoffed for the tenth time.

“Yeah?”

I stepped beside her and took the item from her hand. “Stop worrying about what the price tag says.”

“Graham, I—”

“It’s fine. I promise.”

Bambi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away.

I wished there was something more I could say, something more I could do, to help her understand that how she’d lived in the past wasn’t how she had to live now. That she was allowed to want things for herself. That she deserved them. No matter the cost.

“I don’t give a shit about the money, Bambi. What I do give a shit about is that you find something you like.”

Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Bambi continued to browse the store, skimming her fingers over cotton shirts, denim shorts, and silky dresses. Every so often, she would reach for a price tag before catching herself.

We had almost made a full circle of the store when she stopped short in front of a mannequin. It was wearing a fuzzy pink sweater with silver buttons running down the center.

She ran her fingers down the sleeves, then over the buttons.

“Can I?” she asked, looking at me over her shoulder.

I smiled. “Go on.”

She carefully pulled the sweater off the mannequin, almost as if she were scared she’d ruin it.

Bambi disappeared into a dressing room, and a moment later, the curtains slid open and she stepped out.

She walked to the three-sided mirror and turned in a slow circle. When she came to a stop, she smoothed her hands over the front, her smile widening.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “What do you think?”

The sweater fit snug against her, emphasizing the narrow curve of her waist and the low neckline offered a glimpse of the soft shadow between her breasts.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “It’s yours.”

No questions asked. It would be the easiest one hundred-and-fifty dollars I’d ever spent. I’d buy every pink fucking sweater in the country if it meant I got to see her smile like that again.

Bambi beamed at me, and I swear to God, it was like… I don’t know. Like her whole goddamn aura brightened. Like she was glowing from the inside out.

Seeing her like that… that was addicting. And fuck if I didn’t want more of that.

Bambi was in front of me in three strides, and before I could blink, she was pressed against my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” she squealed in my ear.

I stood there, too stunned to move for a split second, before my arms wound around her.

“You’re welcome.”

Fuck it. I’ll buy her every pink sweatshirt in the goddamn world.

An hour later, Bambi and I returned to the cottage with so many shopping bags I was already considering buying her a bigger dresser.

While she worked on putting away her new things, I finished up some of the work I hadn’t been able to earlier.

A soft giggle drifted down the hall and my hands stilled over my keyboard.

I smiled to myself. Yeah, I liked the sound of that.

Chapter Ten →

G+B Chapter 7: Warmth

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I sat shivering on the bathroom counter, a thick flannel blanket wrapped around me, my teeth clacking together as I waited for the shower to warm and for Graham to return. 

Honestly, I had expected him to be pissed. Expected a lecture at the very least. Yet there was nothing but concern in his eyes and gentleness in the way he handled me. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, rushing back into the bathroom with an armful of clothes. “You okay?”

“Free-zing.”

Graham tossed the clothes onto the counter beside me and reached into the shower to test the water. “Almost there.” 

He came back over to me and rubbed his hands up and down my arms, trying to warm me up. 

“What about y-you?” 

“I’m alright,” he said with a small shake of his head.

“Graham,” I said, brushing my fingers against his lips. “They’re b-blue.”

He gently closed his fingers around my wrist. He didn’t immediately move my hand. He just held it there for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine. 

“Water should be warm enough now,” he said, lowering my hand. 

Graham lifted the edges of the blanket, his fingertips grazing my shoulders as he eased it away. It slipped from my shoulders and pooled around my hips on the counter. 

A shiver worked its way down my spine, even though the room was warm with steam. 

His hands settled at my waist before lifting me from the counter and setting me down. 

I went to take a step back, but my knees buckled. His arm immediately wound around me, catching me before I could fall. 

“I’m s-sorry,” I rushed out. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Bambi.”

He glanced toward the shower, then back at me, a crease forming between his brows. “Do you think you can manage?”

Could I? I felt like a human ice cube. My legs were still numb, my body trembling from the cold, and my blood felt like slush in my veins.  

I was moving before I had a second to process what was happening. Graham stepped into the shower, boots and all, with me still in his arms. 

“Graham!”

I drew in a sharp breath as warm water cascaded over me. 

“I couldn’t stand there any longer watching you freeze and unable to move.”

“Still the one making the decisions,” I said.

He turned us around and walked backward into the stream of water, tilting his head back under the spray. When he looked at me again, there was a seriousness to his expression.

His hold on my waist tightened. “I won’t apologize for doing what I thought was right. Especially when it came to you.”

He turned us again, stepping forward now, until I was fully submerged beneath the water. Goosebumps prickled across my skin as the heat chased the chill from my bones. 

“I admit,” he continued, “I may not have gone about it the right way, but I will always do whatever I have to to make sure you’re safe.”

My breath caught, and I couldn’t tell if it was my own heartbeat pounding or the sound of the water striking the shower walls. His words sounded more like a promise than a statement of fact. They settled deeper than any cold ever could. 

“All I’ve wanted is for you to talk to me. I didn’t realize all it’d take was hypothermia and risking frostbite to make that happen.” I laughed. “I would have thrown myself into the snow a lot sooner if I’d known that.”

“Don’t joke.” He dropped his forehead to mine and blew out a slow breath. “I’ve never been more scared in my life than I was today, Bambi.”

 “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“No. But I don’t blame you for running, either. I’ve been—” 

“An ass?”

Graham lifted his head and met my eyes. “‘Difficult’ was the word I was going for. But yeah.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled before adding softly, “thanks for coming after me. 

“Any time. Let’s just not make a habit of it.”

“Oh, trust me. Me and the snow are officially done.”

“Good.” After a short pause, he asked, “How’re you feeling? Is the shower helping?”

“Yeah,” I held up my hands, wriggling my fingers in front of him. “I can finally feel my fingers and toes again.”

“That’s good,” he chuckled softly. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes, then.” 

Graham drew me closer, my shirt squelching against his chest as he reached behind me to shut the water off. He lifted me over the lip of the shower and set me down on the floor, a puddle forming around my feet as water seeped from my clothes.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“Mhmm, I think so.”

“Okay. Don’t move. I forgot towels.”

Graham moved to the linen closet, his boots squeaking with every step. As he reached inside, my eyes were drawn to the way his shirt clung to him, emphasizing the deep valley running down the center of his back and the broad span of his shoulders. He turned back to me and my eyes drifted across the hard ridges of his abs. 

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, warmth curling low in my stomach.

“Bambi?” 

“Huh?” I looked up at him. I hadn’t realized he was holding out a towel for me.

“Sorry,” I said, taking the towel and looking down. “Thanks.”

“You think you can manage from here?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to where my mind had gone. 

“Yep.”

“I’m going to get the fire going,” he said, grabbing the flannel blanket from the floor. “There are clothes on the counter for you. Let me know if you need help.” 

“Mhmm.”

Once Graham had left the bathroom, I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. “Get a grip, Bambi,” I whispered to myself. I’d just nearly frozen to death. The last thing I should be thinking about was Graham’s body.

I shook my head at myself, and undressed, tossing my soaked clothes aside. I tugged on his black hoodie, the hem reaching mid-thigh, then pulled on another pair of his sweatpants.

I left the bathroom and stopped just short of the living room. 

Graham was already waiting there. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, the flannel blanket wrapped around him, two cups of coffee beside him.

All I could do was stand there and look at him. Three days ago, I couldn’t have imagined seeing him like this. Cozy. I almost giggled at the sight. 

Graham turned toward me, giving me a small smile as I walked into the living room. He held open the left side of the blanket for me, and I lowered myself down beside him and tucked myself into his side, pulling the blanket tight around me. 

The fire crackled steadily in the hearth, the heat wrapping around us like a second blanket. 

Graham was quiet beside me, his eyes fixed on the flames, the firelight catching in the green of his eyes. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” I asked softly, nudging him with my shoulder.

He looked down at me, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “You.”

“Me?”

His eyes held mine and warmth spread through my face and neck. 

“You,” he said again. “I’m just… glad you’re safe.”

There was a part of me that knew there was more to it than what he was saying. Like he was choosing his words carefully because there was still something he was holding back. Another part of me recognized that today had also brought down some of the barriers he’d been holding up.

And I could live with that. 

“Me too,” I said. 

I rested my head on Graham’s shoulder and gazed at the fire. Exhaustion was finally catching up with me, each blink coming slower than the last until my eyes fell shut completely.

Chapter Eight →

G+B Chapter 6: The Storm – Graham

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I should have stayed away. I never should have gone back. 

I leaned against the railing and hung my head.

God damn it. Caroline ruins everything. 

And just like I had four years ago, I fucking let her. I walked away because at twenty-three, I didn’t think I had a choice. 

Now Bambi is off wandering through the woods alone because of another choice I’ve made. The choices I keep making. 

Except… no one forced my hand this time. No, this was all my doing. 

My fingers tightened around the railing, the wood groaning beneath my palms. 

I pulled in a deep breath, the cold air burning my lungs. 

You can’t just keep me in dark. 

Her voice cut through my mind, sharp as glass. 

Maybe she was right. 

But admitting the truth meant confronting a part of me, a part of my past, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. 

I lifted my head and stared at the pines stretching out across the property.

Regardless of how I felt or whatever the hell was going on in my head, I couldn’t let her keep wandering out there. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket. 

I pulled it out and my breath seized. An emergency weather warning flashed across the screen.

“Shit.”

I whirled around, throwing the back door open and rushed inside. I yanked mine and Bambi’s coats off the rack by the door, knocking the stand to the ground.

I tore back through the house and outside. I launched myself off the porch and into the yard, following the footprints she’d left behind.

If anything fucking happened—

No. I couldn’t let myself go down that road. Nothing was going to happen. I wouldn’t let it.

“Bambi!”

I had just crossed into the treeline when thick, heavy snow began to fall.

Damn it. The storm was rolling in faster than expected. It should have been another hour at least before it hit us here. The shit service around the cottage must’ve caused the weather warning to come in late. 

I glanced up at the gray clouds blanketing the sky. With how quickly the snow was already falling, it wouldn’t be long before the conditions worsened. 

Fuck! Her footprints! 

I quickened my pace, keeping my gaze on her tracks as they led deeper into the pines. There was no time to waste. If the snow covered up her tracks, it could take hours to find her.

I didn’t have hours. 

I needed to find her. Now.

A gust of wind swept through the pines, the cold biting at my skin. I slung my jacket around me and pulled up the collar. 

I clutched Bambi’s coat tighter. “Hold on, Bambi. I’m coming.”

The further into the woods I got, the worse the weather was becoming. The wind picked up, blowing snow all around me until I could barely distinguish the ground from the sky.

 My thighs strained with each step, but I gritted my teeth against the burn and kept pushing forward.

I only made it a few more feet before Bambi’s trail vanished from sight. The tracks were damn near impossible to make out through the heavy snowfall. 

My chest tightened as visions of Bambi, freezing and frostbitten, flashed through my mind.

“Bambi!” I shouted against the wind. 

Where the fuck are you?

I turned in a circle, my gaze sweeping across the ground for her footprints.

My eyes caught on a deep impression in the snow. I didn’t stop to consider whether it was made by her or something else. My body just moved toward it. 

A fallen log lay partially buried in the snow, obscured from sight. She must’ve tripped over it and gone down. 

She was here. The impression had to have been hers.

Just as I went to step over the log, something on the bark caught my eye. I bent down to get a closer look. It was a torn piece of black fabric snagged on a splinter jutting from the wood.

Her sweatpants. The ones I’d given her. I pulled the fabric free and my fingers came away slick with blood. 

She was hurt. 

I didn’t waste another second. I charged into the trees. 

“Bambi!” I shouted, praying like hell that she was close enough to hear me. 

My only answer was the sound of branches snapping as gusts of wind ripped through the trees. 

My pulse hammered just as violently. 

Each second that passed put her in more danger. She was hurt. Bleeding. The temperature was dropping fast, and visibility was close to shit. 

Why did she leave? 

Why did you fucking let her?

“Come on, Bambi,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Where are you?”

I pushed deeper into the woods and still I hadn’t found any sign of her. 

It’s all your fault. 

“Shut up,” I growled.

You’ll never see her again.

“Shut. Up!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the voice in my head. 

When I opened them again, a flicker of orange flashed through the trees.

I blinked once, thinking I had imagined it, but the glow was steady. Faint, but it was there. 

I exhaled hard. 

I plowed my way toward it, refusing to lose sight of it.

A dark shape emerged through the pines. It morphed. Grew. Then I was standing outside of rickety, dilapidated shed.

A warm orange glow flickered through the lone window above the door. 

I damn near ripped the door from its rusted hinges and threw myself inside.

Curled into a ball in the far corner was Bambi. 

I was beside her in an instant. I wrapped her coat around her, then pulled her against my chest, holding her as close as I could. 

A small whimper escaped her blue lips, and the sound nearly fucking broke me.

I held her tighter. “I’ve got you, Bambi. I’ve got you.”

She nuzzled her head into my chest and wrapped a frigid arm around my waist. “I-I knew you-you’d find me,” she whispered.

“Of course I would,” I said, resting my cheek on the top of her head. 

I’d have hunted the entire universe to find you, Bambi.

“Admit i-it,” she half-laughed through chattering teeth. “Y-you care.”

I don’t know if it was the exhaustion, the loss of adrenaline… or just her, but there wasn’t an ounce of fight or denial left in me. 

“I never stopped.”

She didn’t say anything after that. Her fingers just curled into my side. And I guess she didn’t need to say anything. Maybe just hearing the words out loud was enough. For both of us. 

The shed creaked and groaned against the wind, small gusts slipping through the cracks. The small fire Bambi had managed to build crackled softly. The heat wasn’t much, but it took the edge off the chill.

We stayed like this, huddled in the corner, holding onto each other as the storm raged around us.

When Bambi’s shivers had eased enough and the color had returned to her lips, I pulled away. “I need to look at your leg, Bambi.”

She groaned in protest, her fingertips digging into my skin to keep me close. 

I brushed back damp strands of hair from her face. She tilted her head back, her eyes slowly fluttering open. 

“I have to,” I said softly. “I don’t know how much longer the storm’s going to last, Bambi, and if your leg gets infected, I have nothing here to treat it.”

She nodded and slowly unwrapped her arms from around me. She adjusted her position, propped herself up against the wall, and laid her leg across my lap. 

Right below her knee was the tear in the fabric, an angry red gash peeking through. I pushed the sweatpants up her leg to get a better look.

Bambi winced and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” I said. 

I carefully pressed along the edges of the gash, checking for any splinters that might have been lodged inside. 

“Hurts,” she croaked.

“I know it does. I know. Just a little more.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, bit down on her lower lip, and nodded.

Thankfully, her wound was clear and wasn’t deep enough that she’d need stitches. I’d still need to cover it, though, to keep it from getting worse.

I glanced around the shed, hoping to find something I could use to wrap her leg, but found nothing besides oil-stained rags and mildewy scraps of canvas.

Fuck. 

I lifted the bottom of my shirt, caught the hem between my teeth, and yanked, tearing the fabric until it came away in a long strip. I slid a hand under her calf and gently lifted her leg, propping her foot up on my thigh. I covered the gash with the flat section of the fabric and crossed the ends behind her calf. 

“Take a deep breath for me, Bambi.”

Her eyes were still shut, but she nodded and did as I asked. 

As she inhaled, I pulled the knot snug. 

“All done,” I said, lowering her leg back into my lap. “You did great, Bambi.” 

Bambi’s eyes opened slowly, her gaze finding mine immediately. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, tears welling at the corners.

“Bambi,” I said, barely able to keep my voice from cracking. “Come here.”

I shifted closer, hooked one arm beneath her knees and one behind her back and lifted her into my lap. 

She rested her head against my chest and clutched the front of my shirt between her fingers. 

I wrapped my arms around her and she melted into me. 

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Bambi’s breathing.

Some of the tightness in my chest had eased, but I wouldn’t be able to fully relax until I got her home. 

My attention shifted to the small window above the door. The snowfall had slowed and the shed was no longer being battered by fierce winds. 

If I was going to get her home, it would have be now. Storms around this area had a habit of picking up again, and worse than before, which meant this might be the best chance we had. We risked getting snowed in otherwise, and it could be hours… shit, another day, before we could leave. 

One look at Bambi and the decision was made. 

“Bambi,” I whispered. “It’s time go.”

“Home?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Home. We’re going home.”

She lifted her head from my chest and started to pull herself from my lap.

“Woah,” I said, gripping her elbow. “Easy now. Let me help you.”

She planted her feet on the floor, and I placed my hands on her waist to steady her. 

“Hold onto my shoulder, Bambi. Push up. There you go.” 

Her legs were shaky, but she managed to find her balance and stand. 

I pushed to my feet and moved beside Bambi. “You okay? How’s your leg?”

“Fine,” she said. “Sore, but I can stand.”

“Let me see,” I said, dropping to one knee. “I just want to make sure the bandage won’t shift as you walk.” 

I lifted her pant leg, my fingertips brushing the back of her calf. She shivered and wobbled slightly on her feet. 

My hands immediately shot to the backs of her thighs before she could lose her balance. 

She pulled in a sharp breath, and her hands found my shoulders. “Thanks.” 

I nodded before checking the bandage again. It was still wrapped snugly around her calf. “Straighten your leg for me, Bambi. Good. Again.” 

“When did you become a doctor?” she asked. 

“You learn to pick up on a few things when living this far out from the rest of the city,” I said. I rolled her pant leg back down and got to my feet. “Help isn’t always right around the corner. Learned that the hard way.”

She had that look in her eyes, the one that always appeared when she wanted to know more.

“Oh,” was all she said. 

“I’ll tell you about it another time,” I said. “Let’s get you home first.”

“’Kay.”

I slid my arm around her waist and helped her to the door. Then, I shrugged my jacket off, wrapped it around Bambi’s shoulders, and held my hand out to her. “Ready?” 

Bambi slid her hand into mine and held it tight.

I pushed the door open with my other hand, but just as I was about to step outside, she squeezed my hand hard and pulled me back. 

Her brown eyes were wide as she looked up at me. “Don’t let go,” she said, her voice quivering.

I faced her fully, gently squeezing her hand back. 

“Never.”

With a final nod between us, we stepped out of the head and started home. 

Chapter Seven →

G+B Chapter 4: Discovery

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I woke to the scent of coffee, bacon, and eggs drifting through the bedroom.

I followed the aroma to the kitchen, where Graham stood over the stove, transferring strips of sizzling bacon from the pan onto two plates.

I stood there for a moment watching him. It felt like stepping into a childhood memory. Twelve-year-old Graham in the apartment kitchen, cooking whatever he could manage to scrounge up. Even then, he was always taking care of me.

I blinked and the memory dissolved.

“Morning,” he said from over his shoulder.

“Morning,” I replied.

I took a seat at the table and rubbed my tired eyes.

When I opened them again, a plate sat in front of me, piled high with eggs, bacon, and buttered toast.

I looked toward Graham who was back in the kitchen, pouring coffee into two mugs. He carried them both to the table, then went back to grab his own plate before sitting across from me.

I wrapped both hands around my mug, letting the heat sink into my palms.

Graham lifted his mug to his lips. “Sleep okay?” he asked before taking a sip.

He looked at me over the rim, the early morning sunlight catching in his eyes and making the green stand out even more. 

There was something about the way he was looking at me…

Oh god.

Had he heard me standing outside his bedroom door last night or was it my own guilty conscience reading more into his expression than was actually there?

I lifted my own mug and took a sip, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way heat crept into my cheeks. 

“Mmhmm,” I said. “You?”

“Fine,” he replied.

Before I could decipher the look in his eyes, a sharp buzz sounded from his back pocket.

He drew out his phone, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at the screen.

“Excuse me,” he said. He stood from the table and walked toward a room I hadn’t noticed before. The door swung closed behind him but didn’t shut completely.

Graham’s voice was low, but I caught a few clipped words.

“Yes. Transfer. I’ll be there.”

When he came back, there was an edge to his features that hadn’t been there before.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“I have something I need to take care of,” he said, heading for the door. He shrugged on his coat and reached for the doorknob. “I won’t be long.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stared at the closed door for far too long, a familiar knot forming in my stomach.

My breakfast sat untouched in front of me, my appetite gone. I tossed the food into the trash and carried our plates to the sink. As I washed the dishes, the knot in my stomach grew tighter, old feelings clawing their way inside.

He said he would be back, I told myself. This wasn’t the same as before. He wasn’t leaving.

I told myself this over and over, but still the tightness persisted. Maybe if I had something else to do, something to distract myself, I might feel better.

I wandered into the living room and carefully added a new log to the low fire the way I had seen Graham do it. Once the log caught, heat spread throughout the room.

I stepped away from the fireplace, and stood in the center of the living room, taking my first real look at it. The furniture was sleek, modern, all in warm brown tones and soft leather. I moved to the shelves on either side of the fireplace, scanning the books and movies that lined them. A thin layer of dust coated the tops as if they were merely there for the look of them.

The cottage should have felt lived in, yet it didn’t. There were no photographs. No personal clutter. Just furniture and books arranged like it was a showroom.

A strange heaviness settled in my chest.

The cottage reminded me of the apartment in a way—lifeless.

Graham had left on his own. Built a life for himself. Yet standing there, surrounded by untouched books and spotless furniture, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he was really living.

I turned to leave but my gaze caught on a partially open door to the right of the living room. I slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was his office. His scent was stronger here, as if he spent more time here than anywhere else.

The space was small, with minimal furniture, but cozy. A dark wood L-shaped desk sat in the center of the room with a high-back leather chair tucked in behind it.

I walked around the desk and huffed a quiet laugh at the sight.

“Organized chaos,” Graham would call it.

Stacks of folders sat in uneven heaps, their contents spilling from the sides. Loose papers and legal pads were scattered across the desk, and several books had been left open.

I sat down in the high back chair behind his desk and looked it over. My gaze dropped to the drawer, and before I could talk myself out of it, I opened it.

It was filled with dozens of manila folders. Company names were written in the upper right-hand corner of each one, all organized alphabetically.

I shut it and opened the one below. It was filled with more files from companies I didn’t recognize.

I closed it and moved to the other side, opening the first drawer. Unlike the others, this one wasn’t organized at all. There were various pads of yellow sticky notes with rough writing scribbled across them, and a handful of stray paperclips and thumbtacks scattered about.

Just as I went to shut it, I noticed the frayed edge of a faded blue notebook. I carefully pushed the papers and thumbtacks aside and froze.

A familiar tattered notebook stared back at me. My fingers trembled as I pulled it free.

Graham’s name was written across the center in careful block letters. Beneath it, in my own crooked eight-year-old handwriting, were the words: and Hazel.

A small smile tugged at my lips. I hadn’t gone by Hazel in years. Somewhere along the way, Graham had started calling me Bambi, and I’d been Bambi ever since.

I opened to the first page. Math problems lined the page, written in Graham’s handwriting. Taking up nearly all the space in the margins were a chaotic arrangement of tiny flowers, suns, and hearts. I flipped to the next page where Graham’s notes stopped abruptly halfway down. The rest was overtaken by a wild and uneven rainbow. The next few pages were the same. More math problems and notes interrupted by explosions of colorful doodles and drawings.

 On the next page, a crude drawing of a family sat askew in the center. The color had dulled and some of the lines were slightly faded, but I recognized the drawing instantly. It was my dad, Caroline, Graham, and me.

I flipped to the next page. Then the next. With each turn of the page, with each new drawing, both Graham’s and my own, my vision blurred more and more.

I pressed my thumbs harder into the paper as if that might steady me.

The floorboards creaked loudly from the kitchen.

“Bambi?” Graham’s voice echoed down the hall, and a second later, he appeared in the doorway.

His eyes flicked to the notebook, then back to me.

I closed the notebook and moved slowly around the desk. I held his gaze and walked towards him, clutching the notebook in my hands.

“You kept it,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Yeah.” His voice came out rougher than before.

I stepped closer until our chests were nearly touching. I tilted my head back, refusing to look away. “Why?”

His jaw worked for moment, before his lips parted slightly.

My heart beat hard, daring to hope that he might finally answer me, but I could see the hesitation in his eyes. It had never been this difficult to get him to talk to me.

I wasn’t sure what to say now and truthfully, I wasn’t sure my words would be enough, so I did the only other thing I could think of.

I lifted my hand slowly and pressed my palm against his chest. His breath caught, and I felt his heart stumble beneath my fingers.

Graham’s hand rose even slower. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my skin. It was as if he was choosing the only place he could touch me without losing himself.

His gaze dipped low, then back to my face, so quickly I almost missed it. Then, just as quickly, his hand dropped away and the wall he’d been so close to letting fall, snapped firmly back in place.

I lowered my hand and took a step back. I knew I wasn’t going to get the answer I was hoping for.

“Everything go okay?” I asked softly.

“I met with a rehab coordinator,” he answered. “Caroline won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

“It won’t last,” I told him, recalling the last two times I’d tried to get her into a program. “It never does.” 

“She doesn’t have a choice this time.”

“And what about me?”

“I already told you, Bambi. You’re not going back there.”

He was quiet for a moment, then added. “I’m selling the apartment. There won’t be anything for you to go back to.”

My stomach dropped.

“Why do you get to be the one that decides that? That was my home too, Graham.”

“I’m deciding what I won’t let happen.”

“You didn’t decide that before.”

Graham’s jaw tightened. “No. Someone else decided for me.”

He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and started toward his room. After a few steps, he glanced back at me and nodded at the notebook.

“Keep it. It was always yours anyway.”

Then he disappeared down the hall.

I stood there a moment longer before finally shutting the office door and heading back to my room.

I climbed onto my bed and set the notebook down in my lap.

It should’ve been comforting to know that he’d kept it, but somehow, it only confused me more. I sighed and fell back against the pillows. 

He was the one who left. Without warning and without explanation. Yet for four years he’d held onto this notebook.

If he hadn’t cared… why keep it? If he had… why’d he leave?

My gaze drifted back to the notebook in my lap. I ran my fingers over the worn cover before opening it again.

I flipped through the rest of the pages, most of them blank, until dark scribbles made me pause. It was the last drawing in the notebook.

Drawn in dark, rough, almost angry strokes was the figure of a witch. It wasn’t like the witches from a fairytale or cartoon dressed in black with pointy hats. It was darker than that. There was something sinister in her eyes, and her smile, too wide, looked cruel. The witch looked almost happy in her cruelty.

My eyes stayed fixed on the page. The shape of her face, her eyes, the way the edges of her mouth twisted as she smiled, all disturbingly resembled Caroline.

I couldn’t unsee it, now. The similarities between the two.

Was this how Graham had seen her? And if so, maybe there was more to what happened than I realized.

For so long I had told myself that Graham had left without a single care. I’d believed it for years. But what if that wasn’t the truth?

What if I hadn’t been the only one hurting? What if I wasn’t the only one still hurting?

Chapter Five

G+B Chapter 3: Safe

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

Graham slid off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door, the sleeves of his dark shirt pulling taught around his forearms as he moved.

He moved easily, comfortably through the space, as he made his way toward the fireplace. He crouched in front of it, picked up a log from the low stack beside him, and added it to the fire. After brushing his hands against his jeans, he reached for the poker hanging on the wall.

“There’s a spare room at the back of the house,” he said. “It’s yours.”

I stared at his back, as he adjusted the logs. The wood crackled and popped, sending bright orange sparks swirling up the chimney.

“Mine?”

He looked at me from over his shoulder. “Yours.”

My brows knit together, my eyes narrowing slightly. I watched him a moment longer, unease twisting low in my stomach as I wondered what he wanted from me after all this time.

Four years had passed since he’d left, and not once had I heard a word from him. So why had he come back now?

The question sat on the tip of my tongue, the words barely held back before I realized getting an answer from him would be like trying to squeeze water from a rock—impossible.

I turned, leaving Graham tending to the fire, and went in search of the spare room. My room.

My steps slowed as I passed the open kitchen, my eyes catching on a bowl of red apples sitting in the center of the counter. My eyes shifted to the glass cabinets, each one neatly lined with food. I stilled, my stomach grumbling in response, and I pressed my palm against it.

“Something wrong?” Graham’s voice startled me back into reality. I hadn’t realized he had been watching me.

“Nope,” I answered quickly, moving away from the kitchen and down the short hall.

A door stood half open to the left. A small shaft of light from the living room stretched into the dark room. I peered inside, then quickly pulled back when I recognized the room as Graham’s.

I hurried down the hall, bypassing the bathroom to my right, and stopped at the room at the end. I nudged the door open, then felt along the wall for the light switch. Soft light filled the room instantly.

The spare room was nothing like the room I’d grown up in. It was at least twice as large. The walls were clean and painted a warm cream color and had no bare stucco in sight. Tall windows sat uncovered along the far wall. There were no boards nailed across them, no cardboard taped over them, no draft slipping through them.

I stepped up to the bed and ran my fingers along the solid wood bed frame, half expecting it to splinter under my touch. I skimmed my fingers across the duvet. The fabric was smooth and impossibly soft, nicer than anything I’d ever slept in.

I turned slowly, taking it all in.

Home.

It’s yours.

My throat tightened and I blinked hard against the tears burning behind my eyes.

It had been a long time since I’d had anything that wasn’t broken, worn down, or falling apart.

“You’ll need this,” Graham said.

I jumped and whirled around to face him. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a folded shirt in his hand.

“Stop doing that,” I muttered, taking the shirt from him.

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze studying me in a way that made heat creep up my neck. It felt like Graham could see far more than I wanted him to.

“There’s no need for you to be so jumpy anymore, Bambi,” he finally said.

He said it as if it were that easy, like it was some simple choice. But it wasn’t. He hadn’t been around to see how quickly Caroline had deteriorated. He didn’t know what it was like to spend every day wondering which version of her I’d wake up to or how I’d had to learn to navigate her constant mood swings.

He pushed off the frame, his eyes still fixed on mine, and took two steps toward me. The space between us narrowed to almost nothing.

I held my breath, wanting nothing more than to back away and stay exactly where I was.

“You’re safe here,” he said as if he knew where my thoughts had gone.

Before I could say a word, he turned and walked away.

“Dinner in fifteen,” he called from the hallway.

My legs trembled beneath me as I crossed the room and eased myself down onto the edge of the bed.

I slowly unfolded the shirt and the scent—smoke and vanilla—hit me immediately. My body’s reaction was instant. Visceral. Goosebumps rippled along my arms and a warmth unfurled low in my stomach.

I froze, my fingers curling tightly around the shirt. It was just fabric, I told myself. Just cotton. Nothing more.

My body disagreed.

Embarrassment heated my cheeks. I swore under my breath and tossed the shirt aside as if that would undo my reaction.

I left the room without looking back.

When I entered the kitchen, the table was already set. Two white bowls sat across from each other, the spoons placed neatly beside them.

“Sit,” Graham said without looking up from the stove.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and sat.

He placed a large pot of creamy potato soup in the center of the table. Then he took my bowl and ladled a generous portion into it before sliding it back in front of me again.

I stared at my bowl. I hadn’t had a meal like this in weeks.

“Eat.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he couldn’t keep ordering me around, but my stomach growled before I could say anything.

“Bambi,” he chided, nudging the bowl closer.

He pulled out the chair across from me, the legs scraping against wood, and sat.

I picked up my spoon, keeping my eyes fixed on my bowl as I took my first bite.

My mouth watered as the savory flavor bloomed across my tongue. It was tastier than I expected, better than I remembered.

I took another bite. Then another.

Just as I was bringing another spoonful to my mouth, I felt it.

My eyes slowly lifted to Graham, finding that his attention was already on me.

I lowered my spoon to my bowl. I hadn’t meant to eat that fast.

“You’re hungry,” he said, nodding once at my bowl. “Eat.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve probably had too much anyway.”

Graham looked entirely unconvinced.

Only when I picked up my spoon again and took another bite, did he look away and take his own.

Throughout the rest of dinner, the only sounds were the clinking of our spoons against ceramic, the soft crackling of fire behind us, and our breathing.

Before long, the quiet began to press in. It was different than the stagnant silence of the apartment. This silence was loaded with things unsaid. And I couldn’t stand it.

I set my spoon down harder than necessary.

“Why did you come back, Graham? Where is Caroline?”

His hand stilled halfway to his mouth before lowering again.

Slowly, he finished chewing and set his spoon aside. When he looked up at me, his expression was unreadable.

“I told you,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “She’s gone.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Gone how, Graham?”

“Hospital. It was an overdose.”

My heart knocked hard against my ribs. “Well, is she okay?”

“She’s alive,” he said before sliding back from the table and collecting our bowls.

My relief was short-lived, quickly overshadowed by anger. “Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why all this… this… cryptic bullshit?” I waved my hand in the air. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, Graham. She would have been home in a few days.”

The dishes clattered in the sink. “Exactly,” he said more sharply, frustration slipping into his tone. “But you won’t be.”

I stood abruptly, the chair tipping on its hind legs. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He braced his hands against the edge of counter, his knuckles turning white. “You aren’t going back.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Graham straightened, turning fully toward me. “This isn’t a discussion, Bambi. I do. And I did.”

He closed the distance between us, each step slow and deliberate. He crowded into me, so close I could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes blazed like an emerald fire.

“You aren’t going back to that shitty apartment or her, ever again. My word is final.”

“You don’t own me,” I said forcing as much defiance into my voice as I could.

“No,” he said. “But I won’t let you waste away there either.”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He held my gaze for one more second, then stepped around me.

“Get some rest, Bambi.”

I turned on my heel and stomped to the spare room, slamming the door behind me.

I paced circles around the room, my attention snagging again and again on Graham’s shirt crumpled on the bed.

Despite all my efforts, my gaze snagged on the shirt one final time. I shouldn’t want it, but I was already moving toward it, the choice made. I pulled it on, then before I could think too hard about it, climbed into bed and dragged the covers up to my chin.

I stared at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, steady circles, willing sleep to come. The house was still. The air warm. The bed soft. Everything I hadn’t had in months and should have savored.

Sleep should have come easier. But every breath carried Graham’s scent, stirring feelings I should forget but couldn’t let go of. His scent enveloped me and heat settled low, deeper than it had any right to go.

I groaned and turned on my side. I lasted five minutes. Maybe ten. Then I threw the covers back.

I told myself to stay, but my body wouldn’t listen. It carried me down the hall, the hardwood cool beneath my feet.

I stopped in front of Graham’s bedroom door.

My hands curled at my sides, my mind telling me to turn back. I ignored it and lifted my hand to the knob anyway. My hand closed around the cool metal, turning it halfway before I froze.

I shouldn’t be standing here. Worse, I shouldn’t want to. I shouldn’t want comfort from the man who left me. Who decided for me.

And still, I was here.

Floorboards creaked behind the door. As if he’d been standing there too.

I dropped my hand and retreated back to my room.

Chapter Four →