G+B Chapter 16: Blank Pages

September 15, 2026September 15, 2026 / 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 15: Out With the Old

September 8, 2026September 15, 2026 / feralbookster / 1 Comment

I was sitting on the floor just inside the open front door, sketching in my notebook when Graham came up behind me.

“Why are you on the floor? And why is the door open?”

I scowled at him over my shoulder. “I’m drawing, but it’s too cold to go outside.” I groaned. “I thought the weather was supposed to be getting warmer now that spring is almost here.”

Graham pursed his lips, biting back a smile. “Yeah, makes total sense,” he said, nodding. “Although, you could’ve just sat at the table. You can see outside from there.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s not the same. The perspective would be way off.”

He chuckled. “If you say so.”

“You going somewhere?” I asked, just now noticing he’d traded in his usual sweatpants and T-shirt for jeans and a long-sleeved tee.

“Yeah, actually. The apartment needs to be cleared out before we can sell it. Was going to head over there today. You want to join me?”

I closed my notebook quickly and scrambled to my feet. “Yes!”

Graham’s brows rose.

“Sorry,” I said, brushing my hands down my leggings. “I just really need to get out of the house for a little bit.”

Winter seemed reluctant to release its grip, and for the last three days, Graham and I had been holed up in the cottage with nowhere to go. Not that being trapped inside with Graham was exactly a hardship. We’d found plenty of ways to occupy ourselves, but my sore muscles were loudly protesting against any more of our… indoor recreational activities.

“All good.” He chuckled. “Do you need a minute to change or—”

“Nope,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”

Graham smiled and shook his head. “Alright then, let’s get outta here.”

“Thank God,” I muttered under my breath.

We were about halfway to the apartment when Graham turned the music down and glanced over at me. “You okay to be doing this?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’ll be good for me, I think.”

“If it’s too much, tell me and we’re outta there.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I hadn’t given much thought to what it might feel like to be back. I hadn’t seen the place since Graham had come for me, but as we pulled into the apartment complex, my stomach twisted itself into a knot.

Graham pulled into a spot and put the truck in park. He reached across the armrest and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No. No, I’m good. I want to.”

He nodded once before stepping out of the truck and coming around to open my door. He helped me down, then went to get his toolbox from the truck bed.

Graham came back to me and threaded his fingers through mine. Together, we crossed the parking lot to my building.

Something prickled at the back of my neck. I slowed my steps.

“Bambi?” Graham asked.

I glanced around the parking lot.

“Yeah? Sorry. I just got a weird feeling. It’s probably just from being back.”

“Remember what I said. We can leave anytime.”

“I know. I’m good.” I gave him a small smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt.

“Are you sure? You’ve said you’re good like three times now and I’m starting to think you aren’t actually good.”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” he said. He didn’t sound like he fully believed me, but he didn’t ask again as we continued into the building.

“Damn elevator.” Graham grumbled. “Can’t believe they still haven’t fixed this piece of crap.”

I scoffed. “I can. It took them like two months just to fix the broken pipe in the bathroom last year. And it still didn’t work right after.”

Graham held the door to the stairwell open for me.

“No way would I trust that giant death trap even if they did fix it,” I said as I stepped past him.

By the time we reached the third-floor landing, I was nearly wheezing. Sweat beaded along my hairline, and my calves were screaming. Graham, however, looked as if we’d just gone for a leisurely fucking stroll down the street.

“Come on. It wasn’t that bad,” he teased, opening the door into the hall.

I glared at him as I moved past him. “Easy for you to say. Your workout routine probably consists of bench-pressing entire pine trees and curling boulders.”

“Nah,” he said as the stairwell door closed behind him. “I’ve moved on to whole oaks now.”

“You’re still not funny.”

I started down the hall, but Graham’s arms slipped around my waist from behind, pulling me back against him. He lowered his head, his breath tickling my ear. “I like our little workouts a hell of a lot more.”

I laughed. “Okay, down boy.”

Graham laughed and released me, falling into step beside me as we continued down the hall.

We stopped outside the apartment and Graham fished through his pocket for the key.

He slid it into the lock and turned it. His hand closed over the knob, but he didn’t open the door just yet. He looked over at me first. “Ready?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

The hinges creaked loudly as Graham pushed the door open, the sound echoing through the hall.

We stepped inside, and I was immediately met with the stale smell of mildew. It crept into my nostrils and lodged in my throat. I resisted the urge to gag. I looked up at Graham, but he didn’t seem to notice the smell. Or maybe he was pretending for my sake.

He flicked on the switch by the door, and the apartment lit up.

“You paid the electric?”

“Didn’t want to be working in the dark,” he said. “Besides, the place is… kind of mine now, so, yeah.”

“Yours? Why would you even want this dump? And what about Caroline? There’s no way she would’ve handed this place over.”

He shrugged. “I don’t. And she didn’t have a choice. The place was well into foreclosure by the time I got her into rehab. I worked something out with the lender and bought the thing myself.”

“I can’t imagine she was too thrilled about that.”

“Not in the least. But it’s her own damn fault, and I don’t give a shit how she feels about it.”

“Can’t argue that.” I paused for a second, his words finally registering. “Hold on. How could you afford to buy this place? What exactly do you do for a living?”

I realized I’d never once asked him what he did.

“I do CAD design.”

“Cat design? What the hell is cat design?”

Graham laughed. “CAD, Bambi. With a D. Not cat.”

I just stared up at him.

“I create digital blueprints.”

“Oh. Cool. I think.”

“It’s really not, but I like it well enough.”

“Pays well, too,” I added under my breath.

“So, where should we start?” Graham asked, walking farther into the apartment.

I followed him into the living room, stopped in the middle of it, and turned in a circle. “I have no idea.”

“Why don’t we go room by room, then?”

“Yeah. Works for me.”

“Living room first?”

“Sure.”

Graham set his toolbox on the coffee table in the center of the room, then went to the windows and began pulling down the cardboard covering them.

Sunlight flooded the space, and I grimaced.

How did I live like this for so long?

The peeling paint and patches of cracked drywall. Dust on every surface. The threadbare couch with its mismatched, tattered pillows. The coffee table with discolored rings from cups and mugs and deep nicks in the wood. It was all so… pathetic.

Graham pulled away the last piece of cardboard and turned to me. “If there’s anything you want to keep, we’ll set it on the counter. Everything else can get chucked. I’ll call someone tomorrow to haul away the big stuff.”

“Sounds good.”

I took another look around the living room. There were no family photos or childhood artwork hanging on the walls. The small bookshelf tucked in the corner held only a handful of books, none of them worth keeping.

“Toss it all,” I said.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Graham dragged the bookshelf toward the center of the room and left it beside the couch.

“Books could probably be donated,” he suggested, pulling the books off the shelf and stacking them on the coffee table.

“Sure. There’s a public library not far from here,” I said, moving into the kitchen. “Maybe they’ll take them.”

I opened one of the cabinets above the stove and began removing the dishes and stacking them on the island.

Graham joined me a moment later, his eyes scanning the stack. A deep furrow formed between his brows. He crouched and opened the cabinets beneath the counter.

“There’s less stuff here than I remember,” he said. “What happened to the china?”

“If it could be pawned, it was.”

“They were gifts for their wedding, for Christ’s sake.”

Anything that had monetary value didn’t last long here. No matter how big or small or sentimental. To Caroline, it was all just dollar signs. Nothing more.

Graham removed the few pots and pans and a dented slow cooker and set them on the island beside the sad stack of dishes. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Welcome home,” I said dryly.

It didn’t take long to go through the rest of the kitchen. Most of the remaining cabinets were either empty or held nothing but a few expired cans of food. The fridge wasn’t much better and had developed a slight funk since I’d last been here.

“I’m assuming there’s nothing here you want to keep,” Graham said.

“Nope. You?”

“Nah. Should we move on then?”

“Bedrooms?”

“Yeah. You go ahead. I’m gonna move this stuff into the living room.”

“Okey dokey,” I said, heading toward the hallway.

I stopped in front of the first door on the right. It was Graham’s old bedroom.

I stared at the door, unable to do anything else.

I’d stood outside his door countless times, tempted to turn the knob and step inside, but part of me had always been too afraid to try. Back then I’d convinced myself that if the door stayed closed, I could pretend he was inside. Doing homework. Drawing. Reading. Opening the door would have shattered the illusion and proved that he was gone for real and wasn’t coming back.

“Go on. You can open it.”

Graham’s voice startled me. I turned to find him standing beside me. I hadn’t even heard him come down the hall.

I wrapped my fingers around the knob, turning it halfway before stopping. I looked up at him again.

“It’s alright, Bambi. Go ahead.”

I turned the knob the rest of the way, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

It was like a perfectly preserved time capsule.

His bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled and the pillowcase hanging halfway off the pillow. The small desk against the wall was covered in textbooks and papers. A wonky coffee mug that Graham made in pottery class held pens and pencils. Clothes were scattered across the floor and spilling out of dresser drawers. A gray hoodie, the only one I’d ever seen him wear, was draped over the back of his desk chair, its logo faded.

I turned, realizing that Graham was still standing in the doorway, the toes of his boots lined up with the threshold. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his gaze fixed solely on me.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You aren’t the least bit curious about what you left behind?”

“Bambi, the only thing in that room right now that I care about is you.”

A blush crept into my cheeks. It’s not like he even said anything monumentally profound, and yet, my poor little heart fluttered all the same.

I looked around the room one more time. I supposed I couldn’t blame him for not feeling any attachment to any of it. It was all part of a life he’d moved on from a long time ago.

I started to leave, but something caught the corner of my eye.

A brown furry paw peeked out from under a T-shirt on his dresser. I pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside. It was my old teddy bear.

“Bambi!” Graham hollered down the hall. “Come get your stupid bear out of my room!”

I yanked my bedroom door open and stuck my head out into the hall. “No! I don’t want him anymore!”

“Well, I don’t want him either!”

“I’m too old for stuffed animals, Graham. Just throw him away!”

Graham groaned. “He’s your bear. You throw him away.”

“You do it!” I slammed my door shut and climbed back onto my bed and continued reading.

Graham’s door slammed shut next, the vibration rattling the walls.

“I thought you threw him away,” I said, picking him up off the dresser.

“Couldn’t, I guess.”

Graham reached out and tugged at the bear’s arm. “It’s not too late. I can add him to the pile.”

“Hey!” I swatted his hand away. “God, what are we, fifteen?”

Graham laughed. “Come on. Bear can come live with us. I think he’ll like the cottage.”

He stepped aside to let me pass. I moved past him, clutching Bear tighter in case Graham got any more ideas, and closed the door behind me.

After setting Bear on the kitchen counter—the only thing currently in the “keep” pile—we moved on to my room.

I was more nervous about it than I thought I’d be. It was one thing to see the sorry state of the living room and kitchen, but being in my room somehow felt more embarrassing. And after seeing Graham’s room, mine looked more like an empty shell, with hardly any evidence of a life inside.

Against the far wall was a twin bed I’d long outgrown. Beside it was a nightstand that held nothing inside, with a single broken lamp on top. A second-hand dresser that I could never fill sat against wall to my left. They were just… things. Furniture. And as far as décor went, I had the boards covering the broken windows.

“You know, I- I don’t think there’s anything I need from here,” I said, backing toward the door.

“Bambi,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

“It’s just, I don’t know. It feels… weird. I feel exposed.” I covered my face with my hands.

“I lived on the street for four months, Bambi. Slept in worse conditions than this.”

He turned me toward him, pulled my hands away, and tilted my chin up. “You don’t have to hide this from me. None of this changes how I see you or how I feel about you, Bambi.”

Graham’s hands slid to my waist. He held my gaze as he took a step forward, moving us further into my room. He leaned in, capturing my lips with his, and took another step forward. Then another. And another.

The backs of my knees hit my bed, and the frame creaked as Graham lowered me to the mattress.

I pulled back, wincing at the sound.

“Stay with me, Bambi,” Graham said, leaning in to kiss me again. His tongue swept inside my mouth as he nudged my knees apart with his and stepped between my legs.

He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. My leggings were gone next, quickly followed by Graham’s shirt and jeans.

He leaned me back onto the mattress, holding himself up on one arm. He lifted my leg, hooked my ankle over his shoulder, and pulled my panties to the side. He drew the tip of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my arousal before slipping inside me.

“Fuck,” Graham groaned. “I’ll never get over how tight you are, Bambi.”

His words sent a spark racing down my spine, straight to my core, and a soft whimper slipped past my lips.

He drew out almost completely before sliding back in deep. He moved at an unhurried pace, taking his time with each stroke.

The frame creaked beneath us in a steady rhythm. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, trying to focus on Graham, but the sound was impossibly loud.

“I’m right here, baby,” he said. “Be here with me.”

He eased my leg from his shoulder and lowered himself onto his elbow, the weight of his body settling more fully against me. He pressed kisses to my neck, to the sensitive skin below my ear. His hand skimmed over my thigh, my waist, my nerves sparking beneath his touch.

I blew out a slow breath, relaxing my body and leaning into every blissful sensation. Each slow thrust pulled another moan from me, coaxing me closer to climax. The slick sounds between our bodies and heavy breathing filled the room. Everything else faded into the background as my desire built higher and higher until I shuddered beneath him. My hands fisted the sheets and my legs clamped around his waist as the pleasure devoured me.

Graham stilled, grunting as he spilled himself inside me.

His body collapsed onto mine, his weight heavy against me, but I wrapped my arms around him anyway, holding him there.

I ran my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and a low, satisfied sound rumbled from his chest.

“You know, I honestly never thought I’d be back here,” I said.

Graham lifted his head. “No? Why not?”

“Well, for starters, the way you basically barged in here all broody and domineering. Pretty much made it seem like I wouldn’t be back. Like ever. Then when you told me you were selling the place, I figured no chance in hell I’d see this place again.”

“I was not domineering. Commanding, maybe.”

“Fine, fine.” I chuckled. “So very commanding.”

Graham shifted his weight off me and lay beside me, propping his head up on his hand and draping his other arm across my waist. “Did it upset you?” he asked. “Thinking you might not come back?”

“Not as much as I thought it would. Not every memory I had here was bad or painful, but there also wasn’t much to miss.”

“And what about this one?”

I turned on my side to face him. “I’d rank it in the top three,” I teased.

“Oof. Only top three? Tough crowd.”

I giggled. “It’s definitely one of the better memories.”

Graham’s gaze wandered around my room, and a slow smile spread across his lips.

“The last time I was in here was the night you kissed me for the first time.”

“Hey, you kissed me.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Did you regret it?” I asked.

“Did you?” His eyes slid to mine, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression.

“No, never.”

“Did you hate me?”

“For leaving?”

“Yeah.”

I drew in a deep breath. “Kind of? At least, I tried to hate you. For a long time, I think I convinced myself I did, but really, I was more pissed than anything.”

“That’s fair. I was pissed at myself too. And I didn’t think I’d ever be back here either.”

“Well, it’s all in the past now, right? I mean, despite everything, we’ve found our way back to each other—even if you did kind of kidnap me—and we’re here together in a place that neither of us thought we’d see again.”

“A full circle moment, huh? Wait. I did not kidnap you, Bambi.”

“You kind of did.” I laughed.

“It’s not kidnapping if you came willingly.”

“Hmm. But did I, though?”

“You definitely did. I was there.”

“I cannot be held accountable for my actions at that time, Graham. I was under duress.”

“Under duress, huh?” A mischievous gleam lit his eyes.

Uh-oh.

I sat up and scrambled off the bed.

“Oh no you don’t.”

I’d barely made it two steps away from the bed when he was on his feet and standing between me and the door.

I stepped to the left and Graham followed, a cocky grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. I took a half-step to the right, and he followed again, but I darted left and bolted for the door. His fingertips grazed me as I made it into the hall.

“Help me, Bear!” I shouted, grabbing him from the counter and chucking him behind me at Graham.

He caught Bear midair, tossed him aside, and prowled closer.

I walked backward farther into the living room, keeping the trash pile strategically between us.

“You have nowhere to go, Bambi,” Graham drawled as he circled around the trash pile. “Unless you’re about to run out into the hall in your underwear.”

I mirrored his movement. “I could say the same to you, Mr. Plaid Boxers.”

I glanced behind him. If I could get him just a little farther from the hallway, I could make a break back to my room.

But Graham knew what I was planning and lunged toward me before I could draw him any farther away.

I squealed and tried to run, but he caught my wrist and pulled me back toward him

“I don’t think so,” he growled.

He grabbed my other wrist and secured my hands behind my back before bending me over the back of the couch. He kicked my feet apart and stepped up behind me, pressing his hardness against my ass.

With one hand holding my wrists secure, he yanked my panties down my thighs with the other. He freed his cock from his boxers and thrust into me in one hard push, my moan rebounding off the empty walls.

He leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear. “I think you like being ‘under duress.’ You’re soaked right now, Bambi.”

“I plead the fifth.” I half-laughed, half-moaned as he pushed inside me again.

By the time we collapsed on the living room floor, I was completely spent. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. “So much for clearing out the apartment.”

Graham chuckled. “Eh. There’s no rush. We still have plenty of time today.”

I propped myself up on my forearms. “Oh no. Uh-uh. I’m done. I’m tired and starving.”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled.

Graham turned his head toward me. “Pizza?”

“From Dougie’s!” we said at the same time.

“I’ll make the call,” Graham said.

Twenty minutes later, as advertised by Dougie himself, our pizza was delivered.

We sat on the living room floor, the box between us, salivating over our triple cheese pizza.

My eyes nearly rolled back as I took my first bite. “God,” I groaned. “I forgot how freakin’ good their pizza was.”

Graham took a huge bite of his, the cheese stretching ridiculously far, before sliding off the slice and into the box.

Graham looked down at the glob of cheese like it had just personally offended him. “Now that’s just rude.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Three slices each later, the box was empty and my belly was at max capacity. I fell back onto the floor and closed my eyes, too full to even breathe.

Graham nudged me. “Hey, sleepyhead. We’ve still got one room left.”

I popped one eye open and turned my head to scowl at him. “Yeah, I was hoping to put that off for the foreseeable future.”

“We can’t put it off forever.”

“Sure, we could. At least… give me five more minutes to digest that ungodly amount of cheese.”

“Five minutes,” he said, getting to his feet. He grabbed the empty box and walked it over to the counter. “Meet you in there.”

Graham’s footsteps receded down the hall.

I continued to lie there, regretting my decision to consume a pound of cheese.

A minute later, Graham returned, fully dressed and carrying my clothes. He held them out to me.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, taking them.

“Welcome. Remember, five minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered.

He turned and headed back down the hall.

I had just finished getting dressed when Graham called out.

“Uh, Bambi?”

“Yeah!” I called back.

“You should come see this.”

“Coming!”

When I got to Caroline’s room, Graham was standing by the closet, an old shoebox tucked under one arm and a stack of papers in his hand.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Here.” He held the papers out to me.

I scanned the header. Then again. And then one more time because apparently I couldn’t process what was right in front of me.

“Petition for divorce,” I read aloud slowly.

“Look at the date,” he said. “It’s from before your dad passed.”

I looked up at him. “What? She tried to divorce my dad?”

“Your dad wanted the divorce, Bambi. Not Caroline.” He took the papers from me, flipped to the last page, and handed them back.

There it was, exactly as I remembered it—my dad’s signature—at the bottom of the page.

“Notice anything else?”

“You mean the second line? The one conspicuously missing your mother’s signature? Yeah, I noticed.”

Did she not sign because she just flat out refused? Did they mutually decide not to go through with it after my dad got sick? Did Caroline… wait for him to die instead?

“Bambi? You okay?”

I looked up. “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting this. Why do you think she didn’t sign them?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t even begin to guess what goes on inside that lady’s head,” he said. “The only thing I know that gets Caroline to do anything is money.”

“Well, it’s not like we had much of that,” I said. “Especially after my dad got sick and stopped working.”

“Maybe she thought there would be some sort of life insurance payout?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I think the better question, though, is why your dad wanted to file in the first place.”

“I mean, look at where we are, Graham. I don’t think it’s that hard to hazard a guess. I could throw a rock and hit a dozen reasons why. And honestly, at this point, does it even matter why he filed or why she didn’t sign? They’re not here anymore.” I folded up the papers and handed them back to Graham.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “So, what do you want to do with these?”

“Throw them away.” I glanced around Caroline’s room again. It was by far the filthiest room in the apartment. Clothes everywhere. Dirty spoons scattered across the floor. Grime coating every surface.

“As with everything else in here,” I added.

Graham returned the papers to the shoebox and closed the lid. He tossed it onto the mattress on the floor, then slung his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

We left Caroline’s room and headed back toward the living room. I scooped Bear off the hallway floor as we passed and hugged him against my chest.

“Ready?” Graham asked when we reached the front door.

“More than ready,” I said.

“Got everything?”

I looked down at Bear and smiled. “Yep.”

This time, when Graham closed the door behind us, I didn’t look back.

As we drove back to the cottage, I watched the houses and apartment buildings pass by outside my window. They looked nice enough. Normal. Unassuming. But who knew what really went on behind all those closed doors? My own apartment building looked just as ordinary from the outside. No one would have known about the cardboard covering the windows. The empty cabinets. The expired food. No one would have known that the mother who lived there—if you could call it living—spent more time with her drugs than her own children. That the young girl spent more time in the dark and cold than she ever should have. Or that the young boy had spent years trying to contain his own mother’s emotional fallout when he was only a kid himself.

How many other people were living like we had been?

When we got back to the cottage, I stepped out of the truck and paused.

The first time I’d arrived here, I’d been so hesitant to get out of the truck, certain that once I did, there would be no going back. Now, as I looked up at the cottage, at the man waiting for me on the porch with my teddy in his arms, I was certain I never wanted to.

Chapter Sixteen →

G+B Chapter 14: Heart to Heart

August 25, 2026September 8, 2026 / feralbookster / 1 Comment

I stepped onto the back porch, a coffee mug nestled between my hands, its warmth seeping into my palms. I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs and watched as the sun broke over the horizon, painting the sky in soft cotton candy hues.

I looked out across the property. A thin layer of snow still covered the yard, though patches had begun to melt, revealing the earth beneath. A light dusting clung to tree branches, making them look like they’d been sprinkled with powdered sugar.

My view used to consist of a cracked parking lot and overflowing dumpsters. It was honestly kind of wild to think that this is where I’d ended up. I never imagined I’d be living in a quaint little cottage… and with Graham of all people.

What was even fucking wilder was that he was sleeping. In. My. Bed. My bed. Naked.

My cheeks heated at the memory of last night.

I could still feel the imprint of him—the softness of his mouth, the strength of his hands. Every part of him. My fingers traced the outline of my lips, as if I could hold the memory there a little longer.

Some would say it was morally wrong, what happened between us. Especially Caroline. But I couldn’t find it in me to care. With Graham, I mattered. I belonged.

I was finally home.

The back door creaked open.

Graham appeared behind me, planting his hands on the arms of my chair. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck, and pressed light kiss there.

“Good morning,” he mumbled against my skin.

He pulled away, and I tilted my head back to look up at him. “Morning,” I said.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming to sit in the chair beside me.

“I’m good,” I answered. “A little sore, but good.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached across to take my hand, lacing his fingers between mine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. Not at all, Graham.” I squeezed his hand. “It was perfect.”

He gave me a smile, then brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Yeah. It was.”

I smiled back at him, a warmth spreading through my chest as if sunlight had found its way inside.

I let my gaze drift over the property again. “Have I ever told you how much I love it here?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m glad you do.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. “My father left it to me in his will. I didn’t even know this place existed until one of his lawyers contacted me. Hell, I hadn’t even known he’d passed.”

“I’m sorry, Graham.”

He shrugged a shoulder, but the way his fingers tightened against mine betrayed how painful it still was for him.

I’d never known much about his father, only that he’d left shortly after Graham was born. I almost envied him for that. I had a few memories of my mom, but as the years passed, there were times I’d think of her and wonder whether my memories were real or something I’d simply imagined.

“After Caroline kicked me out, I pretty much lived on the streets. After a few months, some guy who ran a pizza joint downtown found me and offered me his couch and a job. I worked my ass off there, bussing tables and shit, saving every penny I could until I could to get my own place. Then one day, some hot-shot walked in and asked to speak with me. Turns out, he was the lawyer handling my father’s estate. He sat me down in a corner booth, told me my dad had passed, and then basically handed me the keys to this place.”

“At least one of our parents did something right,” I mumbled.

Graham turned to me, his expression somber. “Come here,” he said.

He released my hand, and I stood, crossing the small distance between our chairs. Graham pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you couldn’t. And I don’t blame you for it.” I chuckled. “Anymore.”

He leaned his head against mine. “I tried to come back for you once.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Stood in the parking lot staring up at the apartment for like an hour, trying to convince myself to walk inside. I was afraid of what Caroline might do if I did. I had no idea she was out. She came back and found me just standing there, looking up at the place.”

“I didn’t know. She never said anything.”

“Nah,” he said. “She wouldn’t have. She basically tore me a new one in the parking lot. I’m surprised no one heard her screaming at me and called the police.”

I stiffened in Graham’s hold. How was it possible that Caroline could be two completely different people? She’d never really treated me like her own daughter, but she’d never been cruel to me either. I’d never imagined she was capable of that kind of cruelty. And to her own son, no less. It made me so fucking angry for him.

“I don’t—I don’t understand why. How could she…”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure we ever will, Bambi.”

Graham’s phone buzzed beneath me. He pulled it from his pocket, silenced it, and set it aside.

He drew in a deep breath and held me tighter. “Caroline hasn’t been… right… for a long time. Her drug dependency and losing your dad only made things worse. I tried to protect you from it when we were younger. Never wanted you to have to see that side of her. I wanted you to have the childhood you were supposed to.”

“You shouldn’t have had to do that. You were just a kid too, Graham. What about your childhood?”

“My childhood didn’t matter. Yours did.”

“Don’t say that.” I turned in his arms so I could face him. “You deserved to that too.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I gave up on that long before our parents married.”

“Graham—” I started.

“It’s okay, Bambi. I’ve made peace with it, really. I worried about you then, you know? You were, what? Five or six when they married? Here you were, this innocent doe-eyed kid who had no idea anything bad in the world existed. You were dropped into my fucked-up family and I couldn’t stand the thought that you might have to go through what I did.”

He chuckled dryly. “I couldn’t protect you in the end, though. You ended up having to deal with her on your own after I left anyway.”

“That’s not your fault, though, Graham. I didn’t care that I had to deal with Caroline on my own. It wasn’t all bad, either. I only cared that you left at all.”

I took his face between my hands. “Look at me, Graham, and hear me. Really, really hear me, okay? None of what happened was your fault. Caroline was the parent. She should have been the parent. She was the one responsible here. Not you.”

I held his gaze. “I love you and I forgive you. Now you just need to forgive yourself.”

For several heartbeats, Graham just stared at me.

His mouth crashed into mine.

His hand slid to the nape of my neck, and he held me there, pressing his lips harder to mine.

“Fuck, Bambi,” he said when we pulled apart. “I love you, too.”

I circled my arms around his neck and held him close, resting my head against his. He closed his eyes, nuzzling his face into my neck, and breathed me in.

“I should have told you that sooner,” he said.

“You told me now. That’s good enough.”

“I love you, Bambi. So fucking much it makes my chest fucking ache.”

My heart felt like it was beating a million times a minute, something warm and impossibly full settling beneath my ribs.

I guess neither of us knew just how badly we needed to hear those words.

I wasn’t sure if Graham would forgive himself for leaving, or if he’d finally stop blaming himself for the things Caroline had done. But I did know one thing with undeniable certainty.

I would love him through it all.

Chapter Fifteen

G+B Chapter 13: Belonging

August 18, 2026August 26, 2026 / feralbookster / 1 Comment

I woke sometime in the middle of the night with the nagging feeling that something was off.

I shifted beneath the blanket and felt a slight dip in the mattress beside me.

I slowly opened my eyes and blinked into the darkness. A dark shape sat at the edge of my bed.

At first, I couldn’t understand what I was looking at, but as my eyes adjusted and the haze of sleep dissipated, I realized it was Graham.

He was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning over the edge of my mattress, his head resting on his folded arms.

A shaft of moonlight spilled through the window, falling over him. It caught in his blonde hair, turning the strands silver and softening the harder edges of his features. For a moment, he looked almost ethereal.

His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.

Just how long had he been here?

I propped myself up on my elbow and reached out, running my fingers through his hair.

He stirred beneath my touch, his eyes slowly opening. He lifted his head from his arms and looked at me. There was a raw vulnerability in his expression I wasn’t used to seeing.

I lifted the edge of my blanket and scooted to the side, making room for him.

Graham slipped beneath the covers, wrapped an arm around me, and pulled me into him. I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.

“Graham,” I said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Graham stayed silent, but his fingers tensed around my arm. For a moment, I wasn’t sure he’d answer.

He shifted onto his side, turning me with him so we were facing each other. He brushed his fingers over my cheek.

“I needed to make sure you were really here. That you were safe.”

“I’m here,” I said, covering his hand with mine. “I’m safe.”

His breath stuttered, and he pulled me against him again, holding me tightly as if he were anchoring himself to me.

“I thought—” His voice cracked, his arm trembling around me. “I dreamed I was too late. You were gone. I couldn’t—I couldn’t save you.”

“It was just a dream, Graham.”

“No, Bambi. It… it wasn’t. Not really.”

“What do you—”

“I never should have left you there. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve fought harder for you, but Caroline, she… she saw us that night. The night we kissed. Confronted me about it. She said she’d been watching us for years. That she’d seen the way I was with you and that she knew what I was doing. She told me that I was sick. That I…”

Graham’s expression twisted, his eyes growing distant as if he were back there in the apartment that night.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Graham continued, the words spilling from him as if, now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“She threatened me. Shamed me. Kicked me out that same night. And I didn’t fight it. I was afraid that she was right. I thought if I stayed, I’d ruin you like she said I would. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I was protecting you.” He swallowed thickly. “From me.”

Someone else decided for me.

The meaning behind Graham’s words from weeks ago finally clicked.

That someone… had been Caroline.

Graham’s sudden disappearance. The way Caroline refused to talk about him, shutting down every question I’d had. The way she’d closed his bedroom door and never opened it again.

And Graham. The distance he’d kept between us when I’d first arrived at the cottage. The way he’d held himself back, even when I could tell he didn’t want to.

It all started to make sense.

“All this time,” I said, my voice cracking. “I never understood… I thought maybe I’d done something wrong.”

Graham cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing softly over my skin. “Never, Bambi. Never.”

Tears blurred my vision, my heart cracking open for him, for me. For us.

Caroline had taken something innocent and twisted it into something wrong. She’d looked back at years when Graham and I had been nothing more than kids who cared about each other and made it into something it had never been.

The feelings that had started creeping in when I was seventeen had stayed exactly that—feelings. By the time either of us acted on them, I was twenty and Graham was twenty-three.

The worst fucking part was that Caroline had made Graham believe her distorted interpretation of everything that had come before, and he’d been living with the shame of it ever since.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I am so sorry she ever made you feel like there was something ugly or shameful about us.”

“I’m not ashamed, Graham. I never have been.” I held his gaze, letting him see that I meant every word.

“Bambi,” he said hoarsely.

I leaned forward and kissed him. He stilled for a split second before kissing me back. It was slow, tentative.

“Im not still dreaming, am I?” he whispered against my lips.

“No, you’re not. I’m here,”

I curled my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and deepens the kiss. Our lips and tongues slid languidly over one another.

His hand ran down my side, settling at my waist. His fingertips pressed deeper into my skin as he pulled me closer until our bodies were flush. His tongue swept deeper into my mouth, his kisses more urgent now, yet somehow just as soft and gentle. Each sensuous slide of his tongue against mine fed the fire burning low in my belly.

Graham’s hand skimmed over the curve of my ass and down my thigh. He hooked his hand beneath my knee and lifted my leg over his. He shifted forward and the hard ridge beneath his pajama pants pressed against me.

A soft gasp escaped my lips.

He broke our kiss, but his face still hovered so close to mine that the tips of our noses touched.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“No,” I said. “I want to.”

A low sound tore from him, and his mouth claimed mine again. Each kiss that followed was deeper, hungrier, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

His lips and hands never stopped moving. His mouth found my jaw, then my throat, his kisses hot and relentless against my feverish skin. His hand trailed up my side. Over my shoulder and down my arm. Like he was mapping territory he’d denied himself for years. Every inch of my skin felt hypersensitive beneath his touch.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Bambi.”

“Show me,” I said, nipping at his lower lip when he came in for another kiss.

He lifted me and pulled me into his lap. His hands clamped around my hips, firm and unyielding, holding me in place, his arousal solid and burning between my thighs. The contact stole the breath from my lungs.

His gaze stayed fixed on me as he shifted his hips, just the barest bit, increasing the pressure between us. Making me aware. Making me understand.

My face heated, a blush spreading across my cheeks and down my chest.

His thumbs dug into my hips like he was fighting himself. Like this level of control was costing him. Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t thrust, didn’t chase. He just held me there, stretching the moment between us.

The stillness was unbearable. I rocked against him, and the pressure swelled, sending a sharp pulse between my legs. My thighs clenched instinctively around his waist.

His jaw tightened, and his grip on my hips turned rough.

I shifted my hips, and a curse tumbled from his lips. I moved again, seeking relief from the tension building inside me.

“Fuck. Bambi.”

Graham gripped the backs of my thighs, lifting me with ease. I clung to his shoulders as he turned us and lowered me to the mattress. He settled between my thighs, his broad frame hovering over me.

“Have you ever… with anyone else?” I asked.

“Never. You’re my first, baby.”

“Me too.”

His lips found mine again, his kiss hungry and unrestrained.

“Tell me you’re mine, Bambi,” he said between kisses. “Say it. I need to hear it.”

He pressed his hardness against me, and my answer came out on a half-moan. “I’m yours, Graham.”

He pulled back—not far—just enough that he could see my face.

“Again,” he said.

“I’m yours.”

He kissed me again, this time slowly, as if he were savoring the words on my lips. He trailed kisses down my neck, across my collarbone and shoulder. One of his hands traveled down my side, over my waist and hip, then slipped beneath my panties.

He hissed as his fingers slid through my wetness.

My back arched off the bed at his touch, heat flooding my core.

Graham slid a single finger inside me, the sensation foreign yet not entirely uncomfortable. He slowly drew his finger back before pushing in again. I felt myself clench around him as the pressure built inside me. He settled into a rhythm that made my toes curl and my breath leave me in short, choppy bursts.

He withdrew his finger and sat back on his heels, his gaze dark with lust as took me in.

He reached for the hem of my tank top and pulled it over my head, tossing it to the floor. My nipples hardened in the cool air. Then, ever so slowly, he slid my panties down my hips. They joined my top on the floor.

Part of me felt self-conscious being completely bare in front of Graham, but there was something about the sight of him kneeling between my thighs, looking at me with such adoration, that quieted my insecurity.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said.

I sat up, holding his gaze as I slid my fingertips into the waistband of his pajama pants and dragged them down his thighs. He helped me the rest of the way before tossing them aside.

I already knew Graham was a work of art, but seeing him now, every hard line of his body washed in the silvery glow of moonlight, I was even more certain that he had been carved by the hands of some masterful fucking stonemason.

“So are you.”

I placed my palms on his chest and slowly ran them down the front of his body. He drew in a sharp breath, his muscles going taut beneath my hands. I moved lower and wrapped my fingers around his cock. His skin was soft, almost silken. His head fell back on a moan, the muscles in his stomach tightening as I gently stroked him.

His hand closed around my wrist, stilling my movements. “If you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he said, lowering himself over me again, bracing himself on one elbow. “It just felt too fucking good.”

He lined himself up with my entrance and eased into me.

My eyes fell closed, my body shuddering with the new sensation of fullness.

Graham dropped his forehead to mine, his arm trembling beside my head. “I’ll go easy, Bambi, but tell me if it hurts.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Mmhmm.”

He eased in deeper, and my mouth opened on a soundless moan.

I had expected some pain, or at least a little discomfort, but all I felt was him. The inescapable heat of his body. The utter fullness of him inside me.

He withdrew slightly before sinking into me again, somehow reaching deeper than before. He fell into a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling a moan from me. I dug my nails into his back as intense pleasure surged through my core.

“Fuck,” Graham groaned. “You feel so fucking good, Bambi.”

His breath was hot against my skin, goosebumps rising along my arms.

He picked up his pace, pulling back and plunging into me again with an intensity that made my thighs clench around his waist. Breathy moans and curses spilled from me with every thrust. His mouth covered mine, swallowing every sound that stumbled over my lips.

My mind and body were completely consumed by Graham. All I could do was cling tighter to his shoulders as the pleasure continued to build, until I could barely think around it.

“Graham, I—oh, God.”

My stomach tightened, my inner walls squeezing his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

My nails dug deeper into his skin as the tension inside me shattered in a burst of pure ecstasy.

“Graham,” I cried out, my pussy spasming around him.

“Oh, fuck. Bambi.” Graham’s breath caught, and with a low, guttural groan, he followed me over the edge, his body trembling with his release.

Slowly, he slid out of me, then collapsed beside me. He wound his arm around my waist and pulled me close, tucking me in against him.

We lay like that for a while. When our breathing finally steadied, he tilted my chin up to meet his gaze.

“I’m yours, Bambi,” he said softly, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip. “As much as you are mine.”

He kissed me deeply, like he was imprinting the words on my lips.

I melted into his kiss, my full weight sinking into him. My body hummed with a deep, bone-settling warmth. Something that felt stronger, steadier than pleasure. Belonging.

I rested my cheek against his heart, listening as it slowed beneath my ear.

His hands moved slowly, almost absentmindedly, the soft strokes eventually soothing me into sleep.

Chapter Fourteen →

G+B Chapter 12: A Piece of the Past — Graham

August 11, 2026August 20, 2026 / feralbookster / 1 Comment

I hissed as I stepped under the cold spray of the shower, my overheated skin sensitive to the sudden temperature change. I hadn’t intended to tease Bambi like I had, but after I’d gotten that first reaction out of her while she was inside trying to draw… I couldn’t help myself. I wanted more of them.

And I had to admit that it felt good being able to get a rise out of her. Not because I wanted to torture her, but because, for the first time since she’d arrived, I didn’t feel like I had to hold myself back.

I’d done enough of that already thanks to Caroline.

I tilted my head back under the water and exhaled a long, slow breath, the tail end of it tapering off into a chuckle.

As much as I’d enjoyed watching Bambi squirm from across the kitchen table, I’d loved those little micro-expressions and subtle cues she couldn’t hide even more. That tiny hitch in her breathing? I felt it down to my bones. The way her cheeks flushed, turning my favorite shade of pink. Hell, even the way she glared daggers at me. She thought she was being tough when really it just made her look cute as all hell.

Ah, shit. I was so fucking done for, wasn’t I?

I squeezed shampoo into my palm and rubbed my hands together. The scent drifted around me, but something about it was off.

My brows pulled together as I picked up the bottle again, squinting at the label.

It was the same shampoo I’d been using for the last four years. Why did it all of a sudden—

Bambi.

I’d gotten so used to my scent clinging to her that now my own shampoo smelled wrong.

I shook my head and chuckled again.

Yeah, pal. So fucking done.

Once I’d dried off and changed, I found Bambi in her usual spot in the living room. Her chin rested in her hand, her gaze fixed beyond the window. The notebook sat open on the table in front of her, the page blank.

As I moved closer, she turned her head, her thoughtful expression softening into a smile when she saw me.

I had only taken a few steps when my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, grimacing at the screen before answering. It was the rehab center where Caroline was staying.

“Graham speaking. Wait, what?”

Bambi’s brows furrowed when I glanced over at her.

“Sorry,” I mouthed to her and headed into my office, leaving the door ajar behind me.

“What do you mean she’s refusing treatment?” I asked.

“Exactly that, sir. I’m afraid I can’t say more over the phone. It’s best that you come down immediately.”

My fingers tightened around my phone. “I’m not sure that my presence will have the effect that you’re hoping for. I’m sure it’ll only serve to make matters worse.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but your mother is insisting she see you.”

“She can insist all she likes, but I’m sorry, I’m going to have to decline.”

“But sir!”

“You should go.” Bambi’s soft voice drifted into the office. She lingered in the narrow opening between the door and the frame, concern written across her features.

The advisor continued speaking, but I barely registered a word he was saying. Bambi’s voice was already looping through my head.

She had no idea what she was asking.

And how could she? Caroline was the one topic I avoided speaking with her about. How was I supposed to tell her that the one person in her life who hadn’t abandoned her was the reason I’d walked away from Bambi in the first place?Caroline may have been a shit parent to Bambi, but she never treated her the way she treated me. Despite everything she had gone through because of Caroline, there was no denying that Bambi still cared for her. I couldn’t bring myself to ruin that.

“Sir?” The advisor’s voice cut through the phone.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I told the advisor. I hung up the phone before he could respond and tossed my phone onto my desk.

Bambi entered the office and stopped in front of me. “I can go with you if you’d like.”

“No,” I said too curtly, making Bambi flinch.

“I’m sorry,” I said, softening my voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant to say is that this isn’t something you should have to deal with.”

“Alright.” She reached out and took my hand. “I’m here if you need me.”

Bambi gave my hand a squeeze, then left the office.

Fuck. Was I really about to do this? I hadn’t seen Caroline since that night in the alley. I’d gotten her admitted, gone down to the clinic to finish the paperwork, but not once had I seen her.

I gave myself another minute to collect myself before heading out for the thirty-minute drive to the clinic.

Tim, the advisor I’d spoken with on the phone, met me at the front desk. “Glad you could make it, sir.” He gestured toward a long white hallway. “Follow me, please.”

I followed him down the hall, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off the walls. There were no windows, no photos, no corny inspirational posters. Just stark white walls and a hallway that seemed endless.

Tim stopped in front of a large metal door with a single narrow window and punched in a keycode. The lock released with a mechanical whirr.

“Here you are,” he said, opening the door for me.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping past him.

My eyes immediately landed on Caroline. She sat at a table in the center of the room, her hands folded together on the tabletop.

She smiled the moment she saw me. I couldn’t help but notice that it lacked any sort of maternal warmth one would expect from a mother who hadn’t seen her son in over four years.

To anyone else, it would have seemed perfectly normal. I recognized it for what it was. A mask.

I didn’t return it as I crossed the room. I took the chair opposite her and folded my hands in front of me, mirroring her posture.

“Caroline.”

Her smile vanished. “Nice of you to finally show up,” she said. “You dump me in this godforsaken facility and couldn’t be bothered to visit once?”

“I see we’re done with the false pretenses, then,” I replied. Figures she couldn’t keep up the act for more than a minute.

“Why am I here, Caroline?”

“Is that really any way to speak to your mother?”

“You’re not my mother. Haven’t been for years. Now I’ll ask you again, why am I here?”

Caroline sat a little straighter, one corner of her thin lips twitching upward.

“Where is she, Graham? You have her, don’t you?”

She. Her.

She spoke of Bambi as if she were nothing more than a possession. Like she had no value beyond being a pawn she could use against me.

“Is this why you’ve asked me here? Why you’ve been causing problems for the staff? Why you’ve refused treatment? To talk about Bambi?”

“I knew you wouldn’t have shown up otherwise.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. We have nothing to say to each other. We both know that.”

“Does she know where you’ve stuck me, hmm? Does she know that you’ve had your own mother committed?”

“Bambi’s safe. And yes, she knows.”

“Safe?” Caroline scoffed. “She was safe with me.” She leaned across the table, her tone sharpening as she continued. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You put me in here just so you could have her all to yourself.”

I dropped my hands to my lap, clenching them into fists below the table.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done, Graham. I know you took possession of the apartment. I know that you’ve got Hazel.”

“Bambi,” I corrected.

“You’ll ruin her,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “I saw how you looked at her when you two were kids, how she followed you around like a little puppy dog, hung on your every word. You never discouraged it. You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Enough, Caroline.”

The corner of her mouth twitched again, satisfaction flickering in her eyes.

“I know you did,” she sneered. “She was an innocent little girl and you took advantage—”

“Enough!” I slammed my hands down on the table and stood, the chair toppling to the floor.

I leaned across the table, both hands planted firmly on the tabletop. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. If you only brought me here so you could spew your bullshit, then I’m leaving.”

Caroline’s laughter echoed behind me as I left the visitation room. It stayed with me all the way back to my truck.

I slammed the door shut and dropped my head to the steering wheel.

Coming to see her was a mistake. I should have known better than to expect she’d do anything but attack me.

That vicious fucking bitch.

I started the truck and pulled away from the clinic. As I headed down the main road, my mind drifted to the past.

Bambi standing in my doorway, a stuffed animal clutched in her arms, unable to sleep because our parents were fighting. Bambi hiding behind me, her hands clenched in my shirt as Caroline screamed at us for breaking something. Sitting with Bambi’s all night after her dad had passed and holding her until she’d cried herself to sleep.

My hands trembled with anger as I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

This was what she wanted. To get under my skin. To corrupt the innocent moments of our childhood.

I caught movement at the edge of my vision, and when I looked up, I saw Bambi standing on the front porch. She was leaning against the railing, smiling at me.

The moment our eyes met, the anger that had followed me home loosened its grip.

I got out of the truck and headed toward her.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

I walked up the porch steps, pulled her against my chest, and locked my arms around her.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said, resting my cheek on top of her head. “Not yet.”

Bambi’s arms closed around me, holding me tightly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The clinic, the conversation with Caroline—if you could call it that—all faded into the background. In Bambi’s arms, all I felt was peace.

Bambi’s arms loosened and she looked up at me. “What do you need? How can I help?”

“Nothing,” I said, reaching up to brush a few loose strands of hair back from her face. “You’ve already done enough just by being here, Bambi.”

I kissed her forehead lightly, breathing in her familiar scent.

“Let’s go in,” she said. She slipped her hand into mine and led me inside.

As the door closed behind us, I realized that all this time, I’d thought I was saving Bambi. Turns out, she’d been saving me right back.

I stopped short. I pulled Bambi back toward me, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her.

“Thank you,” I said after breaking the kiss.

Bambi smiled up at me, her thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. “I’m beginning to like the way you thank me.”

She rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine again.

And just like that, everything that had happened earlier vanished from my mind.

All that existed was us.

Chapter Thirteen →

G+B Chapter 11: Undeniable

August 4, 2026August 20, 2026 / 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 4: Discovery

June 16, 2026June 15, 2026 / 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

June 9, 2026June 29, 2026 / 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 →

G+B Chapter 1: Cold and Dark

May 26, 2026June 29, 2026 / feralbookster / Leave a comment

The winter wind slipped through the boards nailed over the windows and settled into my bones. I curled in on myself, dragging the threadbare blanket higher over my shoulders, trying to hold in what little warmth remained.

I closed my eyes and, just for a moment, let myself pretend I couldn’t feel the cold… or the hunger.

I imagined myself back in our old house, when my dad was still alive and Caroline wasn’t struggling with addiction, where a warm fire was always burning in the fireplace. Where a hot, home-cooked meal was always waiting. Where there was always laughter and love.

My stomach tightened, then twisted, and the illusion shattered.

Back then, the constant cold and hunger hadn’t existed. Now, that was all that existed.

There were no warm fires, no home-cooked meals. The heat in our apartment had been shut off a week ago and the fridge had been empty nearly as long. Laughter hadn’t been heard inside these walls for years. Not since…

I shook my head. I couldn’t think about that now.

The boards against the window rattled again as another gust of icy wind swept through. My teeth clacked together as a shiver ran through me.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing sleep to take me, if only to give me a few hours of reprieve from the harsh reality I was living.

I must have eventually drifted to sleep, because when I opened my eyes, soft morning light filtered through the cracks in the boards.

I pushed myself up, blinking a few times. As my vision adjusted, I realized the light bleeding through the dark wasn’t sunlight at all, but the glow of the streetlamps from across the road. It was still night.

I sat quietly, listening for any sign that my stepmother had returned, but the apartment was silent. Something about it felt… off.

I wrapped my blanket tighter around me and slipped from the bed.

“Caroline?” I called out.

Only the howling wind answered.

I crossed the hallway to her room, the floor ice-cold beneath my bare feet.

I leaned into the doorway. Her room looked the same as always: clothes scattered across the floor, shoes tipped onto their sides, cardboard taped over the window. Her mattress was shoved against the wall, the sheets twisted in the center, untouched.

On the nights she went out looking to get high, she rarely made it back to her bedroom, anyway. The couch was closer.

I made my way down the short hallway stopping just outside the bathroom to check for her there. I passed the second door beside it, avoiding looking in its direction No one went in that room. Not anymore.

My fingers found the light switch at the end of the hall and flicked it on before I remembered the power had been cut due to nonpayment.

I peered into the living room, squinting through the darkness. The couch was empty.

She disappeared like this sometimes. It wasn’t unusual for her to be gone for hours at a time, but she should have been back by now.

A familiar thought pressed in. What if this time… she didn’t come back?

I sank onto the couch and waited for the dread to set in. Except it didn’t. Instead, another thought formed. Would it really be so bad if Caroline didn’t come home? I wouldn’t have to clean up after her anymore or drag her to her bed when she couldn’t stand upright on her own. I wouldn’t have to work double shifts at the diner to pay the mountain of overdue bills or worry that she’d spend what little was left on drugs.

Maybe it would be better if—

No. How could I even think like that? Despite all her flaws, Caroline was the only one who hadn’t left me.

A thud sounded at the front door. Keys scraped against the lock. The knob turned.

I exhaled. She was back.

I turned as the door opened. The knob struck the dent in the wall, sending drywall dust and flakes of plaster drifting onto the pile already scattered across the floor.

I expected to see Caroline’s thin frame to stumble through the door, but an imposing figure filled the doorway instead. He stood there, unmoving, his broad shoulders backlit by the fluorescent hallway lights.

My pulse kicked hard and I pushed to my feet, my eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway.

He took a single, unhurried step forward.

“Bambi,” he said, taking a single unhurried step forward.

My breath caught and a familiar flutter stirred in my chest. There was only one person who had ever called me that.

But he had left in the middle of the night without a word. Four years ago.

I smothered the feeling before it could take hold. Anger was safer.

“What do you want, Graham?”

Chapter Two →

M+A Chapter 18

April 29, 2026May 1, 2026 / feralbookster / 1 Comment

He did not move. Not toward me. Not away.

And so I crossed the distance. One step. Then another until there was no space left between us.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to my cheek, fingers barely grazing my skin. His breath left him in a shaky exhale, as though he only just allowed himself to believe I was real.

His thumb trembled as he traced the curve of my lips.

“Monroe…” my name stumbled from his lips. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment I saw it—the war inside him. Duty. Loyalty. Want.

“I couldn’t stay away,” I told him.

“Alexander is a great man,” he said hoarsely. “He can provide for you everything that I cannot.”

I covered his hand still resting gently on my cheek with my own. “All I want, Aiden… is you.”

His breath caught.

His eyes searched mine as if trying to find something he did not dare believe.

For weeks I had tried to fulfill my duty as Princess, as future queen, but I knew that life was no longer mine.

My heart had long since made its choice, and I could not deny it what longed for.

Him. Aiden.

I let him see it.

His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, not pulling me closer, just holding me there. Like I was his anchor as much as he was mine.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “My heart is yours, Monroe. Always.”

My fingers fisted in his tunic.

“And mine has only ever been yours.”

I rose onto my toes.

Aiden stilled.

For one suspended heartbeat, the world held its breath with us.

Then I kissed him.

It was not tentative. It was not careful. It was every stolen glance, every restrained touch, every word left unsaid set free all at once.

Whatever restraint he had left shattered.

Aiden’s mouth claimed mine. His hand tightened at the back of my neck as the other slid to my waist. He pulled me flush against him, and my hands threaded into his hair.

He nipped at my lower lip, drawing a soft sound from me, and a low approving grumble reverberated in his chest.

Aiden’s hands moved over my back, my shoulders, my arms, as if he were mapping out my body to commit the feel, the shape of me, to memory.

I clung to him, my fingertips digging into his biceps, only breaking away long enough to steal a breath.

Beneath the starlit sky, it was only Aiden and me—hands twisting in hair, fingers clutching fabric, breathless ravenous kisses.

Aiden broke our kiss with a groan, as if stopping was agony.

Our uneven breaths mingled in the space between us.

“Monroe,” he murmured, sending goosebumps across my skin.

He rested his head atop mine, his fingers still pressing into my skin.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, the words rough and uneven.

I looked up at him, my hand cupping his cheek. “You won’t. I choose you, Aiden.”

His lips curved before he leaned in and brushed a soft, delicate kiss to my mouth.

He took my hands and held them between us. “I have to tell Alexander,” he said, his voice steadying.

“We will tell him,” I said. “Together.”

Aiden and I paused at the edge of the forest path, looking up at the dark silhouette of Castle Bedford rising in the distance.

He squeezed my hand once before releasing it, and together we stepped onto the stone path.

We walked side by side, close enough that the heat of him brushed my skin, yet careful not to touch.

The night air was cool, but I barely felt it. Every nerve in my body thrummed, alive with the knowledge that everything was about to change.

We passed guards, their gazes following Aiden and me, but none made a move to stop us. No one suspected the fracture we were about to carve into the foundations of Bedford.

Aiden halted just before a long corridor, his fingers closing gently around my wrist. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. “If he strips me of everything—”

I held his gaze, letting him see the unwavering truth in mine. “Then we shall have nothing. Together.”

He held my gaze a moment longer. Then he nodded once, slow and decisive, and he laced his fingers through mine.

At the end of the corridor, the parlor doors stood slightly ajar, a shaft of firelight spilling across the stone floor.

We shared one final look, a silent confirmation.

Aiden brought his hand up to the door, but before his knuckles even grazed the wood, Alexander’s voice drifted from within.

“Enter.”

Aiden pushed the door open.

A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the parlor. Prince Alexander sat in a high-backed chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, a glass untouched at his side.

Firelight traced the sharp line of his profile as his gaze lifted slowly from the flames, settling first on our joined hands.

“I wondered when this moment would come,” he said.

His attention returned to the hearth, the quiet snap of burning logs stretching between us.

“I admit,” he continued evenly, “I had hoped you would choose me.”

He rose then, unhurried, setting the glass aside without looking at it.

When his gaze met mine fully, there was no accusation there, only clarity.

“But I see now, you would only have resented me.”

Something in my chest tightened. Not with fear, but with understanding. For the first time, I saw him not as a prince, not as an obligation, but simply as a man who had misjudged love… and knew it.

“I tried,” I said softly.

“The fault is mine, Your Majesty,” Aiden said.

Alexander lifted a hand, not sharply, not in reprimand, but in quiet refusal. “No,” he said. “No, the truth is no one’s fault.”

His gaze moved between us, not as a ruler assessing subjects, but as someone finally seeing what had always been there. “You love each other.”

We did not deny it.

A faint curve touched his mouth. It was not quite a smile, but something like acceptance.

“You are released from this arrangement,” he said, his attention returning to me. “I will dissolve the engagement. The rest, I will manage.”

Silence settled in the parlor again, only broken up by the soft crackle of the fire.

Then, softer, Alexander said, “Go.”

I released Aiden’s hand and stepped forward. “Thank you,” I said.

Behind me, Aiden bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Alexander inclined his head once, then turned away, his hands clasping behind his back.

Aiden and I left the parlor, hand in hand, moving silently through the corridor.

Perhaps we did not trust the moment to hold. Or perhaps we could not yet believe we had walked away without consequence.

When the carriage waiting in the drive came into view, something inside me began to ease.

There were no gloved attendants, no line of guards standing at attention as there had been the day I arrived. No banners. No procession.

There was only Aiden and me in the hush of dawn, stepping into something entirely our own.

I did not allow myself to look back at first. But as the carriage wheels began their steady rhythm over stone, carrying us through the outer gates, I could not help myself.

I turned.

High above, framed by stone and morning light, Prince Alexander stood at the balcony.

He did not wave. He did not call out. He simply watched.

Our eyes met across the distance. He inclined his head. Not as a prince to a subject. Not as a man to a possession. But as an equal.

The gates closed, and Bedford receded behind us.

Aiden took my hand in his, and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes.

I did not know where the road ahead would take us, but as Aiden’s thumb traced slow, lazy circles over my hand, I knew one thing with absolute certainty—wherever it led, we would meet it together.

***

Pinpricks of sunlight filtered through the broad canopy overhead, dappling the meadow below.

I wandered along the bank where wildflowers grew in abundance, their petals brushing my ankles.

Aiden was stretched out comfortably on the blanket, boots discarded, one arm propped behind his head. He watched me with an expression so open, so unguarded, it made my chest tighten. As though I were not merely his wife, but a miracle he still could not quite believe was his.

I returned to the blanket and settled beside him. He gathered me close, his strong arms wrapping around me without hesitation, as though some part of him still feared I might vanish if he did not hold me there.

His fingers curled beneath my chin, tilting my head back until our gazes met. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“Better than happy,” I said, smiling. “With you, I am whole.”

“Always so poetic, Princess.”

I smiled wider, brushing my fingers over his jaw. “I am no princess.”

“You are whatever you chose to be, and you have always been more than a crown.”

He kissed me slowly, reverently, like he had all the time in the world.

“I love you, Monroe.”

“I love you, Aiden.”

He kissed me again, then tucked me close against him and held me there.

I gazed across the meadow at our cottage tucked amongst the trees. The light struck it just so, and I thought of the painting in Bedford’s gallery.

I had once believed it beautiful in theory. I had not known it could be lived.

Here, there were no nooses disguised as duty. No crowns masquerading as destiny. Only the steady rush of water, wildflowers at my feet, and the man who had chosen me as fiercely as I had chosen him.

The End

The Feral Bookster

reader. writer. daydreamer. books pull me into other worlds. writing lets me build my own.

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