Page 21 of Huck Frasier
No rush. No guilt. Just mouths and skin and every breath shared between us.
My name never sounded sweeter than the way he groaned it into my neck.
And when we both fell apart—together—it felt less like breaking…
And more like coming home.
15
Marley
The light was soft when I woke.
Golden slats filtering through dusty blinds, pooling on tangled sheets and bare skin.
Frasier was already awake beside me, propped on one elbow, watching me like I might disappear again.
“Were you watching me?” I whispered.
He didn’t smile. “Making sure you’re real.”
“I thought I was the dramatic one.”
“You are.” His voice was quiet. “But I haven’t stopped looking at that door since you fell asleep. Half of me thought you’d be gone again.”
I swallowed hard.
Because he was right to wonder.
“I wanted to,” I admitted.
He nodded. “I know.”
“I packed my bag. Got all the way to the truck. But then I saw the black shirt I stole.”
His lips twitched. “My favorite.”
“I know.” My throat tightened. “I held it, and I realized something. I didn’t want to be someone who keeps stealing comfort and running. I wanted tokeepit.”
Frasier reached out, brushing my hair off my face, the backs of his fingers soft against my cheek.
“What scared you the most?” he asked.
“That I’d disappoint you,” I said. “That you’d finally see all the damage underneath and realize I wasn’t worth the effort.”
He let that land. Didn’t rush to fix it. Just stared for a long moment—eyes full of something deep and wrecked and steady.
“Marley,” he said. “You could burn down every bridge on this mountain, and I’d still build one back to you with my bare hands.”
Tears spilled over before I could stop them.
He pulled me into his chest, holding me there like I was something precious and breakable.
I let it happen.
I let the tears fall.
For the girl who always ran.
