Page 22 of Huck Frasier
For the woman who wanted to stay.
Later,when we lay there wrapped in each other and silence, I whispered, “What happens now?”
Frasier’s arm tightened around me.
“Now?” he murmured. “Now we figure it out together. No more one-night countries. No more goodbyes.”
He paused.
“And when you feel like running again, you tell me.”
“And if I run anyway?”
He kissed my shoulder. “Then I’ll come find you. Every time.”
16
Marley
The morning light poured through the cabin’s windows like warm honey, soft and slow, gilding everything it touched. Frasier’s bed was empty beside me, but still warm. A note rested on the pillow in his hard, clipped handwriting.
Coffee’s hot. I’ll be back soon. – F
No hearts. No flourishes. Just Frasier—direct, steady, dependable.
I sat up, tugging the sheet around me, my body sore in all the right ways. Not just from last night, but from the weight I’d finally set down. I hadn’t cried like that in years. I hadn’t let someone hold me like that since… well, ever.
I wandered into the kitchen, wrapped in one of Frasier’s flannels. It swallowed me whole, and I didn’t care. His scent clung to the fabric—clean soap, pine, something faintly smoky. I sipped coffee from one of his chipped mugs and stared out the window at the trees swaying in the breeze.
For the first time in forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
And that terrified me.
The knock on the front door was light but insistent.
I padded over and opened it.
Lark stood there with her arms crossed, her head tilted, and one eyebrow arched in judgmental amusement. “Well,” she said, eyeing the flannel. “Someone finally stopped running.”
“Morning,” I mumbled.
She pushed past me into the cabin like it was hers—which, knowing Lark, she probably thought it was.
“Frasier texted Axel. Said he’d be out for a bit. I figured I’d check on you.”
I grabbed another mug and poured her coffee. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smirked, but her eyes softened as she looked me over. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping coffee like real adults. Then she said, “You look like you’ve been crying.”
I laughed under my breath. “I’m happy… I think.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
There was something heavy hanging between us, something we never said out loud but always felt: the ghost of our mother.
