Page 60 of Rise
10
Hazel woke to stillness.
Not silence exactly, but the kind of quiet that comesaftersomething, like the air was still remembering the weight of the storm. The only sound was the faint tick of rainwater sliding off the eaves outside, slow and steady, the world still wringing itself out. Beyond that, she could hear the gentle whine of the radiators as they worked overtime to push warm air out into the house.
For a long moment, she stayed where she was, beneath the navy comforter and grey sheets, half-swallowed by Beck’s bed. The weight of being here, in his room andhisbed, had been wrapped around her all night long.
The ache in her thigh had dulled overnight, but it pulsed faintly now as she pushed herself upright and brushed back the blankets. Morning light filtered in through the blinds, pale and silver, softened by mist. She stretched her arms up and over her head, letting out a faint groan at the tension still working its way out of the curve between her neck and shoulder. A moment later, her feet hit the floor and she stood, limbs sore but moving.
The scent of brewing coffee drew Hazel out of the bedroom. She padded down the short hallway, noticing that the bathroom door across the hall was sealed shut. As she passed, she heard the faintest sound inside: running water, either from the shower or the tap.
Beck.
She kept going on her path down the hallway, leaving the sounds of him behind. The house was brighter now as it opened up before her, not lit by lamps, but by daylight. And it changed everything.
In the living room, the long wall of windows faced the back of the cabin, and Hazel wandered toward them instinctively, drawn in by the view. She stood at the edge of the rug, socked feet just brushing the floorboards, and let her gaze sweep outward.
Beck’s home was tucked high into the tree line just above town. Through the tangle of bare-armed trees, still slick and dripping, she could make out the rooftops of Bar Harbor, the slow curve of Main Street, the clustered brick and pastel siding of downtown. Beyond that, lower, the waterfront glimmered faintly in the grey morning, soft and settled and blurred like a watercolor painting.
It was stunning.
Private. Wrapped in forest, but never disconnected from the rest of the world.
It was exactly the kind of place she would have imagined Beck choosing for himself.
She took the view in with a slow sort of reverence, her eyes catching on everything else the storm had left behind: scattered leaves across the deck outside, the wooden slats dark with water, and a few tree limbs littered across the yard, snapped and dangling.
She turned as she heard the soft creak of footsteps behind her.
Beck stood in the open space at the end of the hall, already dressed in a worn black t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair was damp and his jaw was still rough with stubble he hadn’t shaved away. His eyes met hers and something passed between them, something quiet and unfinished, like a reminder of the late night that had come before.
Hazel’s gaze flickered to the couch. The blanket he’d used was still there, crumpled and half-folded, one pillow bearing the faint outline of where his head had rested. Her chest ached a little at the sight.
“You sleep okay?” he asked, voice low.
She nodded, a soft smile curving at the corners of her lips. “Better than I expected.”
Beck didn’t say more, just held her gaze for a second longer, nodded, and turned toward the kitchen.
Hazel hesitated for a moment before she followed, padding across the space towards him.
“Would it be okay if I took a quick shower?” she asked, voice lower now.
Beck paused mid-step, then turned back to her and nodded again. “Of course.”
A beat passed.
“Just—“ He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flickering to her injured thigh— still bare, bandage still on display from just beneath the hem of his oversized sweater. “Try to keep the bandage dry, if you can.”
“I will,” she said, her lips curving at the edges again.
Then, almost a whisper, he added, “Do you need help rewrapping it after?”
The question landed soft. Not teasing, not heavy, just offered.
Hazel’s heart tugged.
“No, I’ll be okay.”
