Page 54 of Rise
He was offeringcare.Steady, unflinching, given freely and without condition.
Her gaze lifted and she took another beat to study him, to search for any flicker of doubt within him. Rain clung to the angle of his jaw and his hair had begun to dry in soft curls near his temples. His shirt stuck to his shoulder and his brow was furrowed, not with frustration, but with concern.
Real, quiet concern. The kind that didn’t ask to be seen, but was impossible to miss.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay on my own for one night,” she said, her voice so quiet she hardly recognized it. That hesitant, terrified part of her was screaming, begging her to stand her ground. But she knew, after this, she didn’t have much left inside of her. This was her one last protest, born more out of habit than anything else.
Beck shook his head again.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, simple and calm. His dark eyes were firm, his lips set into a line so straight the colour had begun to fade around the edges. “Stop arguing.”
Hazel stilled, though maybe it should have made her bristle. Maybe she should have clung tighter to the edges of her independence, to the years she’d spent surviving without anyone else.
But she didn’t… because he wasn’t taking anything from her. He was givingtoher,choosingher.
Again. And again.
“I’ll help you get your things,” he added, turning towards the staircase, just hidden from Hazel’s view. “And then we’ll go.”
She looked at him for a long moment, watching the way his jaw had begun to relax. She studied him, not out of resistance, not anymore. Not to search for the brief give in his armour. Instead, she was just… piecing it all together. The way he looked at her, the steadiness in his voice, the shape of his care, never loud, never demanding— butthere.Always there.
And slowly, that quiet, trembling part of her, the part that still didn’t know how to receive something without suspicion, unfolded. It scattered into the howling wind pressing up against them from outside, and drifted out to sea.
Then, finally, she nodded. Just once.
“Okay.”
And it wasn’t surrender, not really.
It was trust.
The storm had eased a bit by the time they turned off the main road.
Not gone, not really, just softened— like it had burned itself out and left only the ghost of its former strength behind. The rain still came inscattered sheets, drifting across the windshield in loose, half-hearted swipes, and the wind moaned faintly through the trees. But the worst had passed.
Hazel felt it. Not just in the weather, but in the way her body had begun to unclench.
The drive was short, maybe ten minutes, just like Beck had said, but it stretched longer in the dark, their headlights cutting through the thick blur of pine and fog. Every so often, he had to swerve around something: a fallen branch, a scattering of debris, a length of siding that must’ve peeled off someone’s shed and gone airborne.
She watched it all pass from the passenger seat, her backpack resting by her feet. Inside were the barest of necessities: a change of clothes, some toiletries, her phone charger, her wallet. She hadn’t packed like she was leaving home, just enough to get through the night.
And yet, she couldn’t help but feel relieved. Grateful, even. There was a twinge of embarrassment there, too, hidden beneath it all. At herself, for the way she’d fought him on this for so long. And also for giving in, for allowing herself to accept
But as the storm passed by outside, Hazel realized that there was no way she could have driven this on her own. Not in the dark, not in this rain, not with her leg aching and her nerves frayed thin. The road curved hard in places, dipped low in others, and the trees pressed in tight on either side, their limbs skeletal and swaying. It was the kind of drive you had to know, the kind that required steadiness even in the tensest of moments.
Beck drove like someone who knew every bend before it came.
Eventually, the gravel turned rougher, the forest thicker. His truck bumped along the incline, and then, just as Hazel was starting to wonder whereexactlythey were going, the trees parted. A clearing opened up ahead, small and dark and slick with rain, and the headlights swept across the silhouette of a cabin at its center. It was made from thick wooden logs, darkened with age and weather, and the porch wrapped around the front like a crooked smile. Hazel caught a glimpse of railing, of uneven steps, of a rain barrel tucked around the side. The windowswere dark, no lights spilling out from within. Only the sweep of the headlights tracing over wood and shadow.
And then the engine cut, the lights blinked out, and the clearing was swallowed whole by the night.
Hazel blinked into the inky blackness, disoriented by the sudden loss of sight. Her hand hovered near the door handle, unsure.
A moment later, Beck’s door creaked open. She heard his boots crunch against the gravel and the soft thud as he shut the driver’s side door behind him. She watched through the windshield as he rounded it, heading for her side.
Her door was pulled open, just as she’d begun to push on it. Rain swept in on a gust of cold air, and Beck was there, framed by the shape of his cabin behind him. He didn’t speak, just extended a hand. And Hazel took it.
His grip was warm and familiar now. He helped her down from the truck without a word, and before she could reach for it herself, he bent to grab her bag from the floorboard, too. He slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
