We sit in silence after that, watching the water move. Every time she shifts her weight, I'm aware of the space between us—two feet that might as well be inches.
Eventually she shivers, and I stand, offering my hand to help her up. She takes it, and the touch of her fingers against my palm sends heat through me that I have no right to feel. I let go the moment she's steady.
"I should get you back to Cole's."
"You don't have to walk me."
"I know."
We walk anyway, side by side through the parking lot and down quiet streets to Cole's house. The town is asleep at this hour, porch lights glowing in windows, our footsteps too loud against the pavement.
When we reach the front porch, Gemma turns to face me. She's not polished or put together—just herself, finally, and it hits me harder than it should.
"Goodnight, Will."
"Goodnight, Gemma."
I watch her go inside. Wait for the lock to click before I turn toward home.
She told me about Craig. Not everything, but enough. Enough to confirm what I already suspected, enough to make the rage burn hotter than before.
And she told me she'd watched Sarah and me. That she'd wanted what we had.
I wish I didn't understand as well as I do. Gemma went looking for what Sarah and I built, and Craig gave her something that looked like it from the outside. I've seen the damage thatdoes. I've helped women at the Forge put themselves back together after men like him.
I head inside without turning on lights. Pour bourbon I don't taste. Sit in the dark and think about a woman who wanted to be held and got trapped instead.
If she ever decides to trust again, she'll need someone who understands what she's been through. Someone patient enough to let her find her own way back.
I'm not sure I'm that someone. I'm not sure I have any right to try.
But I keep seeing the way she looked at me on that dock, like maybe safe still exists somewhere.
I should walk away from this. From her.
Sleep isn't coming tonight.
6
GEMMA
Ishould not be Googling "ethical BDSM" at 2 AM in my brother's guest room. And yet.
The conversation with Will unlocked something. The part where he talked about Sarah. The part where he admitted she was complicated, difficult, not the sainted memory everyone expected him to carry. He told me the truth about his marriage, and he didn't apologize for it, and that honesty cracked open a door I've been keeping sealed for years.
My open laptop glows in the darkness, the only light in the room besides the sliver of moon through the curtains. Cole went to bed hours ago, and the house is silent except for the occasional creak of old wood settling. The search bar blinks at me, cursor patient and waiting.
I type the words before the fear can catch up.
The results come flooding in. Forums and articles and educational websites with clean layouts and professional language. Communities where people discuss things I thought only existed in shadows and some of the romance novels I like to read, except here they're talking about them openly, thoughtfully, with terms like "negotiation" and "aftercare" and "informed consent."
My throat tightens as I scroll.
Craig told me this world didn't exist. He said what we did was our secret, that other people wouldn't understand, that the things I wanted made me broken in ways only he could accept. He made me believe that my desires were shameful, dangerous, something to be hidden and controlled by him. Always by him.
But these people aren't hiding. They're building frameworks. They're establishing boundaries. They're talking about communication like it's the foundation of everything, not an obstacle to be worked around.
I click on a thread titled "Red Flags in D/s Relationships" and my hands start to shake.
