Seven
1467 Words
( Brian's POV )
The truck rumbled low as it rolled down the quiet street.
The same truck that had carried laughter and lake water just hours earlier now felt like a cage. No music. No chatter. Just the sound of the road humming beneath the tires and the thick silence wedged between them.
Ava sat angled toward the window, arms crossed over her chest, jaw locked tight. Her hair was still damp from the shower she’d taken at the cabin before she thought she could slip away. Thought she could disappear.
Brian’s hands were welded to the steering wheel, every knuckle white. He hadn’t said a word since the moment he caught her halfway down the path behind the cabin, barefoot, hoodie zipped up, bag slung over her shoulder like she was already gone.
He’d called her name once. Just once. And the way it hit the air had been enough to make her freeze.
When the truck turned into the long gravel drive that led up to the house, Ava’s heartbeat quickened. She already knew what was coming. She could feel it like a storm gathering on the back of her neck.
The engine cut off with a final growl. For a few long seconds, neither of them moved. The night outside was quiet. Crickets. Wind through the trees. The kind of stillness that made every breath feel loud.
Ava opened her door first and climbed out. The porch light cast long shadows across the front steps as she walked toward the house, Brian’s heavy footsteps following close behind.
Inside, the house was still. Lily was upstairs, probably asleep, thank God. If she saw this, if she heard this, Ava didn’t know how she’d explain it. Not sneaking out. Not the tension. Not the look in Brian’s eyes.
She kicked her shoes off at the door, moving toward the stairs.
“Don’t,” Brian said.
His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t have to be. That single word stopped her cold halfway up the first step.
Ava turned slowly, clutching the railing. “Brian, I’m tired.”
“So am I,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Tired of watching you act like this doesn’t matter.”
Her pulse jumped. “I didn’t do anything.”
He stepped closer, shoulders broad and set like stone. “You tried to walk out in the middle of the damn night with a bag, Ava.”
“It wasn’t...”
“Don’t,” he cut in, voice rougher now. “Don’t lie to me.”
The kitchen lights cast gold along the floorboards as they stared each other down. His jaw flexed, the vein at his temple tight. She hated the way that look got to her, the one that wasn’t about anger but something heavier. Something closer to hurt.
Ava straightened, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I?” His voice was low, sharp at the edges. “Because when I looked out the window, I didn’t see someone going for a walk. I saw you leaving.”
That word...leaving ...hung between them like a blade.
She looked down, chest tight. “I wasn’t leaving. Not for good.”
“Then what the hell were you doing?”
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Because she didn’t even have a good excuse. The walls of the cabin felt too small. His presence is too much. And yet too safe at the same time. It scared her.
“I needed space,” she said finally, voice small.
He exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but close to it. “You needed space. So you disappeared into the dark.”
“I wasn’t disappearing.”
“Yes, Ava,” he said quietly, “you were.”
She flinched at the way he said her name. Like it mattered too much. Like she mattered too much. And that was the problem.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Then explain it to me,” he said, stepping closer, voice steady. Controlled. “Because right now all I can see is you running. Again.”
The word again stung.
Ava forced her chin up. “You can’t keep me here.”
He let out a harsh breath. “I’m not trying to keep you.”
“Yes, you are,” she snapped, heat rising. “You act like if you set enough rules, if you look at me like that, I’ll just… stay.”
His brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something you don’t want to lose.”
He still went. Not a twitch. Not a breath. Just stillness that said she’d hit something real. Something dangerous.
His voice dropped low, hoarse. “You are.”
The words slammed into her chest. She wasn’t ready for them, not from him. Not from Lily’s dad. Not from the man who was supposed to be safe in a different way. Older. Steady. Off-limits.
“Brian…” Her voice broke a little.
“I don’t play games, Ava,” he said, stepping closer. “You matter to me. You’ve mattered for a long time.”
She backed down a step, heart pounding. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” he rasped, “sneaking out in the middle of the night isn’t fair.”
Her breath came too fast. “I panicked, okay? The cabin, the quiet, you, it was too much.”
“I scare you?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated. “No. That’s the problem.”
Something flickered in his eyes then, soft, but sharp. His jaw wasn’t set anymore. His shoulders weren’t iron. He just looked… tired. Raw.
“You make it impossible to breathe sometimes,” Ava admitted, her voice shaking. “You make me feel like I belong somewhere. And that scares me more than anything.”
Brian’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. “So you’d rather run than admit that.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “Lily..”
“Lily isn’t the reason you ran.”
Ava’s throat tightened. “No. She’s the reason I came back.”
He took another step toward her. Not threatening. Just there. Warm. Real. “Then stop pretending this isn’t real, Ava.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. She hated how close he was, how much she wanted him closer.
“This can’t happen,” she whispered.
“It already is.”
She shook her head, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “You’re Lily’s dad.”
“I know who I am,” he said. “I also know what I feel.”
Her breath caught. “You’re supposed to be the steady one.”
“And you’re supposed to be the one who doesn’t make my world fall apart just by walking out a door,” he shot back, voice cracking for the first time. “But here we are.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t empty. It hummed with everything they couldn’t say out loud. Ava’s fingers gripped the railing behind her, grounding herself as his words tangled around her chest.
“You can’t say things like that,” she whispered.
“I just did,” he replied softly.
Her heartbeat thudded painfully against her ribs. “I don’t know how to stay.”
His voice softened, rough edges fading. “Then don’t stay. Just don’t run.”
It was a plea. One that felt heavier than a command.
Ava inhaled shakily. She didn’t move when he lifted a hand, slow, careful, like if she even flinched, he’d stop. His fingers brushed the side of her face, rough and warm, and her breath stuttered.
“You matter too damn much,” Brian murmured.
“Stop saying that,” she whispered.
“I can’t.”
She closed her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. And yet, standing there in the dim hallway, it was the only thing that felt real.
“I can’t promise anything,” she said.
“I’m not asking for promises,” Brian replied. “I’m just asking you to stop disappearing.”
Ava let out a shaky breath and, against every logical part of her, leaned into his touch. Just slightly. Just enough.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Brian’s thumb grazed her cheek, slow and careful. “We’re a mess.”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “But at least it’s honest.”
Upstairs, the house stayed quiet. Lily slept, unaware of the storm brewing below. Outside, the night stretched wide and dark. But inside, something fragile and dangerous settled between them.
A line had been crossed. And neither of them was pretending otherwise anymore.
- Writer
