Content warning: Some mature content included below.

July 10

Loon Call Island, Lake Rosseau, Muskoka

Today was harder than I imagined, but so much more rewarding than I had ever hoped. Sam had been adamant about doing something special after Liam was so down over being stuck in the city. She'd roped my and my mum into helping her with the preparations.

Something I didn't quite understand was the absenteeism of her own parents. I'm not sure how to ask her about it, or even how to ask Greyson about it. Knowing my mum, if I was suffering like Sam, you can bet my mum would never leave my side. Say what you will about Mum's sometimes chilly demeanor, at the end of the day I know she would be there. It makes me so sad to think of Sam, alone through all of this.

Jacqueline's there, of course, but she has to think about Liam first, always.

I make a note to ask Mum if we can stop by the hospital again to visit when we go riding next Thursday. Since I won't go down to the barn this week. See if we can take Sam some fresh things and drop some more food for the whole gang. I know my mum will be happy to help. Maybe I can take Sam on a walk or back to my house for a couple hours.

Realistically, I already know she won't leave the hospital, maybe I can arrange something later when Greyson and Ryan are there too, perhaps she'll be more willing to take a break if they're there with Liam.

Sitting on the floor in front of my mirror, I brush my long hair out. It's crimpy and wavy from the braid I'd worn all day, and it feels good to let my hair down. I massage my scalp, relieved now that the tight braid has been released.

I look over the small bag I've packed for the road trip tomorrow. I'm trying not to overpack, but I can't help but feel I've forgotten something. A few days at a music festival, and Jules' cottage is just what we need, a change of scenery, a change of pace.

Standing, I walk back to the bathroom and rub the after sun cream all over my body. I keep burning, even though I use more sun lotion than anyone else I know. I should tell Dad to buy me some stock in a company that makes sun lotion, I'll single-handedly keep them in business for life, so I might as well benefit from it.

I brush my teeth and apply my face cream, lingering over it, massaging my temples to soothe the tension building there. I pack the toiletries and makeup I want for the trip and add them to my bag. Shutting the bathroom lights off, I wander to my bedroom, sliding between the cool sheets.

I check my phone, wondering whether I should try Vi. It would be almost four in the morning there since it's near to ten here. I just want to hear her voice though, I don't think she'll mind. I flip my phone open just as it rings. It's Greyson. I answer after the first ring.

"Hi, Greyson," I lean back into my pillows, pinching the phone between my ear and shoulder to pull the blankets up.

"Can I come over?" His voice sounds raw in my ears, strained. I know I'm the cause of some of the tension he feels, but something about the despair and raw emotion in his voice breaks down any reservations I have.

Even though we said we would talk tonight, he didn't stay after dropping me off. The day seemed to overwhelm him. He was distant with us the whole drive back.

"Of course you can, is everything okay?" The line goes dead without another word from him. I try to call him back, but he doesn't answer.

Ten minutes later, I'm pacing my cabin, calling him back again when the screen door slides open. I rush to meet him. I'm about to speak when I see his eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks streaked with tear marks.

Everything other than the need to comfort, to soothe, falls away. I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his chest.

Greyson pushes me away from him gently. Closing the screen door, taking my hand, he leads me back to my bedroom. He hits the lights for the whole cabin as we walk by, then pulls off his clothes in the dark. He climbs into the big bed wearing only his snug briefs. I stand beside the bed, uncertain of his mood, of what he wants from me. When he lifts the blanket for me, I hesitate but slide in under it with him after a moment.

His arms close around me, and he slides down the bed, lying with his body between my legs, his head resting on my stomach, holding tight. I try not to wince when his face presses into my side and barely hold back a sharp gasp of discomfort as he inadvertently leans into the bruised spot.

I reach down to stroke his hair. I feel a little exposed like this, his broad chest resting between my legs. I don't risk moving though, worried he'll pull away. "Are you alright?"

He shakes his head, pressing his face into me. His shoulders begin to shake, his breathing becomes irregular. He's crying. In the sixteen years I've known him, I have never seen him cry, and it shakes me to the core.

I rub my hands over his shoulders, his neck, through his hair. I pull my knees up around him, comforting him by keeping him close. I don't know how long we stay like this, minutes, hours, I can't tell.

His breathing finally calms, and the gut-wrenching sobs subside, but I wait for him to speak first. I'm not sure what I expect him to say, he isn't one to talk about his feelings. A big sigh and shudder rock through him.

I continue with the slow, steady strokes of my hands, soothing him, waiting for him. When he finally shifts, it's in order to go to the washroom. Looking down at my silk romper, I see the fabric is soaked from his tears.

I use the time he's away to change into another one before climbing back into the bed. I hear the water running for a few moments, then shutting off. A moment later, he's standing in the doorway.

I wish he'd talk to me; I want to know what's going on in that head of his. He's so difficult for me to read like this. I know it's hopeless for me to wait for him to open up, I'm not sure he'll ever let anyone entirely in, no matter what he says.

When he continues to stand in the doorway silently, this time, it's me who lifts the blankets for him to slide underneath. He does, with what I think is a sigh of relief. He nudges me over into the center of the large bed, rolling me to my side, facing him. His head rests on the pillow, his face only centimeters from mine.

I reach out, smoothing his wet hair back from his forehead, sliding my palm down to cup his cheek. His skin is also damp, cool to the touch, which makes me think he's splashed water on it to reduce the signs of crying.

I snuggle closer, pressing my lips to his, lightly. "Talk to me, Greyson," I ask him softly.

He pulls me close, shaking his head but returning the kiss lightly, softly. I sigh against his lips, sliding my hand up and down his ribcage, trying to keep him calm and relaxed. It has the opposite effect intended.

Greyson rolls above me, not breaking the kiss, and settles himself once more between my legs, one hand gripping my hip. His weight is braced on one strong forearm, and his hand fists in my hair, holding my head in place. His kiss turns rough, a little desperate. He kisses me hard, with tongue, with teeth, moving down, scraping my jaw, my throat.

He trails a frenzied path of kisses up and down the column of my neck, nipping the skin there, sucking. The pain he causes is soothed by small strokes of his tongue before he finally makes his way back to my lips. His hand moves up and down my side from my hip to my ribs.

I am completely lost in his kiss. My body is not mine to control anymore, it merely reacts to his touch out of its own volition.

I start to tremble slightly as he rocks his hips against me, I can't identify or describe the sensations coursing through my body. I arch against him, my nails biting into the skin on his lower back, his shoulders. I'm desperate for something I don't recognize, something I can't describe, but Greyson breaks the kiss, rolling away from me abruptly, onto his side, pulling me close, settling me against his big body.

His breathing comes in hard, short bursts, and his arm is tight around me, holding me in place as I try to roll above him. "I'm sorry, Elle. I didn't mean to do that." He drops a kiss onto my forehead, turning his face to mine.

"Why did you stop?" I feel confused, dissatisfied, edgy, restless, desperate, and achy. I feel like the only things that will make these feelings stop are more of his kisses. More of that delicious friction between our bodies.

"We're not ready for what will come next. Neither of us is." Greyson's voice is soft, but firm, final.

"Let me in, tell me what's happening in here, or in here." I tap his temple first, then lay my hand over his heart, drumming my fingers lightly.

His deep sigh expands his chest, lifting me up with it as I press my cheek to his bare skin. "What you did today, Elle, what you and Sam did, was just about the best thing I've ever seen in my life. What you brought him, I'll never forget that. No matter what's happening with us, I just want you to know I will never forget it."

I stroke my hand over his chest, encouraging him, soothing him. I stay silent.

"I've let you further in than anyone before, I hope you know that. I hope you see that, but I just don't know how to talk about Liam or what's going on with me."

His voice trembles as he continues, "I don't know how else to ask you to forgive me for last year, or how to apologize for what happened with Chiara. I can't talk about it tonight, Elle. I don't want to talk at all. I just want to sleep here, holding you. But just know, no one has ever cared enough about my friends or me to do what you did. I can't express what it means to me, having you with me through all of this. There are no words."

"Greyson, you need to talk about all of this with someone. I hope you'll talk to me, but you can talk to anyone. I don't just mean about the stuff between us, we'll sort that out, I mean about your feelings, about Liam. I can see how much you're hurting, how much you're pushing those feelings away. I'm worried about you."

He nods, his chin bouncing on the top of my head. "Tonight, this, now, it wasn't about Liam, it was about my dad. I don't want to talk about it yet, though, not after today." He squeezes me harder, desperately wanting me to understand.

Sighing, I give up, letting the conversation stop there. I rest my head on his chest, and my hand retraces his ribs, in the small figure eights I know he likes. His skin is hot, flushed, slightly clammy. I use the little remote to turn the ceiling fan on low and pull the thin sheet up and over us.

On the one hand, I'm glowing from his words, I know what he says is true. He has let me in further than anyone else, but he's too fixated on the stuff between us, not touching upon the bigger emotional challenges he's facing. I'm worried he isn't dealing with them.

I know he's different with me; I know he's already changed for me, and I don't want him to change completely, only to open up. I can hold on to the hope he'll let me in fully one day, as long as he's doing something about the grief, anger, and fear that bubble inside him, waiting to erupt.

Are my hopes unreasonable? Do I have unrealistic expectations? Am I simply asking too much of him? I don't know. How much of my need for him to open up is driven by my fear of being hurt again? Am I being unfair? The questions cycle through my mind, unanswered.

But I know if I push him, I'll risk this quiet moment ending entirely, and I don't want him to leave, not tonight.

So, I lie here, awake, listening to the sound of his slow, even breathing that tells me he's fallen asleep. Closing my own eyes, I try to relax my mind, but it keeps reliving the steamy kiss, and my skin feels too tight, my body too restless.

Lying here beside him, I prepare myself for a long sleepless night, which I know I'll suffer for tomorrow when we head to Jules' cottage for our annual summer road trip.

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Xx Toria