From the start (Joel Miller x Reader) (EDITED)

Chapter 12

The morning sun warmed the wooden floors of the lake house, casting dappled light across the bed where you'd spent a restless night. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy with the tenderness of yesterday, your thoughts lingering on Joel—on the quiet intimacy you'd shared, the tears he'd soothed, the closeness that had started to feel like something more than fleeting comfort.

But the bed was cold beside you. Empty.

A gentle unease crept in.

You dressed quietly, the floorboards cool beneath your feet as you padded through the familiar hallways. The smell of fresh coffee led you to the kitchen—warm, familiar, his. There he was, his broad back turned, shoulders slightly hunched as he stood at the stove, one hand gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

But you didn't see the tension. Not yet.

Instead, your heart surged with affection, a smile tugging at your lips. You moved toward him, slow and soft, and slipped your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek lightly against his back.

And that's when it happened.

A sharp hiss escaped him—half pain, half surprise—and in one sudden, jarring movement, Joel jerked away from your touch, his whole body stiffening. He spun around, face contorted, his voice cutting through the quiet morning like a blade.

"What the hell are you doing, huh?" His eyes were wild with something you couldn't name—fear? anger? pain?—but the way he barked the words made you recoil.

"You don't just sneak up on people like that," he growled. "Use your damn head."

The room stilled. So did your heart.

You stepped back, the warmth in your chest collapsing into a hollow ache. The words—unexpected, unkind—landed like stones in your stomach. You stared at him, eyes wide, throat thick with unshed tears. You wanted to say I'm sorry or What just happened? or even I love you, but the words got caught somewhere between your breath and the break in your heart.

Without a word, you turned away. Not out of anger—but out of the desperate need to escape the way his tone made you feel: small, stupid, and suddenly... unwelcome.

Outside, the wind was sharp and brisk, a slap of reality against tear-stung cheeks. The silence of the woods only made the echo of his voice louder in your mind. Use your damn head. It repeated over and over, as if your heart didn't already believe the worst.

You walked until the house disappeared behind you, until the world became just the lake and the sky and the aching thud of your heartbeat. By the time you reached the gnarled old tree by the water, your knees buckled, and you sank into the grass as if your legs could no longer carry the weight of everything.

That's when the panic set in.

Your breath hitched, then came fast and shallow. Your chest tightened. You tried to steady yourself, but the morning's sharp twist had left your nerves frayed and raw. You clutched at your shirt like you could hold your heart together with your fingers, gasping as tears spilled in earnest, hot and unrelenting.

All the warmth of the night before felt like a lie now—like something you'd imagined. Your body shook as you fought for air, for calm, for understanding—but none of it came. Only the sound of the breeze through the trees and the soft lap of the lake against the shore offered any rhythm, any ground to hold onto.

The door creaked softly as you stepped back into the lake house, the comforting scent of pine and morning coffee now tinged with something else—dread. The silence inside was thick, heavy with the echo of what had passed between you. You moved cautiously, your earlier hurt overshadowed by a deeper concern you couldn't quite name.