All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter 30

Raymond Reynold's POV

The night we finally crossed that invisible line, it wasn't just something physical, it was seven years of ache and unfinished sentences melting into something whole. Afterward, I held her until dawn, tracing the curve of her spine, memorizing the sound of her breath.

The next morning, I refused to let her lift a finger. Her ankle was still tender, so I carried her from the bed to the couch, made her tea, wrapped the bandage with careful hands. She tried to protest-of course she did-but I only smiled and told her to let me spoil her. Taking care of her felt like the most natural thing I'd ever done.

By the time the others returned from their hike that afternoon, the air around us must've been charged enough to give it all away. Chase caught my eye and smirked. Claire raised a single, knowing eyebrow. Within minutes, the teasing began. Chase dropping pointed jokes about "quiet weekends," Claire nudging Sophie until she flushed scarlet. Sharon hugged me later, whispering that she was happy for me but to "be safe, idiot," which made me laugh.

Daniel was different. He barely spoke, retreating into himself with a scowl that lingered even when the firepit glowed that night. I didn't owe him an explanation, neither did Sophie.

Sophie, though-she was steady, composed and later, when we were alone in the room, she brushed her fingers along my arm and said, "Can we... keep this between us for now? At least until it's less... new. I just don't want anyone speculating."

I cupped her cheek, nodded without hesitation. "We'll keep it ours," I promised. And I meant it. Some things deserve a little quiet, a little time to grow without the noise of the world. And I would give her that. For Sophie, I would rip my heart out if she asked me to.

Sophie and I had extended our stay two more days after everyone left on Tuesday, and those quiet hours felt like something borrowed from a world I wasn't ready to return. The cabin had emptied, the laughter of our friends fading down the gravel road until only the hush of the woods remained. It was just us and the sound of wind brushing the trees, the scent of pine settling into our clothes.

Our small getaway was more perfect than I could have imagined- mornings spent with coffee on the porch, her legs curled over mine as we watched mist lift from the mountains; afternoons where we wandered trails that smelled of wet earth and cedar, her hand slipping into mine without a word. I memorized everything: the way she tilted her face toward the sun, the way her hair caught the light, the easy silence that belonged only to us.

Then Thursday night came, too soon, the sky a sweep of indigo and silver. I wasn't ready to let it end. The thought of driving back to the noise of the city, of watching her disappear into her own busy world, felt like trying to hold water in my palms.

"Stay a few more days," I had said. "I've still got vacation left. I was planning to spend it at my place in New York. Come with me."

She looked at me for a long moment, the reflection of the porch light glinted in her eyes. I could see the hesitation flicker in her eyes but then her shoulders had softened, a slow smile curving her lips.

"Okay," she had said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Relief flooded me and I reached for her hand, threading our fingers together. The night around us deepened, stars pricking through the dark, and for a breathless second I let myself believe that time might bend for us.

The last night with Sophie at my apartment still burned bright in my head, the kind of memory that refused to fade even when the lights went out.

Her laughter had filled my apartment, soft at first, then spilling over until it rattled the quiet walls. We'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor, a half-built tower of Jenga blocks swaying between us like it could feel our pulse. She'd bumped my knee on purpose, claiming it was an accident, and I'd retaliated by tugging her wrist when it was her turn. Each block wobbled under her careful fingers, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness, and every time I lost-which was often-she laughed so hard she nearly tipped the whole tower into my lap.