Page 106 of From the Wreckage

At mile marker 88, I swerve onto the shoulder, stumble out of the car, and vomit again onto the gravel. My body is weak, my legs trembling as I brace a hand against the hood, the taste of bile bitter and sharp.

When the heaving subsides, I collapse back into the driver’s seat. My hands are numb on the steering wheel, but I force them to hold on. I have to keep going. I have to get home.

By the time the clock on my dash reads 6:47, the sun is bleeding pale light over the horizon. My SUV crunches onto the familiar gravel drive.

Dad’s cabin.

The second I push the door open and stumble inside, his face comes into focus. He’s standing there, hair mussed, mug in hand, frozen mid-step like he’s seen a ghost.

“Bri?” His voice is a jagged whisper. His eyes widen, scanning me—my red, swollen eyes, my tangled hair, the sweatshirt hanging off me, my shaking hands.

The sob rips through me as my knees buckle, my body collapsing under the weight of it all.

Dad drops his mug—it shatters against the floor, coffee spraying across the wood—but he doesn’t even glance at it. He’s already there, catching me before I hit the ground. His arms wrap tightly around me, solid and steady as my tears pour hot and endless down my cheeks.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he pulls me close. “I’ve got you, Bri. I’ve got you.”

He rocks me like he did the night Mom left, when my world first caved in. His hands cup the back of my head, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, anchoring me as I unravel completely.

Tears flood until I can’t breathe. Until my throat is raw and my body shakes with sobs I can’t contain.

And through it all, he holds me tighter, as if he can piece me back together with his embrace alone.

But nothing can undo this. Nothing can take away what’s been done.

CHAPTER 77

Everett

Sleep won’t come.It hasn’t in days.

I lie awake until the walls close in. Until every shadow feels like her ghost. Until the silence becomes so deafening that it threatens to split me apart.

At 6:20, I shove my feet into sneakers and take off down the trail. The air is sharp and cool in my lungs as I run the same path she and I used to walk. The same path she took when she snuck across the clearing to my cabin.

Every step is a landmine of memories. Her laugh. Her hand brushing mine. Her lips tasted like coffee and hope. I tell myself that if I run fast enough, I can outpace the ghosts. But they’re stitched into me now.

I round a bend, and headlights cut through the trees. My chest heaves as I slow, my shoes grinding gravel. The light grows brighter, closer, until a dark blue SUV pulls into Grayson’s drive.

I stop dead, sweat slicking my skin.

There she is. My angel.

The one I want more than my next breath. The one I can’t have.

The driver’s side door swings open, and she stumbles out.

My heart stops.

She looks wrecked. Pale. Broken. Her sweatshirt hangs crooked off her shoulders, her hair tangled, her steps unsteady. A sob rips from her chest as she bolts toward the front door and vanishes inside.

I stand there, frozen on the trail, my pulse roaring in my ears. Something’s wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

My fists clench at my sides, the need to run after her almost overpowering. To throw open that door, gather her in my arms, and demand to know what happened. Then kill whoever made her cry like that.

But I can’t.

I don’t have the right. Not after all the ways I failed her. Not after she begged me to fight, and I stayed silent.