Page 132 of From the Wreckage

Halloween descends over me in a flurry of horror movies, decorations, and spending the evening at a small, intimate party that consists of only my dad, Everett, and me.

“Morticia and Gomez, huh?” Dad smirks, eyeing my heels. “Better not let her trip, Everett, or I’ll have your head.”

He chuckles, bowing and kissing my hand before he answers. “I would never allow her to trip. And if she did, I’d throw myself beneath her, catching her before she falls.”

I bat my long, fake lashes, tossing a strand of my straight black wig over my shoulder. “My Gomez… always a hero.”

My dad, dressed as a pirate, rolls his eyes. He spends the rest of the party bustling around with his eyepatch, pouring us drinks, his Halloween playlist full of songs I love.

Right before midnight, Everett pulls me outside and begins dancing with me, just like we did that day in the rain. At the end of the song, he dips me low, pressing his lips against mine, the promise of forever in his passionate kiss.

My dad walks out on the kiss, then grumbles about Hallmark movies on his patio, before he turns around, heading for the house. “Warn me next time, would ya? You two are gonna scar me forever.”

Everett and I laugh at him and continue dancing beneath a clear, star-filled sky.

As I rest my cheek against his chest. I smile. Everything is perfect. I wish I could freeze this moment.

Two days later,Dad is grumbling about heading into town, muttering something about a carburetor that can’t wait. I tease him about spending more time in the garage than at the cabin, and he just winks, pulling on his helmet. “Trying to avoid seeing you and your boyfriend suck face all the time.” He chuckles and waves before he takes off.

The sound of his bike fading down the road still lingers in my chest like an echo.

Hours pass. Everett and I ate leftovers. The movie from last night paused on the screen as I got up to refresh our drinks, my unease growing. I kept glancing at the clock, and as time passed, I told myself he just got caught up at the shop.

He’s fine. He’s always fine. Stop worrying.

“He should be home by now,” I say to Everett as I sit on the couch beside him.

He flashes me a reassuring smile. “Probably just shooting the shit with a customer. You know how he gets. The man can talk, especially about motorcycles.”

I laugh, but it cuts off when a sharp knock comes. The sound is heavy. Final.

A sense of foreboding fills me as I stand, my eyes on the door. Everett moves first, his hand steady on my mine, guiding me behind him before he opens the door.

Two deputies stand there, hats in hand, grim lines carved into their faces. The air shifts instantly, the bottom dropping out from under me.

“Ms. Kincaid?” one of them asks gently. His solemn voice already says everything I don’t want to hear. His boots scuff on the porch, while the other deputy twists the brim of his hat nervously in his hands.

My head shakes, fast and desperate. “No.”

The words that follow are muffled, like I’m underwater. Bits of them stick in my head. Repeating on a loop.“Motorcycle accident. No pulse at the scene. We’re so sorry.”

My knees buckle, the room spinning around me. Everett catches me before I hit the floor, hauling me against his chest. His heart pounds like a war drum under my ear.

“No, no, no,” I sob, clawing at his shirt. “He was just here. He was just?—”

Everett holds me tighter, his voice raw against my hair. “I’m sorry, my love.” He kisses my forehead, and I feel his chest shaking beneath me. But his voice comes out strong. Steady. “I’ve got you, angel. I’ve got you.”

The deputies murmur something else, but I can’t hear it. All I know is the echo of my dad’s laugh, the way he looked at me on the dock, proud and unshakable.

Gone.

He’s gone.

I shatter in Everett’s arms, the sobs tearing out of me until I can’t breathe.

He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t falter.

And beneath my grief, I feel the steel in him. A vow carved into the silence as he buries his face in my hair and holds me like he can absorb the pain himself.