Page 14 of From the Wreckage

Everett

I can’t sit still.

I’ve tried everything—cleaning the cabin, pacing the porch, even pulling out the new novels I purchased. I read through one chapter of each of them before putting them aside. None of it works.

The only thing I’m looking forward to is hearing from her again.

My phone’s on the table in front of me. I don’t even pretend I’m not watching it like a hawk.

When it finally lights up, my pulse spikes.

Brielle: Just got back. Got ice cream with my dad.

The corner of my mouth lifts. Somehow, that simple line does more for me than anything else today.

I sink into the chair, my thumb already moving across the screen.

Me: What’d you get?

Brielle: Hot fudge sundae. Dad went for the banana split.

Me: Solid choices. Tell me you got extra whipped cream.

Brielle: Obviously. I’m not a monster.

A faint smile tugs at my lips, tension bleeding out of my shoulders. It’s ridiculous how a few words from her can flip me inside out.

I should feel guilty for wanting this… wanting her . But I don’t.

Our conversation continues, light and easy.

But then something shifts. Her responses are slow and shorter.

I frown, tapping my phone.

Me: You okay?

Her reply takes longer than I like.

Brielle: Yeah. Just tired.

I don’t believe her. I stare at the screen, waiting, hoping she’ll say more. But nothing comes through.

I run a hand over my face, the restless energy coiling tighter. I want to press her to tell me what’s wrong. But I also know pushing too hard could send her running.

So I settle for the words I really mean.

Me: Take it easy, angel. I’ll be here.

And I will be.

Whether she realizes it or not, I’m not going anywhere.