Page 15 of From the Wreckage
Brielle
It’s uncanny how Everett, a man I barely know, can read me through a screen.
I didn’t tell him about Joey—the pictures, the excuses, the way our texts last night turned into an argument that left me raw. But Everett must’ve sensed something anyway.
In the midst of Joey’s evasiveness when he finally answered, telling me nothing about the girl in the picture and accusing me of making a mountain out of a molehill, I couldn’t stop thinking about Everett’s text. So much so that I read it again. “Take it easy, angel. I’ll be here.”
I stared at those words until my chest ached. I love it when he calls me that. It’s like he sees something in me that no one else does.
Biting my lip, I text him.
Me: I’m not quite ready to stop talking.
His reply comes instantly.
Everett: I never want to stop. What’re you doing?
Me: Lying on my bed. Texting you.
Everett: Same. Seeing you would be better, but I’ll take this.
My heart squeezes. I type a message and hold my breath after I hit send.
Me: This might sound silly since we hardly know each other… but I miss you.
Everett: Not silly. I’ve missed you since I took you home.
I gasp, clutching my pillow. Butterflies, wild and uncontrollable, take flight inside me.
We keep going, discussing books, movies, and music. Every time I’m worried the conversation is going to fizzle, it doesn’t.
We discover we love the same authors, trade favorite quotes from books, and laugh over guilty-pleasure movies. Then we move to arguing good-naturedly about toppings on pizza.
Somewhere between confessions and banter, I realize hours have passed, and it’s now 3 am.
I yawn, and it’s as if he knows.
Everett: You getting tired, angel?
Me: Yeah.
Everett: Get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.
His words feel like a blanket tucked around me. A promise that I cling to.
Me: Thanks for tonight. Sweet dreams.
Everett: Anytime. Sweet dreams, angel.
I fall asleep smiling and dream about him.
Dad leaves early for the garage, and the house feels too quiet once his truck fades down the drive. I glance out the window at Everett’s cabin across the lake.
Five minutes later, I’ve laced up my sneakers and am on the trail, the pull toward him stronger than my common sense.
The trees arch overhead, sunlight breaking through in shards. The air is crisp, thick with pine and lake water.
When I get closer, I pull my phone from my shorts pocket and text him.
Me: Morning. I’m heading your way.
I tuck it away and pick up the pace, anticipation coiling in my gut.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t see him until he’s already striding toward me—sweat-slick muscles flexing under the morning light. My breath catches, disbelief and excitement tangling inside me.
The man is gorgeous. I’m mesmerized by the sight of him, shirtless in a pair of running shorts and sneakers. Lean muscles and golden skin on display?—
And then my toe snags on a root.
The world tilts. I fling out my arms, bracing for impact. But instead of dirt, I crash into heat and strength.
We tumble, but Everett twists so he takes the brunt of it, his back hitting the trail, me sprawled across his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my palm. His dark brows slash low as he stares at me, his breathing ragged.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he growls, his voice sharp but eyes unbearably soft as they sweep over my face.
“You… Caught me,” I breathe out, dazed.
“Damn right I did.” One of his hands stays firm at my waist while the other pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “There was no way in hell I was letting you hit the ground and get hurt again.”
My lips part. My body hums.
“Technically,” I whisper, “I still fell.”
His mouth twitches into a smile— God, that smile —and the sight of it steals the air from my lungs.
“Technically,” he says, his voice low and rough, “you fell into me.”
Then his fingers brush my healing cut, featherlight, and my world narrows to the warmth of his touch and the intensity in his brown eyes.
“Everett,” I whisper, my lips so close to his I can feel his warm breath.
“Bri.” His mouth moves closer.
The kiss is soft at first. Tentative.
But the second his hand cups my jaw and I clutch at his chest, it deepens, turning hungry and desperate. A collision of everything we’ve been holding back.
His groan vibrates against me, shooting straight through my chest.
I cling to him, gasping against his lips. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growls, kissing me harder, until time and space and sense cease to exist. There’s only him. His taste. His touch. His scent of soap, pine, and sweat.
A boat engine roars across the lake, shattering the spell. He pulls back, his chest heaving, brown eyes burning with desire.
He helps me to my feet, standing with me. His eyes roam over me, checking for injuries.
“You shouldn’t be out here, exerting yourself,” he rasps. “But damn it, angel… How the hell am I supposed to lecture you after that?”
My laugh is shaky, my lips swollen from his kiss. “I call it active rest,” I tease, though my voice trembles. “Besides, I missed you.”
His answering smile is blinding. He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I missed you, too.”
Then, before I can blink, he scoops me into his arms.
“Everett!” I yelp, clutching his shoulders. “Put me down before you hurt yourself.”
“Not happening.” His stride eats the trail, effortless despite carrying me. “You’re not walking. You’re not running. I’m taking you to my cabin.”
I give up, melting into him, my head resting on his shoulder. My heart pounds, but for the first time since the accident, I feel completely safe.
Safe… in his arms.