Page 16 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

Everett doesn’t slow until we’re at the edge of the dock behind his cabin. The boards creak under his steps, and then he lowers me into one of the two weathered Adirondack chairs angled toward the lake.

“Everett, seriously,” I protest for the fifth time. “I’m fine. You don’t need to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

He crouches in front of me anyway, his big hands skimming over my knees, calves, and shoulders, checking me like he doesn’t trust his own eyes. His brows pinch as his fingers hover near the bandage on my forehead.

“You fell,” he mutters, his voice rough. “After being in an accident. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

My lips twitch. “You’re good at catching me. And I’m fine.”

That earns me the faintest smile, but he still doesn’t stop scanning me like he’s memorizing every freckle and mark on my body.

Finally, he exhales and settles back on his heels. “You’re not hurt.”

“Told you so,” I whisper, and he shakes his head, muttering something about a stubborn angel.

He pushes to his feet and drops into the chair beside mine, leaning back with a sigh.

The lake glitters under the morning sun, a ribbon of light dancing across the ripples.

I tuck my legs up and glance at him. His head turns to mine, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

“I carried these chairs down here last night.”

I blink. “What? Why?”

His jaw works, and then he shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“While we were texting. I was sitting on the back deck, and I moved one of the chairs down here, staring at the lake… and your cabin. But I was still lonesome. So I moved the other chair here… It felt like you were here with me. I hoped… Maybe one day you would be.”

My breath catches. Something in my chest splinters and remakes itself, soft and aching and new.

For a moment, I don’t trust my voice.

“That is so sweet.” My voice trembles, overwhelmed by what I’m feeling.

A smile curves his lips. “Only for you.”

Our eye contact holds, the air charged between us.

My mind nags at me, reminding me that Joey and I aren’t over yet.

Even though we aren’t officially boyfriend and girlfriend because Joey doesn’t like labels.

Still, the guilt nags at me enough that I stand and walk toward a flat stone beside the dock, then toss it into the water.

It skips once, twice, then plunks under. “Not bad, huh?”

Everett chuckles low in his throat and gets up, finding his own stone. “Not bad if you’re a rookie.”

I turn to him with raised brows. “Oh, so you’re an expert now?”

“Used to play football for a living.” His shoulders tense as soon as he says the words, and his gaze stays locked on the water.

“Football?” I ask gently.

He flicks his stone. It sails farther than mine, skipping five perfect times before sinking. “Yup,” he says, his voice clipped.

I don’t push. Not with the tension radiating from him. Instead, I laugh and nudge him with my shoulder. “Show-off.”

He finally looks at me then, and it’s like the air shifts. His brown eyes soften, heat simmering beneath the guarded edges. My next stone slips from my fingers, forgotten.

The teasing fades into silence, the kind that hums with unspoken things. Everett leans closer, slow enough that I can stop him, but I don’t.

When his lips brush mine, it’s soft, almost reverent. A taste, careful and steady, like he’s making sure I know it’s a choice. That I have the power to stop this. My chest tightens with how badly I want him .

I lean into him, deepening the kiss. His quiet groan against my mouth sends a shiver down my spine. His hand slides to the side of my neck, thumb stroking my jaw as if he can’t believe I’m real.

The kiss sharpens and grows hungry. He parts my lips, and I let him in, heat flooding through me as the world narrows to nothing but the scrape of the stubble on his face and the low rumble in his throat.

My fingers curl into his shirt, clinging like I might fall all over again—only this time, I wouldn’t mind if I did.

What began as a sweet brush of lips unravels into something darker and needier. A claiming.

And the scariest part is, I’m not sure I ever want him to stop.

When we finally break apart, it’s not because I want to.

It’s because we both need air. I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just sprinted around the lake.

His forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged, eyes burning into mine as if he’s trying to memorize every second of this.

The silence stretches, thick and trembling. My pulse is still racing when the words tumble out before I can stop them. “I don’t feel broken when I’m with you.”

His jaw flexes, his hand still cradling the back of my neck like I might disappear if he lets go.

And in his stormy, fierce eyes, I see an unspoken promise. One that says he won’t let anything or anyone hurt me.