Page 17 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Her words replay in my head long after her lips leave mine. I don’t feel broken when I’m with you.

It guts me. I saw the shadows in her eyes when she said it. Whatever broke her, it wasn’t small. Something happened. Something she’s not ready to tell me.

And God help me, I want to demand answers, tear down every wall until I know who or what put that look in her eyes.

But I don’t.

She gave me a piece of herself in that moment, and if I push, I’ll lose it. So I hold it close and leave it alone. For now.

We stay on the dock for a while, skipping more stones, laughing over her terrible form, teasing until the heaviness fades into something easy. Her laughter does things to me I don’t have words for.

I hear her stomach growl and grin at her. “Hungry?”

She puts a hand on her stomach, laughing. “Just a little.”

Taking her hand, I lead her across the dock and toward the back deck of my cabin. I nod toward the grill I bought the other day on a whim. “Steaks?” I ask, gesturing at it.

She perks up. “Only if you let me make the sides.”

I shake my head. “You’re not lifting a damn thing. You’re still healing.” I pull her inside my cabin, already pulling the steaks from the fridge.

Her hands go to her hips, her hazel eyes flashing with annoyance. “I can manage baked potatoes and veggies without collapsing. I’ll even let you supervise if it makes you feel better.”

I fight a losing battle against the smile tugging at my mouth. Stubborn angel . “Fine. But you’re staying inside. I’ll handle the grill.”

Her answering grin is blinding.

I show her where everything is in the kitchen, my heart stuttering at how natural it feels to have her here—opening cabinets, humming under her breath while she rinses vegetables like she belongs in this space. Like she belongs with me.

I step onto the back deck, light the grill, and set the steaks on. Smoke curls into the air, mixing with the scent of pine and lake water. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something close to contentment.

We eat on the deck, the lake spread out in front of us, the conversation easy.

Afterward, she helps me clean up, ignoring my grumbling about it, then asks about the repairs I’ve been working on.

I show her the new railing I reinforced, the shed I’m halfway through fixing, and the patch of the porch that still needs sanding.

She listens like every word matters. No one’s ever done that for me.

Her phone buzzes, and I see the shift in her face before she even reads it. She swipes the screen, her lips pressing tight. “My dad,” she says, her voice softer now. “He’ll be home around three-thirty.”

Unease prickles in my gut. I don’t ask why her expression dims because I already know. She’s worried what he’d think if he knew she spent the day with me—an older man.

I swallow down the disappointment and force a nod. “I’ll walk you back.”

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me—softly and quickly, but it’s enough to set my blood burning again.

We hold hands as we take the lakeside trail in the direction of her cabin. Our eyes lock and hold when we get to the spot where she tripped and I caught her.

At her property line, I kiss her again, longer this time, memorizing the taste of her before I have to let her go.

She waves once, then disappears inside the house, the silence crashing around me.

I stand there like an idiot long after she’s gone, then turn toward my cabin. My chest is hollow.

It’s insane how quickly she’s gotten under my skin. But the truth is undeniable.

The second she’s gone, I’m already missing her.