Page 33 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Sunlight cuts through the window, warming my face, but I don’t feel warm. The echoes of the dream linger, shadows clawing at the edges of my mind. I shift, careful not to wake her.

Bri is curled against me, silky hair spilled over my chest, her breath soft and even. She looks so damn peaceful, so untouched by the darkness that eats at me. I wish I could keep it that way forever.

I slide my hand up her back, fingers lightly tracing her spine. For a second, the urge to wake her just to hear her voice almost wins. To bury myself deep inside her until the shadows fall away and her light fills me like last night.

But I stop myself. She deserves mornings free of wreckage. Free of me.

Her lashes flutter, and she blinks up at me, hazel eyes sleepy but sharp in the way they always cut straight through me. “Morning.”

“Mornin’, angel.” I drown in her eyes, forgetting about the darkness for a minute.

“You didn’t sleep much after the dream, did you?” Her voice is soft, knowing.

I tense, then force a half-shrug. “I’m fine.”

Her hand comes up, cupping my jaw. “Everett…” The way she says my name is gentle, like she knows I’m lying but won’t push too hard.

I kiss her palm, needing to redirect before I crumble. “Not something you need to worry about, angel. It was just a dream. Nothing more.”

She studies me for a long beat, like she wants to argue. Instead, she just nods, though the look in her eyes tells me she’s not convinced.

I roll us so she’s tucked under me, brushing my lips over hers in a kiss that’s meant to distract both of us. “I love seeing you when I wake,” I murmur, letting a small smile break through.

Her lips curve against mine, though her hand lingers against my chest like she doesn’t want to let go of the subject. “Best part of waking up is seeing you.”

I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my mouth against hers. It’s easier than telling her the truth—that the dream wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory.

My past returned to haunt me last night.

And if she ever knew the whole of it, she might look at me differently.

Or she might not look at me at all.

The morning stretches warm and slow, sunlight spilling across the sheets.

Bri’s still tucked against me, her bare legs tangled with mine, her head resting over my heart.

For once, I let myself lie here and breathe in her floral shampoo, sun-warmed skin, and the faintest trace of my own scent clinging to her.

She shifts, her hand splaying over my chest. “Mmm. This is heaven.”

I chuckle softly, kissing the top of her head. “Not sure I can compete with coffee.”

Her laugh is muffled against me. “Oh, you’ve officially outranked coffee. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

We stay like that, trading small murmurs and soft kisses, until her smile falters. The shift is subtle, but I feel the way her body goes still, her eyes glassy as her thoughts turn inward.

I tip her chin up. “What is it?”

She bites her lip before whispering, “The Fourth of July makes me sad. It means the semester will be starting soon.”

The words land like a blade. College. Her world brimming with beginnings—friends, classes, a future wide open. And mine… Well, mine ended years ago. My career gone in twisted metal and fire. My life reduced to scraps I’ve been trying to piece back together.

I go rigid without meaning to. My thoughts churn, dark and sharp.

What happens when she goes back? When she’s surrounded by people her own age, vibrant and full of the same restless energy she has?

She’ll wake up one day and realize she doesn’t need me.

That she deserves someone who can give her a future I can’t.

Her fingers trace my jaw, searching my face. “Everett?”

I force a small smile that doesn’t reach the melancholy clinging to my chest. “Just thinking.”

Before she can press, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Grayson’s name lights the screen.

Grayson: Got another project if you’re free today.

I rake a hand through my hair, guilt settling heavy in my gut. He’s become a friend, and if he knew the truth about last night —about his daughter in my bed—he’d put me through the damn wall.

I don’t answer right away. But Bri does what she always does. She reads me like a book.

“It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

I nod, a heavy sigh blowing from my lips.

“Take me to Pine and Page,” she says softly.

My brows pull together. “Bri?—”

“I’ll browse for a while. Drink a latte. Then I’ll text Dad to come get me. I’ll tell him Meghan had to leave for a family thing.” Her eyes are steady, even though I see the flicker of guilt in them too. “It’ll be fine.”

I drag a hand down my face, every instinct torn between wanting to keep her close and knowing we’re walking a knife’s edge already. “Bri?—”

“He’ll never know.” Her eyes catch mine, steady, even as guilt flickers there.

I glance at her. I should argue. I should put space between us. Instead, I nod, because I can’t deny her anything. “All right. Pine and Page.”

I respond to Grayson’s text.

Me: Sure. What time?

His reply is instant.

Grayson: Already got the tools out. Come by whenever.

Me: Cool. See you in a little bit.

I set my phone down and pull her against me one more time, pressing a kiss to her temple, the guilt coiling tighter in my chest.

She deserves a clean kind of love. And all I know how to give her is one built on lies.

By the time we reach her favorite bookstore, the sky is pale and hazy, heavy with summer heat. She slips her hand into mine before we pull into the lot, squeezes once, then releases it as if even that brief touch is dangerous.

When I park, she leans over, presses a soft kiss to my jaw, and whispers, “I’ll see you soon.”

Then she’s gone, disappearing inside with her hair swinging loose down her back.

I sit there a beat longer, gripping the wheel until my knuckles ache. Watching her leave feels like tearing something vital out of me.