Page 34 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Grayson’s cabin smells like sawdust and sweat, the rhythmic thud of hammers and groans of old boards filling the afternoon air. He works beside me, whistling a tune. Relaxed. Easy. Jovial. The opposite of the storm curdling in my chest.

Every swing of my hammer feels heavier. Every laugh he lets out twists the guilt deeper. He doesn’t know I spent the night with his daughter. Doesn’t know she’s still on my skin, in my head, branded into every thought.

“Not bad, huh?” Grayson straightens, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. He nods at the section of railing we just finished replacing. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” I force out, my jaw tight.

He grins, reaching for another board. “You oughta come out to the bar with Tom and me next Sunday. Shoot some pool. Have a couple of beers. Enjoy good company.”

The thought makes my stomach knot. Sitting across from him, pretending that I didn’t betray him last night.

But if I refuse, he’ll notice. He’ll wonder. And I can’t afford that.

“Okay,” I say finally, nodding once.

His smile widens, like I just gave him a gift. “Awesome.”

We fall into a rhythm—him measuring, me cutting, working in quiet harmony. For a moment, I almost let myself forget the guilt clawing at me. Almost.

Then his phone buzzes on the railing. He wipes his hands and picks it up, squinting at the screen. “Text from Bri,” he says easily, like it’s nothing. He reads it aloud.

“I’m at Pine and Page. Can you come get me? No rush.”

The hammer slips in my grip, my body tensing so hard it aches.

His brow furrows. “Thought she was with Meghan in Willow Creek?” he mumbles.

I lean down and grab the hammer before he notices I dropped it. I’m sweating even more beneath the hot sun, my vision tunneling, worried her plan isn’t foolproof.

Luckily, he doesn’t notice my reaction. Just reads her text and says, “Oh, Meghan had a family thing.” He looks up at me.

“My kiddo’s always wandering that bookstore.

Not sure if she spends more money on lattes or books.

” He shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m lucky, though. She could have far worse habits.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“You mind grabbing her? I want to finish this section before it gets dark.”

For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. My lungs seize, my pulse pounding in my ears. He trusts me. He’s asking me to bring his daughter home. His daughter, who is wearing the necklace I gave her beneath her shirt.

I swallow hard, gripping the hammer until the wood bites into my palm. “Yeah. I’ll get her.”

“Appreciate it, Everett.” He nods, his fingers moving over his phone, before he pockets it. “I just let her know you’ll be coming to get her.” He’s already bending to line up another board. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

The words cut deeper than he knows.

Because he’s right. And that’s exactly the problem.

The drive into town is short, but every mile tightens the coil inside me. Grayson’s words echo in my head. “ You mind grabbing her?... She’ll be glad to see you.”

If he only knew how glad.

I pull into the lot outside Pine & Page, spotting her through the big front windows before I kill the engine. She’s curled in one of the mismatched armchairs, legs tucked under her, a paperback open in her lap. A tall, iced caramel latte sweats on the small table beside her.

My chest eases for the first time all day—until I see some guy approach her.

My eyes narrow. He looks to be in his mid-twenties and has too much gel in his hair.

He stops beside her chair, standing way too close.

His grin is cocky as he gestures at her book like he’s the goddamn expert on whatever she’s reading.

His eyes are on her cleavage more than her face.

My hands fist on the steering wheel. Heat floods my veins, sharp and ugly. I shove out of the truck and stalk across the lot, my boots hitting the pavement like war drums.

The bell above the door jingles when I step inside. The air smells like espresso and old pages, but all I can taste is jealousy.

Bri’s eyes lift, hazel irises locking with mine, and her whole face lights up. Her smile—soft and secretive—slices the tension in half. For a second, I almost forget the guy hovering over her.

He follows her gaze, turning to glance at me. His grin falters when he takes in my six-foot-plus frame, my black tee stretched over my muscles, a scowl carved into my face.

“Everett.” Her voice is warm and bright, like I’m the only one who matters. “Hey.”

I stride over, every instinct in me screaming to stake my claim. “Angel.” My voice is low, rougher than I mean it to be.

The guy clears his throat, still lingering. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, holding his hands up like I might swing at him. “We were just talking books.”

“Conversation’s over,” I bite out, not taking my eyes off Bri.

Color flares in her cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s heat. She knows exactly what I’m doing. And she doesn’t stop me.

The guy mutters something under his breath and backs off, heading toward the counter. My eyes follow him until he’s gone, then snap back to her.

She’s smirking behind her straw as she takes a slow sip of her latte. “Possessive much?” she teases softly.

I lean down, bracing one hand on the arm of her chair, caging her in. “You have no idea.”

Her lips part, her pulse fluttering in her throat. “I think I like it.”

Christ. My restraint frays, right there in the middle of the bookstore.

The look she gives me isn’t innocent. Not even close.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, feeding the fire that’s already burning me alive.