Page 38 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

The sunflower pendant is hot against my chest as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I should be asleep. Dad’s light clicked off an hour ago. The cabin is silent. But my mind won’t stop racing.

Lily’s words circle like vultures.

Who was the hot older guy?

I wish I had a hot, protective big brother like that.

Intense and hot.

She said those words like a joke, but it doesn’t feel like one. Because if anyone else starts asking questions… if Dad ever hears…

I press my hands over my face, groaning. I can’t keep this bottled up. I need to tell Everett what happened. We’ll figure out what to do.

The decision settles into me like gravity.

I push the blankets back, slide into a hoodie and sneakers, and creep through the cabin.

The boards creak, but Dad’s snores rumble steadily through his bedroom door.

I slip out the back, the cool night air kissing my skin, the lake shimmering under the moon.

The walk on the trail feels longer in the dark, each step laced with anticipation. By the time I reach Everett’s cabin, my nerves are shot, my stomach a mess of dread and longing. I knock once, lightly.

The door opens almost immediately. He fills the frame, all shadows and heat, his hair mussed like he was already in bed. His chest is bare, sweatpants slung low on his hips.

“Angel,” he rasps, surprise giving way to something darker in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

I open my mouth, ready to explain, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I whisper, “I needed to see you.”

His jaw flexes. He drags me inside, shutting the door with a thud, and suddenly I’m pressed against it, his mouth on mine.

The reason I came here—the panic, the rumors, Lily’s too-curious smile—all of it dissolves the second his lips crash over mine. I melt into him, the urgency between us eclipsing everything else.

“Christ, Bri,” he groans against my mouth, his hands cupping my face. “I was trying to stay away tonight. But you…” His lips claim mine again, rough and desperate. “You undo me.”

My hoodie hits the floor. His sweatpants follow. We’re tumbling toward the bed, kissing like we’ve been starved for this moment. His hands map me like he’s trying to memorize every inch, and my body arches into his, achy and needy.

When he finally moves inside me, it’s slow at first, reverent, his forehead pressed to mine. But the restraint doesn’t last. Soon we’re a tangle of limbs and gasps, clinging like the world might split apart if we let go.

Every thrust, every kiss, every whispered “angel” sends me higher, until I shatter around him, crying his name. He follows me over the edge, his grip bruising, his voice breaking as he buries himself in me.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless. His chest heaves beneath my cheek, his arm banded tightly around me.

I should tell him.

But the words won’t come out. Not when his lips brush my temple, his hand laces with mine under the blanket, and he whispers, “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

“I need to be home before Dad wakes,” I murmur.

I feel him nod. “I’ll set my alarm.”

My eyes close, and the worry slips away, forgotten.

At least for tonight.