Page 41 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

Dad’s been grinning like it’s Christmas morning since Everett picked us up, and it hasn’t dimmed once. He’s practically bouncing in his seat, talking about fishing trips, sunrise, and coffee on the lake.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in the middle—literally. Wedged between them on the bench seat of Everett’s truck, my thigh brushes Everett’s every time we hit a bump in the road. The warmth of him seeps through my skin, and I swear he must feel my pulse hammering.

I keep sneaking little glances at him while Dad happily jabbers away, oblivious to the heat between Everett and me. Everett’s hands grip the wheel, his veins standing up along his forearms, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

But I know he feels the tension simmering between us. The way our legs keep touching just enough to make my stomach flip.

Dad launches into the story about the first fish I ever caught, and I bury my face in my hands, groaning. “Oh my God, stop.”

Everett smirks, the kind of smile so faint no one else would notice. My breath hitches as I peek through my fingers, catching the curve of his lips before he hides it.

The rest of the drive is torture. I pretend I’m embarrassed by Dad when really, I’m hyperaware of Everett’s every breath beside me. Every time I shift in the seat, I brush Everett’s leg or arm. I can’t glance out the window without noticing his reflection in the glass.

By the time we pull into the marina lot, my nerves are shredded. Dad’s already pointing toward the rows of shiny boats, still chattering about how we’ll spend “entire Saturdays on the water” before musing that he should get another boat.

I climb out of the truck quickly, needing to put distance between us. The warm air smells like lake water and fuel, gulls crying overhead. When Everett comes around the front of the truck, his eyes catch mine for a fraction of a second. Heat flashes through me, quick and sharp.

He looks away first, eyes moving toward the salesman waiting by the dock. His hand brushes the small of my back before he heads in the direction of the salesman.

I stand there, frozen, trying to convince myself the touch was accidental, even though part of me knows it wasn’t. Heat rushes through me so fast I almost stumble.

Dad doesn’t notice. He’s on Everett’s heels, shaking hands with the salesman the second Everett pulls his hand back. He says something to the guy that causes excitement to light up both their faces. My dad probably told him he wants a boat, too.

“Let’s go take a look, Bri,” Dad calls over his shoulder.

I trail after them onto the dock, the boards creaking beneath my sandals. The salesman climbs into the boat to start explaining controls and features. Dad follows, asking a dozen questions, his voice carrying.

Everett steps aside to let me climb down after them, his hand steadying my elbow even though I don’t need help. It lingers a second too long.

When Dad is distracted by the wheel, talking to the salesman about horsepower, I lean closer under the guise of looking at the dash. My shoulder presses against Everett’s, my lips near his ear. “You’re torturing me,” I whisper.

His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking as his gaze stays straight ahead. “Angel, you have no idea.”

Dad laughs at something the salesman says, oblivious. And I force myself to step back before I do something reckless, my pulse still thrumming with the memory of his touch.

No matter how much I try to act normal, my body gives me away. Heated cheeks, fingers twisting the hem of my shorts, every nerve alive and screaming the truth.

I’m stuck between the two most important men in my life.

One is my dad.

The other is the dark-haired secret I can’t stop falling for.

Dad’s still buzzing as the salesman finishes the paperwork, his smile wide as he talks about how sleek the boat is. I nod in the right places, but most of my focus is on Everett. He’s keeping his distance now, as if my whispered confession back on the dock burned us both.

We pile back into the truck, the new trailer rattling softly behind us, the boat strapped to it. Dad is beside me, flipping through the owner’s manual, already absorbed. And I’m in the middle—again.

I tell myself not to react, even as my skin hums. But my body betrays me the second Everett’s thigh presses against mine, the faintest touch of denim against my bare skin. My breath catches. He doesn’t move away. Neither do I.

Dad’s voice fills the cab, cheerful and oblivious. “We still taking her out this weekend?”

Everett nods, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You need to join us, kiddo. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Dad,” I groan, tugging at my seatbelt like it might strangle me. “You’re acting like I’m still ten.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“I’ll come... if Everett’s okay with it?”

I glance at Everett. His jaw is tight, sunglasses shield his eyes, and his hands grip the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He gives a nonchalant shrug, turning his head toward me. “You’re always welcome, Bri.”

Bri. The nickname sounds odd. I prefer angel... even though I know he can’t say it. Not in front of Dad.

When Dad brings up the best fishing spots on the lake, Everett’s voice is steady when he converses with him. Through his sunglasses, his eyes move to mine, then to my bare thigh beside his, before going back to the road. His hand flexes on the gearshift, and his leg tenses against mine.

By the time we turn down our lane, my pulse is thrumming. Dad’s still chattering, suggesting things Everett should buy for the boat, already making plans for a Saturday I know Everett and I will both dread for different reasons.

The truck rolls to a stop in Dad’s driveway.

He hops out, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna look at the brochure the salesman gave me.

I should buy a new boat.” He’s so excited, he throws a wave over his shoulder, clutching the pamphlet as he bounds up the steps.

He heads inside without a backward glance.

I linger a second longer, my hand pressed to the seat between us. Everett shifts just enough that his pinky brushes mine. Even though he only grazes me, it feels like a brand.

“Guess I better get inside.” I look over at him, aching to stay with him.

“Yeah, you better.” His voice is low and gruff. He turns his head away as though he doesn’t trust himself around me.

I slip out before I can do something reckless, my body still buzzing.

As I head up the stairs, my legs like concrete, Everett’s low rasp whispers like a broken record inside my head. “ Angel, you’ve got no idea.”

And he’s right.

Because if this keeps up, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.