Page 47 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Grayson’s words echo inside my head, slamming into me like a punch.

“Thank you, man. You’re a damn hero.”

My chest goes tight, and my jaw clenches. Hero. If he knew the truth, he’d never say that word to me again.

I force a nod, my throat too tight to speak, while inside, the guilt tears me apart. I don’t deserve his gratitude. Not when I just had his daughter’s thighs wrapped around me as I drove my dick inside her. Not when mere minutes ago, she was clinging to me, crying my name like I owned her.

And Christ, I do own her. The thought is poison and salvation in one breath.

Grayson doesn’t notice the storm in me. He’s already moving toward the fridge, pulling out two beers like he’s shaking off the tension Joey caused. “Seriously, Everett. That means a lot. Makes me feel better knowing she’s got you watching her back.” He hands me a beer.

My gut twists. Watching her back . He thinks I’m guarding her, standing between her and danger. If he only knew I am the danger. That every time she looks at me, I burn. That every second I resist her feels like dying, and every second I give in feels like damnation.

My breath catches in my lungs. He just gave me permission to spend time with her until she returns to college.

I catch her eyes over her dad’s shoulder. They are full of panic, silently pleading with me. She’s terrified he’ll see the truth. And God help me, the sight makes me want her all over again.

I drag a hand over my face, hiding the war inside me. “Yeah,” I manage finally, my voice gravelly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Safe. The word tastes like ash.

I can protect her from Joey. From the whole damn world. But who’s going to protect her from me?

Grayson claps me on the shoulder again, pulling me from my thoughts. His touch is as easy as ever, as if he hadn’t just walked in on the aftermath of the biggest betrayal of his life. “Tell you what—why don’t we head into town, grab some wings at The Timberline? Been a long day. My treat.”

I school my features into something resembling casual, even as every muscle in my body locks up. The thought of sitting across from him, drinking a beer like nothing happened, while his daughter’s taste still lingers on my tongue… Christ.

But what choice do I have? Saying no would only raise his suspicions. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to head back into town for groceries. So I nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“Perfect,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Bri, you up for it?”

Her head jerks up, her lips parted like he just suggested setting her on fire. “Uh—yeah,” she says too quickly, then tries to cover it with a small smile. “Wings sound great.”

Wings. The last thing she wants is wings. She swallows hard, looking almost sick at the thought of having to pretend everything is normal.

Luckily, Grayson doesn’t notice. He’s humming to himself, already halfway out the door.

We fall into step behind him, side by side, and I don’t dare look at her. Grayson sits in the passenger seat, chattering away about the restoration he’s going to be doing in his shop this week.

She sits in the middle, her hands in her lap. Her thigh presses against mine. Just the slightest brush. But the heat of it damn near buckles me. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles bone white.

When we pull into The Timberline, I make myself breathe, whispering a mantra to myself. Play it cool .

Grayson takes the lead, weaving through the crowded bar to a booth in the corner. He drops down with the ease of a man at home. I slide in opposite him, and Bri slides in beside her dad.

But her eyes— God, her eyes —cut to mine the second Grayson waves down the waitress. The gold flecks in them burn with a secret only we share.

The waitress rattles off the specials, but I don’t hear a word. Every time Grayson leans back, looks at his phone, or scans the TVs playing the game, Bri’s eyes flicker to mine. And when she does, it’s not shy, nor innocent.

It’s hunger burning in them.

She takes a slow sip of her soda, her lips wrapping around the straw seductively, and my pulse spikes so hard I nearly choke on my beer.

Grayson doesn’t notice. He’s too busy talking about fishing tournaments and some jackass from town who tried to buy his property last month. I nod when I’m supposed to, answer when I have to. But my focus is on Bri. Always Bri.

Every stolen glance. Every hidden smile. Every brush of her foot against mine under the table when her dad’s laughing at his own story.

It’s a goddamn game of Russian roulette, sitting here like this, pretending that she’s not mine.

And the worst part? I know I’ll play it again.

Because I can’t stop.

Not now. Not ever.

The wings arrive, steaming hot and drowning in sauce. Grayson digs in right away, reaching for extra napkins like it’s the best part of his week. “Best damn wings in three counties,” he says, grinning through the steam.

I pick one up, forcing myself to focus and play along. To be normal.

But my eyes cut to Bri when she dips her finger in the sauce and slowly licks it.

I nearly snap the wing I’m holding in half as she sticks the tip in her mouth, sucking on it.

She lifts her water glass, her hazel eyes on me over the rim, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me.

Grayson doesn’t notice. He’s busy talking about how The Timberline’s switching beer distributors and how he told them to “stick with what works.” I grunt in agreement, barely hearing him. My focus is on the girl across the table, biting into a wing with sauce glistening on her lips.

And when her tongue darts out and slowly licks it off, my chest seizes.

Christ.

Under the table, her foot brushes mine. Light at first, like she’s testing me. When I don’t move it, she presses harder, sliding her sandal against my boot. My jaw clenches so hard it aches.

“You good, Everett?” Grayson asks, wiping his hands on a napkin.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Wings are good.” My voice is tight and gravelly, like I’ve swallowed glass.

Across the table, Bri hides her smirk behind a sip of water.

Her foot climbs higher, resting against my ankle, heat seeping through the denim and covering my skin like a brand.

I drink half my beer in one go, trying to cool the fire she’s stoking. It doesn’t work.

Grayson launches into another story, this one about the time his bike broke down in the middle of nowhere and a state trooper had to haul him to the nearest gas station. He laughs, shaking his head at the memory.

And Bri? She leans forward, elbows on the table, her V-neck tee dipping just enough that I catch a glimpse of the sunflower necklace I gave her glinting between her breasts. My gift. My mark on her.

My hand tightens around my beer bottle until my knuckles go white.

Every tilt of her head, stolen glance, and slow drag of her tongue across her lips is deliberate. She’s taunting and testing me... And God help me, I want to fail.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat, trying to get some air into my lungs.

If Grayson weren’t sitting with us, I’d already have her pressed against the wall of this booth, showing her exactly what happens when she plays with fire.

Grayson’s still chuckling about his bike story, wiping sauce from his beard with a napkin. He doesn’t notice a thing.

Bri slides her foot higher up my leg, slowly and deliberately. I realize she’s removed her sandal, her bare foot traveling to my cock. My body reacts before I can think. My hand slams down onto the table harder than I meant, rattling the bottles.

Grayson blinks, startled. “Everything alright?”

I drag in a sharp breath, forcing my hand to relax, peeling my fingers off the wood grain. “Yeah,” I grind out. “Just burned myself on a wing.”

Grayson chuckles, already reaching for another. “Told you these come out of hell’s kitchen. Careful with the sauce.”

He goes right back to eating like nothing is amiss. My eyes move from him to her. Bri is staring at me wide-eyed, her lips parted slightly, like she felt every ounce of the storm I just barely leashed.

I meet her gaze, letting the warning bleed through, letting her see what she’s dragging out of me.

The waitress returns, and while Grayson orders another beer, I take advantage of the opportunity. My voice is pitched low, too quiet for Grayson to hear. “Keep testing me, angel. See how long I last.”

Color blooms in her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. She just gives me a wicked, victorious smirk and then slowly licks more sauce from her finger before shoving it in my mouth, a slight moan coming from her lips.

I grip the edge of the table again, my knuckles white.

One more minute of this, and it won’t matter that her father is sitting right beside us.

Grayson wipes his hands and tosses his napkin onto the empty plate. “What do you say we throw a few darts before heading out? Haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sure. I’m in,” Bri says, sliding out of the booth.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Sure.” I take another drink of my beer, letting Grayson go ahead so he doesn’t see the hard-on I haven’t quite gotten rid of yet.

Following Grayson to the back of the bar, I blow out a breath, trying to think of anything that will calm me down.

He looks at me over his shoulder. “I should warn you now. Bri is good at playing darts.” He winks at me.

“Don’t let her hustle you. She’s been known to make bets, act like she isn’t any good, and then slaughter her opponent. ”

I smirk. “Smart girl.”

Grayson’s smile widens. “That’s my daughter. A smart college girl.”

My smile freezes, the reminder of our age difference and places in life stark. She’s barely started living, while I’ve fucked up my future to the point of ruin.

I have nothing to offer her.

Grayson throws darts while I sit there and brood, knowing I should let her go but finding it impossible.

He pulls the darts from the board and hands them to Bri. A tall guy with a beard yells Grayson’s name and heads toward him, slapping his head.

While her dad’s distracted, she slides past me, her ass grazing right over my cock, and my body jolts like she lit me on fire.

“Excuse me,” she says sweetly, her lips curled into a smirk that tells me it was no accident. Her eyes flash up at mine—a wicked, daring gleam in them—before she turns her back to me.

My fingers curl into fists at my sides, my knuckles popping. Her perfume swirls in my lungs, the lingering memory of the faint sway of her hair brushing my shoulders, and my pulse detonates.

She bends just slightly at the waist, lining up her shot, and I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

If Grayson weren’t five feet away, I’d have her against the wall of this bar, showing her exactly what happens when she pushes me this far.

God help me, I’m one second away from breaking.