Page 48 of From the Wreckage

Everett

The bike rumbles beneath us, the road stretching out like an escape.

Bri’s arms are tight around my waist, her chest pressed against my back, every bump and curve of the ride a reminder of how close she is.

Her laugh bursts through the wind when I take a sharper turn, the sound sliding straight down my spine.

I shouldn’t have agreed to this. But when she’d texted me, “ Take me somewhere. Anywhere,” I didn’t hesitate. I never do with her.

We leave Silverpine behind, trading pine trees and cabins for wide fields and back roads until a squat brick diner with a flickering neon sign comes into view.

I ease the bike into the lot, killing the engine.

Her arms linger around me for a beat too long before she slips off, tugging at the helmet with a grin that makes my chest feel too tight.

Inside, the place smells like coffee and fried dough. Old ceiling fans swirl overhead, and a glass case displays donuts in every flavor. We grab a booth by the window, two steaming mugs of coffee, and an assortment of donuts on the table between us.

Bri grabs a donut and breaks it in half, licking the glaze from her thumb, and my cock stirs like it doesn’t care that it’s 10 a.m. in broad daylight. I wrap my hands around the mug, trying to steady myself.

The waitress—a gray-haired woman with a soft smile—sets down a napkin dispenser and glances between us. She nods toward the older couple in the next booth, where the man is carefully pouring cream into his wife’s coffee while she teases him about the ratio.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” the waitress says. “Been married forty years. Still dotes on her like it’s their first date.” Then she looks back at us with a knowing smile. “You two remind me of them.”

Her words hang heavy between us.

Bri flushes, her lashes sweeping down as she fiddles with her donut, a small smile tugging at her lips like she likes the sound of it.

My gut twists. Because that’s not us. We’re not husband and wife sharing coffee in some out-of-town diner. We’re a goddamn secret. A risk. A line I’ve already crossed.

Yet when Bri sneaks a glance at me, shy but hopeful, part of me wants to believe it. Wants it so badly it aches.

Before she looks away, I see the question flickering in them. The one I don’t want to face.

What happens when she goes back to college? When we hardly see one another anymore. When she’s around other guys who have a bright future ahead of them. Unlike me, who’s already crashed and burned, destroying my career and life.

I clear my throat, reaching for my coffee. “Guess some people get lucky.”

She looks at me then, hazel eyes soft but uncertain. “Do you think we could get lucky, too?”

Her words hit like a sledgehammer. My chest tightens, torn between the hunger that consumes me and the voice that won’t stop whispering I’ll ruin her.

I don’t answer. I’m not sure I can.