Page 51 of From the Wreckage

Everett

I stand, carefully balancing my weight on the boat, unable to sit still with her looking at me like that—like I’m worth something. Like I’m not the monster I know I am.

I pull my shirt off in one sharp motion, letting her look at me. Really look at me.

Her eyes widen, her breath catching when the sunlight spills over my torso. The scars are impossible to miss. Pale, jagged lines tearing across my ribs and hip. Another running over my shoulder. Ugly reminders carved into flesh.

She reaches out like she wants to touch them but stops. Her gaze drifts up to my face, reading the grave set of my jaw, the haunted look in my eyes.

I brace my hands on my hips, swallowing hard. “You know what I was before all this? Before the cabin. Before I moved to Silverpoint and met your dad and you?”

Her silence is steady and patient. Waiting.

“I was a running back for the Green Bay Packers. Drafted right out of college. First round.” My laugh is bitter. “They called me a dark knight. Fast. Smart. My career rose so damn fast it felt like nothing could touch me.”

Her lips part, surprise flashing in her eyes, but I push on before I lose my nerve.

“During a late November game, I caught the ball and was tackled. Shoulder torn apart. My rotator cuff shredded. Ended my season early. I had surgery. Was given pain pills. Started physical therapy.” I rake a hand down my face.

“I was supposed to bounce back, but my folks were in a car accident that winter. Dad broke his hip. Mom cracked some ribs. My brother was deployed overseas, and his wife was home with a newborn. It was just me. So I flew home. Spent weeks hauling groceries, lifting my dad, and helping my mom out of bed. All while I was busted up and becoming hooked on Oxy. Blew through my script in days.”

Her brows knit, her throat working.

“My teammate, Matt, said he knew a guy. That he’d give me something to help me get through.

One pill turned into another. And another.

” I shake my head, bile rising in my throat.

“By the time I made it back to Green Bay, I was gone. Addicted. I thought I was managing it. Thought I was still in control.”

The air thickens between us. Her eyes glisten, but I can’t stop now.

“It was dark,” I whisper, the memory dragging me under.

“I was behind the wheel of my SUV. Three of my teammates, Matt, Bryan, and Cole, were with me. We’d been at the bar, celebrating a win.

Laughing. Talking shit.” My chest heaves.

“I was the most sober of us, if you could call it that. Still had too many beers in me. Still had those pills buzzing in my veins. I felt invincible.”

Her face pales.

“The curve came too fast. My vision blurred. Tires screamed. I jerked the wheel, overcorrected. And then we were airborne.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the images persist. “Metal shrieked. Glass exploded. Screams filled my ears. I don’t even know if they were mine or my teammates.

” I heave out a breath, lost in the memory.

“We hit a tree. The crunch was so loud my ears rang until there was nothing but blood, silence, and then darkness.”

I drag in a ragged breath, forcing my eyes open.

“Matt and Bryan were killed instantly. Cole made it to the hospital, but…” My voice fractures. “He didn’t last the night.”

Her hand flies to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“And me?” I gesture at the scars, bitterness filling my mouth with a metallic taste. “Broken ribs. Torn shoulder ligaments. Punctured lung. Hip fucked. Head scrambled for months.” I heave out a breath. “Minor injuries from the glass that cut my skin.”

It sounds like someone else’s voice when I whisper, “I should’ve been the one they zipped into a body bag. But I wasn’t. I lived. And I’ve had to carry it every day since.”

The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of everything I laid bare. My chest heaves like I’ve just played four quarters in the snow.

Bri’s tears fall harder now. Her fingers tremble as they finally reach out, brushing the scar along my ribs. “Everett…” Her whisper is broken.

I choke down the lump in my throat, my voice wrecked. “This is who I am, Bri. Not your dad’s friend. Not some good man. I’m the guy who killed three of his teammates because he thought he was untouchable. You wanted the truth? That’s it. That’s me.”

Shame sears through me, heavy and corrosive.

“The news broke. I lost my contract and my career. My parents couldn’t handle it.

They were very religious and couldn’t fathom the idea of having an addict as a son.

Sick of the headlines about how I killed my teammates, they disowned me.

” I run a hand through my hair. “My girlfriend dumped me in public. Said she couldn’t love a man like me. ”

The words scrape my throat raw, but I force them out. “And my brother disowned me, too. I’ve never even met my nephew.”

I avoid looking at her, afraid of what I’ll see. The disgust and revulsion that are surely there.

The lump in my throat swells until I can barely breathe. “I deserved it. Brought every bit of it on myself. Even though I went to rehab and got clean… the damage was already done.”

I finally dare to look at Bri. Her eyes glisten, devastation etched across her face, but underneath it is something fierce. She shakes her head, her hands trembling as they cup my face. “No. That’s not you. You’re not that man anymore.”

Her fingers tighten on my jaw, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away. Her hazel eyes blaze, cutting through the shame that’s been strangling me for years.

“You listen to me, Everett,” she says, her voice fierce and trembling.

“Yes, you made mistakes. Yes, you carry scars. But that doesn’t erase who you are now.

You stopped Joey from hurting me. You showed up when no one else would.

You make me feel safe—seen—in a way no one ever has. That’s not the man you just described.”

My chest caves. “Bri…”

She shakes her head, tears slipping free, her thumb brushing over my stubble.

“You keep saying you’ll ruin me, but don’t you get it?

You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel whole.

You’re the only one who stayed when I needed someone.

You say you have no one, but you have me. And I’m not leaving.”

Her words shatter something in me. My lungs seize, my throat burns, and I can’t look away from her. Because she means it. For the first time in years, someone actually means it.

“Angel,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Her mouth curves, soft but unshakable. “Yes, I do.” She leans closer, pressing her forehead to mine, her voice steady despite the tears streaking her cheeks. “You survived the wreckage. You’re still here. And maybe you think you’re ruined, but to me? You’re everything.”

Her words hollow me out and fill me in the same breath. I’ve spent months burying myself under the wreckage of scars, guilt, and shame, but she looks at me like I’m more than what I destroyed.

My throat works as I force out, “Bri… you can’t mean that.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it burns hotter and fiercer. Unwavering.

“I mean every word.”

The conviction in her voice slams into me harder than any hit I ever took on the field. My chest tightens, but for the first time in years, it’s not from guilt. It’s from something else. Something dangerous. Something I don’t know if I deserve—hope.

I let out a ragged breath, my forehead dropping to hers. “Angel… You’re either the bravest woman I’ve ever met, or you’re out of your damn mind.”

Her lips tilt into the faintest smile, trembling but certain. “Maybe both. But either way… I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in me breaks wide open. The shadows don’t vanish, but for once, they’re not all I see. I see her. Her tears. Her strength. Her stubborn belief in me, even when I can’t find it for myself.

My hand slides up, cupping the back of her head, tangling in her hair. I tilt her face and press my lips to hers—not with hunger, not with desperation, but with something raw. A kiss that feels like surrender. A vow carved into skin and breath.

She melts into me, her fingers curling into my shirt, holding me as if she feels the weight of what I’m giving her. What I’ve never given to anyone before.

When I finally pull back, her hazel eyes glisten, her lips parted. My voice is rough, but steadier than I feel. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, Brielle.”

Her lashes lower, her whisper brushing my mouth. “Maybe I do.”

And for the first time in months, I let myself believe she could be the one thing that pulls me from the wreckage.