Page 54 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

Dad’s duffel thumps onto the porch as he mutters about traffic and directions, his keys jingling in his hand. I stand in the doorway, hugging myself while I watch him double-check the truck bed like he’s leaving for a week instead of a day.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Nah.” He waves it off. “It’s just a workshop and a swap. Be back tomorrow night, maybe later if I find something worth bringing home.” He pauses, tipping his chin at me. “Don’t burn the cabin down, okay?”

I force a laugh, but my throat feels tight. “I’ll try not to.”

His grin fades, concern in his eyes. “I asked Everett to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. Just in case Joey…” His voice trails off.

I nod, trying not to appear too eager about having time alone with Everett. “Appreciate it, Dad.” I wave my hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

He hugs me tight before nodding and climbing inside his truck.

The engine rumbles down the gravel road, dust rising in its wake. I stay on the porch until the sound fades, the silence settling heavy around me. For the first time in years, it’s just me here. No Dad. No guardrails. Just temptation a few steps away in the cabin across the lake.

And I already know I’m not strong enough to resist.

I find him by the lake, crouched on the dock with a coil of rope in his hands. The late sun paints everything gold, his scars glinting faintly in the light. He glances up at me, surprise flashing into something softer.

“Hey, angel.”

The endearment slides under my skin, warm and dangerous. I step onto the dock, every board creaking like it’s betraying me. “Hey.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the water lapping against the posts, the silence louder than words.

Finally, I speak. “Walk with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. He drops the rope and falls into step beside me as we trace the shoreline.

The air smells like pine and damp earth. Our hands brush once, twice, until finally, his fingers lace through mine. My chest squeezes so hard it hurts. It feels like something out of a dream. Something I shouldn’t want, but can’t let go of now that it’s here.

We talk about nothing and everything—books, music, whether the owls out here really are as loud as he claims. He teases me about the embarrassing story dad told him about me falling in the lake when I was twelve, and I laugh so hard my stomach aches at the memory.

For a while, it feels normal. Like we aren’t sneaking around. Like the whole world isn’t waiting to break us apart.

By the time we circle back to the dock, the sun has slipped low, bruising the water purple and gold. I don’t want the night to end. Not with Dad gone. Not when it’s just us.

I swallow hard, my nerves buzzing through me as I look at him. “Meet me here tonight?”

His eyes darken, a storm of want and guilt colliding in them. He should say no. But instead, he nods once, sharp and certain.

My pulse races as I slip my hand from his and turn toward my cabin. The boards creak again under my feet, loud in the stillness as I exit, but I don’t look back. I can’t, or I’ll never leave.