Page 55 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Midnight tastes different out here tonight. It’s quieter. Heavier. Every ripple of the lake carries like a warning. Every shadow looks like temptation.

I tell myself I won’t go down to the dock. That I’ll stay in my cabin, keep the lights off, and ride this out until Grayson comes home. I’ve told myself a lot of lies over the years, and this one is the easiest to break.

I’m already moving toward the dock.

Her hair spills loose around her shoulders, the hem of her sleep shirt brushing her thighs. Moonlight touches her like it belongs to her, and something inside me unravels.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, even as my body aches with relief that she is.

“Neither should you,” she shoots back softly, a tremor in her voice.

That does it. The last thread of restraint I had left snaps. I step forward, meeting her halfway on the dock. The boards groan under us as if they know they’re carrying something reckless, something doomed.

She tilts her head back, her eyes searching mine. “Everett…”

I cup her face, my rough palms trembling against her soft skin. “Angel, I can’t keep doing this.” My voice cracks, the sound raw. “Every time you show up, I swear it’ll be the last. And every time, I’m worse than before. I can’t let you go.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer until her breath fans across my mouth. “Then don’t.”

I drag her against me, my mouth crashing down on hers. It’s not soft this time. It’s desperate. Hungry. Like I’ve been starving for oxygen for years and only just found air.

She melts against me, her lips parting, a soft sound escaping her throat that rips through my chest. My hands slide down her back before sliding to her ass.

The world narrows to this moment—her body pressed to mine, the taste of her lips, the way her pulse thrums wildly against my tongue when I trail kisses down her throat.

Somewhere in the haze, I fumble my phone out of my pocket, music spilling low and scratchy through the speaker. A half-formed thought takes hold. I tug her toward the center of the dock, sliding one arm around her waist.

Her brows lift, and her voice is breathless. “You’re dancing with me, and it’s not even raining?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, swaying with her in my arms. “Don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her smile trembles, radiant in the moonlight.

We sway awkwardly at first, my boots clumsy against the planks, her slippers tapping against the wood. But then her head rests against my chest, her fingers knotting in my shirt, and it stops being awkward. It becomes something else. Something so achingly right it terrifies me.

I press my lips to the crown of her head, breathing her in. “If your dad knew?—”

“He doesn’t.” Her voice is fierce, muffled against me. “He won’t find out.”

He won’t find out . The words lodge inside my head, dangerous and inevitable.

Because one day, he will. And when that day comes, this will burn.

But tonight? I’m going to enjoy every moment with her.