Page 57 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

The lake is shockingly cold at dawn, but I don’t care. I dive, surface, and splash water into Everett’s face, laughing until my sides ache. He catches me easily, his strong arms looping around my waist as I try to wriggle away.

“Cheater,” I gasp, kicking and splashing against him.

“You’re shivering.” His low voice stills me more than the water. His hand skims down my arm, goosebumps rising beneath his touch. “Angel, you’re freezing.”

Before I can protest, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, striding out of the lake with me clinging to his neck. My laughter dies into something quieter and softer, because even drenched and dripping, he’s still so careful with me.

Inside the cabin, he sets me down just long enough to strip my wet T-shirt away, his hands gentle, almost reverent. He nudges me into the shower, twisting the faucet until warm water cascades over us. Steam rises, wrapping us in heat.

He steps in behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his hands smoothing body wash across my skin.

Not hurried or hungry. Just slow, patient strokes, as if he wants to learn every inch of me all over again.

His lips trail over my shoulder, my neck, the shell of my ear, until I’m sighing under both the warm water and his kisses.

By the time he turns off the water, I’m boneless. He wraps me in a towel, rubbing me dry like I’m something precious, not a secret he shouldn’t keep.

“You’re spoiling me,” I tease, warmth pooling in my chest.

His grin is devastating, boyish, and unguarded. “Every moment of every single day, if I could.”

He carries me to his bedroom, wrapping me in one of his tees, and then pulls on a pair of sweats. Lifting me in his arms, his feet slap the wooden floor until he lays me on the couch, tucking a blanket around me. He turns the TV to my favorite show, then moves to the kitchen.

Instead of watching it, I watch him. The way his scarred back shifts beneath the waistband of his gray sweatpants. His dark hair sticks up since he didn’t bother to comb it. The muscles in his shoulders bunch and shift as he reaches for mugs.

The domesticity of it steals the breath from my lungs.

When he sets an iced caramel latte in front of me, I gasp. “You bought that machine for me, didn’t you? Just so you could make this.”

He leans down, brushing his mouth over mine, a whisper against my lips. “Of course. Anything for you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but before I can speak, he’s already back in the kitchen, pulling out flour, chocolate chips, eggs. The smell of sizzling bacon fills the cabin.

I move to the kitchen, sitting at his table, the blanket wrapped around me, watching him work.

By the time he sets a plate in front of me—chocolate chip pancakes stacked high and maple bacon crisped perfectly—I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This isn’t just breakfast. It’s proof of everything he can’t bring himself to say out loud.

He loves me.

And I love him so desperately, I’m ruined for anyone else.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Everett mutters, sliding into the chair across from me. “Eat before it gets cold.”

I spear a bite of pancake, still staring at him. “You know chocolate chips are the fastest way to my heart, right?”

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Fastest? Angel, I already own your heart.”

My breath catches, but I try not to show it. Instead, I roll my eyes, tossing a chocolate chip at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his lap.

He shakes his head, grinning. “Real mature.”

“Maybe I just wanted to feed you.”

His gaze darkens, amused and hungry all at once. “Careful, or I’ll return the favor.”

Heat curls low in my belly, but I laugh anyway, covering it with another bite of pancake. “You’re impossible.”

“Mmm.” He bites into a strip of bacon, eyes never leaving mine. “And you love it.”

I can’t argue with that.

I wouldn’t even try.

After we finish, he clears the dishes while I return to the couch. My stomach is full, my heart fuller. For the first time in a long time, the world feels quiet and safe.

Wrapped in his blanket, the taste of chocolate still on my tongue, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could last.