Page 58 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Bri looks like she belongs here.

She’s curled on my couch, wrapped in one of my blankets, her hair still damp from the shower. The TV plays some mindless rerun, but she’s not watching it. She’s tucked in like this is her place, her life.

Like she’s mine.

And for one dizzy, dangerous moment, I let myself believe it.

The ache in my chest eases as I lean against the counter, coffee mug warm in my hands. I let my eyes trace her, memorize her, brand her into me. Since I moved here, this cabin’s been nothing but wood and silence. Because she’s here, it feels like home.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until my phone buzzes on the counter.

I glance at the screen, and the bottom drops out of my stomach.

Grayson: Everything okay? Bri’s good? Haven’t seen Joey lurking around, have you?

My throat goes dry.

I stare at the message too long, my grip tightening on the phone until the case creaks. Guilt surges hot and sharp, cutting through the fragile peace like a knife.

She’s ten feet away, wrapped in my blanket, smelling like my body wash. Her eyes soften every time they flick toward me. And her father is checking in—trusting me to look out for her. To protect her.

If he knew the truth—what she and I did last night, the way I feel for her—he’d never forgive me. He’d kill me, and he’d be right to.

I force myself to respond, my fingers stiff.

Me: She’s fine. I’ve got an eye out. Nothing to worry about.

The lie tastes like ash.

Me: When will you be home?

Grayson: Tomorrow afternoon. Found something good at the swap. Little further away than I planned, but worth it.

Me: Awesome. Take your time. Everything’s good here.

Grayson: Knew I could count on you. Thanks, friend.

Friend. The word sears. Guilt races through me like wildfire, scorching every vein.

I set the phone down and drag both hands through my hair, his texts tearing me apart.

I should end this. Tell her last night was a mistake. That she should go back to her life without me. Make her face the reality that whatever we’ve built here can’t survive in the real world.

But then she laughs softly at something on the TV, curls tighter into the blanket, and I’m wrecked all over again. How the hell am I supposed to give her up? How do I let go of the only person who’s made me feel alive in years?

I tell myself I’ll stop tomorrow. Just one more day. One more night. One final chance to hold her and pretend.

But that’s a lie. Because with Brielle, one more will never be enough.

When I look up, she’s smiling at me from the couch, sleepy and content, as if the world isn’t about to collapse around us. My chest constricts.

I should end this before it goes any further. Before Grayson finds out. Before the town gossip hardens into truth.

But I can’t.

God help me, I can’t.