Page 61 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

Everett drives me home after lunch, his truck rumbling down the familiar road. His hand brushes mine on the console once, twice, before finally lacing our fingers together. Neither of us says anything, but the silence is warm, dangerous, and fragile all at once.

When he pulls into the driveway, my chest tightens. Reality is intruding on the perfect moment I shared with Everett and the sound of a clock ticking in my ears fills me with dread.

“I should clean up,” I murmur, already reaching for the door handle. “Do the dishes, sweep the floor. Make it look like I’ve been here. He’ll notice otherwise.”

Everett kills the engine, his jaw flexing. “I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

Inside, the cabin feels colder than Everett’s, like the air remembers it’s been empty. I set my purse on the counter and head straight for the sink, rolling up my sleeves. The clink of mugs and running water fill the silence.

Unable to stand it, I move to the radio, turning it on. Dad’s classic rock station plays. I’m about to turn it to a different station, but Everett stops me.

“Leave it on. That’s a good song.”

I raise my brows. “You’re an AC/DC fan?”

He smirks. “Course. Also, Def Leppard, Poison, Journey, 38 Special, Metallica...” His voice trails off when he notices my face. “What?”

“Nothing. Just—you have great taste in music.” I head back to the sink, grab a dish rag, and begin washing a mug. “I used to get teased in school for liking ‘old people’ music.”

He takes the mug after I’ve rinsed it and begins drying it. “Kids can be cruel.”

I nod. “Yeah. Dad said I was an ‘old soul’ and not to worry about them.”

We stare at each other for a moment before I clear my throat and resume washing. Everett hovers at my shoulder, drying dishes as I hand them over. His arm brushes mine, the heat of his body sinking into me. Every touch, every look is another reminder that we’re playing with fire.

When he begins moving to the beat of the music, my lips tip up. I start moving my hips, bumping them against his. He grins, moving behind me and grinding against my ass, turning the moment from silly fun into something more. Something raw.

I set the last mug on the counter, and when I turn, he’s already watching me. His eyes catch on the loose strand of hair that’s fallen across my cheek. A slow song comes on, and he pulls me into his arms. Slowly, almost reverently, he reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear.

My breath stutters. His knuckles graze my skin, soft and warm, and I lean into his touch before I can stop myself.

“Everett…” My whisper trembles.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and when his lips graze mine, it’s feather-light, like a promise and a confession.

My breath stutters in my lungs before a whimper breaks free. My arms tighten around him, and I kiss him deeper, losing myself in the moment. In him.

The front door opens, and my dad’s voice booms through the cabin, his heavy work boots thudding across the floor. “Bri? I’m home.”

My stomach plunges as we jerk apart.

I turn my head, my eyes wide. My dad stands there, frozen to the floor. The look on his face guts me. Confusion wrinkles his brows before realization sets in. The hurt and betrayal that follow are so deep they steal the air from the room.

“No…” His face turns red as the rage sets in. His eyes flash like lightning as he looks from me to Everett, his voice thundering through the cabin. “What the hell is going on?”

“Dad—” My voice cracks, but the word dies in my throat from the look on his face.

Everett goes still, arms falling at his sides, his guilt a living thing between us.

And in his eyes, I watch our whole world splinter apart.