Page 65 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

The morning feels hollow. My eyes ache from crying, and my throat is raw.

I wander into the kitchen, expecting silence, and for a while, that’s all there is.

The coffee maker gurgles, the hum of the fridge, and the dull creak of floorboards under my weight are the only sounds in the otherwise still room.

Dad is already at the table, his elbows braced on the wood, staring into his mug like it might give him answers. He doesn’t look up.

I linger by the counter, unsure if I should say anything. The air feels fragile, like one wrong word could shatter it.

Then Dad clears his throat, rough and tired, and pushes a mug toward me. “Coffee’s fresh.”

I take it, my fingers curling around the warmth, and whisper, “Thanks.” I slide into my usual chair.

For a long time, we just sit there, drinking in silence. His eyes are red, not from tears—at least, not ones he’d admit to—but from the kind of restless night that leaves you raw.

Finally, he leans back, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m still angry, Bri.” His voice is low and measured. “Angry at him. Angry at myself. Hell, angry at you.” His jaw flexes. “But you’re my daughter. That doesn’t change. It’ll never change.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I swear I didn’t.”

He exhales hard, looking older than I’ve ever seen him. “I just don’t want to lose you, too. Not after everything.”

The words crack something open inside me. I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

We don’t talk about Everett. We don’t talk about what Dad saw. It’s too jagged, too raw.

For now, this fragile truce is enough to hold me together.

Later, when I’m in my room, folding clothes into a suitcase, my hand brushes something stiff at the bottom of my drawer. I freeze, knowing immediately what it is. The card. The one Everett gave me with the sunflower necklace.

I should throw it away. Burn it. Do anything but what I do now—sit on the edge of my bed with shaking hands, reading his words until the tears blur them.

You’re always on my mind, angel.

Those simple words contained so much more than what was written. Words that promised he saw me. That he thought of me. That I meant something to him.

Pain ripples through me, making my chest cave in. His actions showed that I was more than the girl abandoned by her mother. Someone capable of being loved so thoroughly, it healed the broken pieces of me.

But now....

My tears fall hot and fast.

With a broken sob, I shove the card deep into the bottom of my suitcase, burying it beneath layers of clothes, like that will keep the memories from bleeding through.

By the time Dad knocks on my door, I’ve wiped my face dry. I’m sure my swollen, puffy eyes betray me. He stares at me, but he doesn’t comment.

Instead, he clears his throat and says, “Come outside. I’ve got something for you.”

Confused, I follow him out to the driveway. A used but sturdy SUV sits there, dark blue, polished until it gleams in the morning sun.

My breath catches. “Dad… What?—”

“Insurance finally came through on your old one,” he says, sliding the keys into my hand. His expression is gruff, but his eyes soften. “You’re heading into your senior year of college. You’ll need something safe to get you back and forth.”

I press my hand to my mouth, overwhelmed. “Dad… Thank you.”

He pulls me into a hug, his hand cupping the back of my head like he did when I was little. “Don’t thank me. Just… take care of yourself. And don’t give me any more scares.” His voice cracks on the last word, and I cling to him tighter.

For a moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of my father’s arms, the only place that still feels safe. I whisper, “I love you,” grateful we’ve called a truce.

His voice is gruff but steady. “I love you, Bri. I’ll always love you with every piece of me.”

His words cause tears to spring to my eyes. Dad loves me loud, unlike Everett, who wouldn’t fight for me.

My chest aches, and I’m grateful my dad’s arms are around me, keeping me upright.

Everett let me go so easily.

The weight in my chest reminds me of the card buried at the bottom of my suitcase.

Two men. Two different kinds of love. Only one is tearing me apart.

And as I press the keys into my palm, the reality hits. This car can take me anywhere.

But it can’t drive me away from the wreckage that happened this summer.