Page 69 of From the Wreckage

Everett

The cabin feels emptier with every passing day.

I’ve tried keeping busy. Projects, repairs, and chores I don’t even care about. Anything to keep my hands moving so my mind doesn’t go back to her.

But it always does.

The ghost of Brielle haunts every corner.

Her laugh echoes in the walls. Her bare feet patter across the floorboards when I close my eyes.

And my bed—Christ, my bed. I haven’t changed the sheets since the night she left, because they still smell like her shampoo, her skin, her essence.

I bury my face in the pillow to breathe her in.

But each day the scent fades, and it feels like she’s slipping through my fingers all over again.

I knew this would happen. That’s why I fought so damn hard in the beginning, why I pushed back when every part of me wanted to give in. I told myself I was protecting her. Protecting us both. But the truth is, I was only prolonging the inevitable.

Still, the silence is unbearable.

I hammer until my knuckles ache. Sand wood until my palms sting. But eventually, I run out of boards, nails, and screws. Sitting in this place with nothing to do feels worse than bleeding my hands raw.

So I grab my keys and drive into town.

The bell above Lockwood Hardware clangs when I push through the door, the familiar smell of sawdust and oil settling in my lungs. I grab what I need without thinking—wood screws, nails, a box of sandpaper, and turn toward the register.

I freeze when I spot him.

Grayson stands in the checkout line, staring at me with nothing but pure, unfiltered hatred. His eyes, so much like hers, pin me where I stand. My chest seizes.

I spin around, walking the long way around the aisles like a coward.

My pulse hammers in my ears. For a second, I think about throwing the damn supplies back on the shelf, leaving empty-handed.

But then what? Go home to the dock, or the couch, or to the damn sheets that no longer smell like her?

Let the memories eat me alive with no escape?

I can’t do that. I need something to keep me busy. To keep me from going insane.

So I force myself forward and dump my things on the counter. I don’t look at him, but I feel the weight of his glare burning into the side of my face. My hands shake as I pass the cashier the cash.

I glance up once—and meet his eyes.

The pain of losing my only friend guts me. And the sight of his features, so much like Bri’s, nearly brings me to my knees. The same eyes. The same fire. Only this time, they’re lit with betrayal instead of warmth.

I grab my bag and bolt, my boots pounding against the tile like gunshots. By the time I hit the parking lot, my chest is heaving, my pulse a roar in my ears. I slide into the truck, the slam of the door rattling the frame, and wrench the wheel with shaking hands.

The engine growls to life, and I floor it out of the parking lot, gravel spitting in my wake. Pines blur past in streaks of green, the road unspooling beneath me in a smear of gray. My knuckles ache from gripping the steering wheel so hard, my teeth clenched until my jaw burns.

All I see is the hatred on Grayson’s face. Mixed with that is the haunting memory of Bri’s voice, begging me to fight for her. For us.

I drive faster, desperate to outrun the memory, the silence, the weight of what I’ve done. But there’s no outrunning it.

I’m heading back to my cabin—the place that offers solitude… but it’s also my prison.

On the narrow road that winds toward it, I let out a long breath. For a moment, it feels like relief.

But it doesn’t last.

Through the trees, the sun-bleached boards of the dock flicker into view, still and empty. I swear I hear her laughter carried on the wind, ghosts of a night that feels like another lifetime.

By the time I pull into my driveway, misery is already waiting for me.

I’m back where it all began.

And where it ended.