Page 74 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

The stadium lights blaze against the September sky, flooding the field and stands with artificial daylight.

The noise hits me the second we climb the bleachers—horns, whistles, and the drumline pounding out a rhythm that reverberates in my chest. Students are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, painted in school colors, their laughter and chants rolling like waves through the metal stands.

It should feel exciting. Nostalgic, even. My senior year of college. One last round of games and traditions before everything changes. But instead, I feel like a ghost moving through it all.

“See?” Meghan nudges me, balancing nachos in one hand as we weave through the crowd. “This is what you needed. A distraction. Fun. Normal.”

Normal. The word tastes bitter.

I force a smile anyway, hugging the sweatshirt tighter around me as we squeeze into an empty row. The bench is cold beneath me, metal vibrating with the stomping of feet.

The field below explodes with energy—cheerleaders flipping, the crowd roaring as the ball snaps. Joey, our quarterback, launches it downfield in a perfect spiral, and the receiver sprints into the end zone. The stands erupt.

“Joey! Joey!” students chant, pounding the metal with their fists.

And there he is—the center of it all. Helmet tucked beneath his arm as he jogs off the field, his blond hair damp with sweat, his grin dazzling as teammates slap his back. Under the floodlights, Joey looks untouchable. The golden boy. Campus idol.

But I see the sharp edge in his smile, the glint in his eyes that doesn’t belong.

He waves at us, his eyes on me. Meghan nudges me with her elbow. “He looks handsome as hell with that new haircut. Don’t cha think, Bri?”

My jaw tightens, but I don’t argue. Not here. Not with Meghan watching me like a hawk, hoping I’ll give her the answer she wants to hear. Not with thousands of students’ eyes on him, chanting his name like he’s some kind of hero.

Instead, my gaze drifts upward, past the scoreboard and floodlights, to where the clouds are tinged pink at the edges, just like sunsets on the lake back home.

My chest constricts. For a moment, I swear I can almost hear Everett’s laugh under the noise, the low rasp of his voice calling me angel. I blink hard, willing the memory away.

The game blurs after that. Our team wins, the crowd spilling onto the field, horns blaring, confetti flying from the student section. Everyone around me is glowing, buzzing with hope for the season ahead.

But none of it touches me.

By the time Meghan tugs me toward the stairs, my head is pounding.

And that’s when I see him.

Helmet gone, hair damp and curling at his temples, Joey cuts across the field with that too-bright smile. His stride is confident, shoulders squared, the crowd parting for him like he owns the place.

“Bri!” he calls, his voice carrying over the noise.

Before I can turn away, he’s jogging up the stairs two at a time, his grin widening.

My stomach knots, dread sinking deep. I know he’s going to ask me if I’m going to the party Meghan keeps hinting at.

“Hey.” His eyes roam over me from head to toe. “Nice sweatshirt.”

I shrug, looking down at the Glen Willow Wolves sweatshirt Meghan insisted I wear tonight. “It’s Meghan’s.”

His smile dims for a heartbeat before it widens again. “Still looks good on you. You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”

Every part of me wants to say no, but I already know there’s no way out. Meghan insisted on driving tonight, and I damn well know that’s the reason.

I nod, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

“Great. See ya later.” His fingers brush my arm in a squeeze that lingers too long before he turns and jogs toward the locker room.

The crowd roars around me, but all I hear is the echo of his words.

Deep down, I already know this night is going to end badly.