Page 80 of From the Wreckage

Everett

My skin prickles every time I step outside, like the air itself knows she’s near.

I can’t stop myself from taking frequent runs around the lake, always veering toward the stretch of shoreline across from Grayson’s cabin.

I stay in the shadows of the tall pines, where I belong.

My eyes frantically searching, a knot of unease curled in my gut.

But I never see her.

Her blue SUV sits in the driveway like a cruel reminder. She’s close enough that if I called her name, the echo might carry across the water. Close enough that if I broke every promise I made to myself, I could cross the trail and knock on that door.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let the sight of that vehicle twist a knife in my chest. It’s proof she’s here, but also proof of how far away she really is.

Something gnaws at me, the sensation deeper than the usual loneliness. It isn’t just missing her. It’s worry. A sick, hollow dread that I can’t shake.

Grayson’s truck hasn’t moved in two days. I haven’t seen him step outside once—not for firewood, not for the mail, or even for a smoke on the porch. He’s always been a man who kept moving, tinkering, and fixing things. Staying busy. But now… there’s nothing.

It’s like he’s holed up in there, glued to Bri’s side.

The thought should comfort me. He’s protecting her. He’s keeping her safe.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like something is deeply wrong.

But I don’t have the right to find out what it is.