Page 82 of From the Wreckage

Everett

The gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I push harder, my lungs burning, sweat sliding down my back. I tell myself I run for exercise. For the release from the self-imposed prison of my cabin.

But that’s a lie.

Every step I take around this lake brings me closer to her. To the cabin across the water. To the ghost of what I’ve lost.

Branches whip against my arms as I cut through the forest, the sharp scent of pine in my nose. My pulse stutters when I break through the clearing and see her.

Bri.

She’s curled on the back patio, a blanket around her shoulders, hair spilling down like a halo in the morning light. She stares across the water at the cabin that still carries her laughter in its walls, and for one impossible heartbeat, hope floods my chest.

I stop dead, my breath locked in my lungs. She’s so fucking beautiful.

Realizing I’m exposed, I slip behind a tree, pressing my back to the bark.

Coward. That’s all I am.

I told myself I run these trails to purge her ghost. But here I am, hiding while she breaks in plain sight.

Her shoulders quake. She buries her face in the blanket like she can vanish inside it.

My heart slams so hard it echoes in my ears. I peek once more, hungry, desperate—then freeze. She looks… shattered. Not just sad. Destroyed.

My legs twitch, ready to close the distance. To kneel in front of her, gather her against me, breathe her in like oxygen. My arms ache to feel her. For her silky hair brushing my cheek, her scent flooding my lungs as I breathe in her floral shampoo.

God, I’d give anything— anything —to be the one holding her together.

But I don’t move.

I can’t.

The lake keeps us apart. The tree pins me back. My silence steals the moment.

You’re not good enough for her, remember?

The thought slices me open. Still, I don’t move. I stay rooted in place, every muscle screaming while she drowns a few yards away.

The regret twists like a blade inside me.

I didn’t just lose her.

I let her go.

And watching her like this—alone and broken—I know I’ll never forgive myself for it.

The drive into town feels mechanical. Milk, bread, coffee, eggs, meat, veggies—I tick them off like penance as I put them in the cart.

Once I’ve checked out and left the store, I toss the bags in the truck bed and sit there too long, staring at the Timberline’s flickering neon sign. My stomach growls, but the second I pull in, memories blindside me.

Her laughter as she darted past, her ass brushing against my dick when she leaned for darts. The way her foot slid up my leg under the table, daring me to react while her father sat beside her.

A guttural groan rips out of me. I scrub my hands over my face, as if the memories will wash away. But even now, missing her guts me so hard it leaves me half-hard.

Pathetic. I’m so damn pathetic.

I shove the door open and head inside before I can change my mind.

The Timberline smells the same—like grease, beer, and pine cleaner. My boots echo across scuffed wood as I cut toward the register. I lift my head, and then freeze.

Grayson.

He’s standing at the counter, wings in hand, gaze locking on me as sharp as a blade.

My chest seizes. Of all the people ? —

I pivot to leave.

“Don’t.”

One word, steady, commanding.

I go rigid, slowly turning around.

Grayson studies me like I’m laid bare, every scar and sin under a microscope. Anger burns there, but beneath it, I see something else. Something that looks like regret.

“I need to talk to you.” He nods at the register. “You getting wings?”

I nod once, confused but rooted.

“Order. Meet me in the back.”

He walks away. Shoulders sagging like the weight of the world is on them.

I exhale, order fast, then slide into the booth across from him. My fists clench tightly against the table.

Grayson studies me for a long beat, then mutters, “You look like shit.”

I cock a brow. “Thanks?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. No smile. Just exhaustion. His hair is more gray than the last time I saw him. He drags a hand through it, lines carved deep into his face.

“This isn’t easy for me.” He takes a long pull of his beer and sets it down with a thud on the table. “I shouldn’t be drinking on the job, but fuck it. I’m the boss.”

I force a grin, but unease knots tight.

“I swore I’d never do this,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Told myself I knew what was right—for her. For you. For me.” He shakes his head. “But you look fucking miserable… and my kiddo’s hurting. Bad.”

The words gut me. My heartbeat’s a roar in my ears. I saw her shattered on the deck. Saw her collapse into his arms a few days ago. But hearing it aloud? It tears me in two.

Grayson grips the bottle, condensation spilling down his knuckles. As though Bri is slipping through his fingers, no matter how tightly he holds on.

“I thought it was a crush,” he admits hoarsely. “That she’d get over you once she returned to campus. But she came home early. And I’ve never seen her like this.”

I dig my nails into my palm. Doesn’t dull the ache ripping me open.

“She won’t tell me what happened. But something did. Something bad. And... I can’t reach her.” His voice breaks, his jaw locked tight. “I don’t know what to do.”

I swallow hard, the air too thin to breathe. “What are you saying, Grayson?”

His gaze lifts, hazel eyes haunted. His words scrape out like they cost blood. “I need your help.”

The booth goes silent. The bar noise fades to a hum.

My chest caves in. Because if Bri’s broken, then so am I.

And I’d burn down the fucking world to piece her back together.