Page 83 of From the Wreckage

Everett

By the time I hear Grayson’s truck rumble down the road, I’ve already been pacing my cabin like a caged animal. Every instinct in me says to wait, to respect boundaries I’ve already shredded to hell. But fuck boundaries. She’s drowning, and I can’t watch from the shoreline anymore.

Her SUV is still in the driveway. She hasn’t left in days.

I stride out of my cabin, my boots eating the distance between my cabin and hers. Every step is full of determination, my hands curled at my sides, until I’m crossing the narrow stretch of grass and bounding up the steps of the front porch. I knock on the door hard enough that it echoes around me.

No answer.

I know she’s there. I can feel her, the same way I always have. Like gravity tugging me forward.

I raise my fist, banging again.

Slight footsteps sound before the lock clicks, and the door creaks open.

There she is.

She’s too pale, with shadows bruised beneath haunted eyes. Her gaze collides with mine, widening in surprise. For one fleeting second, joy flickers there—before it drains away, leaving her hollow.

Her fingers clutch the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She’s drowning in a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, the fabric stained. Her hair’s scraped into a half-assed ponytail, strands tumbling down, unbrushed, forgotten.

She looks like she doesn’t care if the world sees her or not. Like she’s hiding herself in plain sight.

“We need to talk,” I say, my tone rougher than I mean it to be.

“There’s nothing to—” She starts to shut the door.

My boot wedges in the frame before it can close. The wood thuds against the leather, jarring. I push it open, step inside, and close the distance between us.

She stumbles back, fear flashing in her eyes, and it tears me open.

“Yes, we do.” I shut the door quietly behind me, my gaze locking with hers. “Something happened.”

Her lips press tightly together. There’s no acknowledgement of my words. Just a whisper, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I should.” I step closer, slowly and deliberately. “You need someone to talk to.”

She snorts, sharp and brittle. For a second, anger burns through the emptiness—and God help me, it feels like salvation to see something in her other than the void.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. And if I did have something to say, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to you.”

The words slice, but I let them. I cross my arms over my chest, steady as bedrock, inching closer to her.

“Then say it anyway.”

Her eyes flash, fury and grief sparking together.

“You left me.” The words tumble out, jagged and raw.

“You let my dad tear us apart, and you didn’t fight.

Not for me. Not for us. You promised you wouldn’t leave, and then you did.

You let me believe I didn’t matter. That I was just…

” Her voice breaks, but she forces it louder. “Disposable.”

Every word is a blade, but I don’t flinch. I take it. I deserve it.

Her fists shake at her sides, her chest heaving. “And now—” She falters, tears spilling over. “Now you think you can just show up here and fix me? You can’t, Everett. You can’t undo what happened.”

I hold my ground, my arms crossed, her storm battering against me.

Her breaths heave out of her lungs. She bites her lower lip, driving me crazy. As much as I want to tug it from her teeth, I can’t. She isn’t mine anymore.

The silence presses heavily around me. I lean in, low and unyielding. “You done?”

Her glare is defiant. She crosses her arms over her chest, not saying a word.

I tilt my head, stepping close enough to feel the tremor in her shoulders. “’Cause I think you’ve got more.”