Page 91 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

Warmth. That’s the first thing I register when I wake. Not the cold emptiness of the last few weeks. Not the nightmares that rip me out of sleep, leaving me gasping. Just warmth. Solid. Steady. Safe.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the thin strips of morning light sneaking through the blinds. Then I feel the steady rise and fall beneath my cheek, the strong arm banded tightly around my waist, the soft thud of a heartbeat under my ear.

Everett.

A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. My hand drifts over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles twitch even in sleep. I curl closer, greedy for every bit of him, like if I let go, he might vanish.

For the first time since that night, I don’t feel ruined. I don’t feel dirty or broken. I just feel… safe.

I tilt my head, looking up at him. His lashes rest against his cheeks, his jaw rough with stubble. Even in sleep, there’s tension in his features, like he’s fighting battles in his dreams. My chest aches for him.

My thumb brushes over the edge of his jaw, soft and reverent. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, tightening his hold on me as if his body knows I belong here.

I close my eyes again, letting myself sink into the comfort of his embrace, memorizing the weight of him, the scent of leather and soap, the quiet peace that’s wrapped around me like a shield.

For the first time in forever, I believe I can heal. Because in his arms… I already feel halfway there.

Everett shifts beneath me, finally stirring awake. His arm tightens around me before his eyes open, like letting go isn’t an option.

“Morning, angel,” he rasps, his voice rough with sleep.

Something warm unfurls in my chest at the sound. I press a kiss against his jaw before whispering, “Morning.”

We stay tangled together for a while, the silence companionable, the kind I never thought we’d get back. Eventually, though, reality presses in, and the words sitting heavy on my tongue demand to be spoken.

“Everett?”

“Hmm?” He tips his head, eyes still closed, but I feel the brush of his lips against my hair.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can go back to campus yet.”

That makes his eyes open, sharp and concerned. He shifts just enough to look at me. “Bri….”

“I know what you’re gonna say. That I shouldn’t let him take anything else from me.

That I should keep moving forward. But right now?

” My throat tightens, but I push through.

“Right now, the thought of walking those halls, pretending I’m fine, sitting in classes like nothing happened… I can’t. I’m not ready.”

His hand comes up, cupping my cheek. There’s no judgment in his gaze, only fierce protectiveness. “Then don’t. You don’t owe anyone anything. Least of all that place.”

A tear slips free, and I nod, relief loosening the knot in my chest.

Later, at breakfast, I sit across from Dad at the kitchen table, Everett at my side. My fork scrapes against the plate as I finally say it out loud.

“I think I’m going to take a leave of absence from college. I don’t want to go back right now.”

Dad’s fork stills halfway to his mouth. His brows draw together, but not with anger—just worry. He sets the fork down, folding his hands. “That’s a big decision.”

“I know.” I glance between him and Everett, drawing strength from both of them. “But it’s mine. And I need to breathe before I can face all of that again.”

Dad studies me for a long moment, then exhales slowly. “Okay. Then we’ll figure it out.”

Just like that, some of the weight on my shoulders lifts. Not gone. But lighter.

I glance at Everett, and the look in his eyes—relief, pride, love—tells me I made the right choice.