Page 1 of From the Wreckage
CHAPTER 1
Everett
The “Welcome to Silverpine”sign rolls past my window, the paint faded from too many rough winters. I squint at the lettering below it. Population: 4,208. Small enough to know your neighbor’s business before they know it themselves.
My gut churns at the thought.God, I hope I’m not making a mistake moving here.
The air in the cab of my truck suddenly feels claustrophobic. I crack the window, and the scent of pine, lake water, and something warm that reminds me of summers I don’t want to think about rolls inside me. My engine rumbles down Main Street, a U-Haul tagging along behind me. My Harley Fat Bob 114 motorcycle wedged into the bed like it’s hanging on for dear life.
I pass Kincaid’s Custom Motorcycle Repair & Restoration, the kind of shop that looks like it’s been here forever. Karns Grocery is next. Its front windows are filled with handwritten signs and a crate of watermelons out front. A store with a sign that reads Lockwood Hardware sits wedged between a nail salon and The Pine & Page, a combination bookstore and coffee shop with flowers spilling from window boxes. There’s even a bar, The Timberline, its sign swinging gently in the breeze.
Small town America. Never thought I’d live here.
I’m halfway through wondering if I’ll actually set foot in any of these places when the stoplight ahead turns red. I ease my foot off the gas and press the brake.
That’s when I see her.
Her long chestnut hair hangs down her back, fiery streaks catching the afternoon sun, illuminating her like she’s lit from the inside. She’s walking down the sidewalk, confidence mixed with a sense of peace. A bag with The Pine & Page in large letters swings by her side, and there’s a to-go cup of iced coffee in her other hand. The hem of her summer dress dances with her stride, showing off tanned legs that shouldn’t catch my attention, but they do.
She steps off the curb and into the crosswalk, right in front of my truck. For half a second, her head turns, and her hazel eyes collide with mine.
Something sharp, uninvited, and dangerous punches through me. It’s like being struck by lightning—a bright flash of light before tingles roll through me. My grip tightens on the steering wheel like I’m holding on for dear life. To what, I don’t know.
The moment is brief but charged before she turns her head, her attention focused on the street in front of her. But damn, that moment is seared into my brain like it means something, though it shouldn’t.
Get a damn grip.You don’t know her. And you’re too broken for someone who glows like a goddess.
She reaches the other side of the street, turns down Maple Road, and disappears from view.
The light turns green, and I hit the gas, heading toward my new home.
But the memory of the brunette doesn’t fade.
By the timeI reach Pinecrest Drive, the buildings have given way to trees. The road narrows, winding along the lake’s edge until I pull onto Cedar Bend Road. The cabin I bought sight unseen sits at the end, tucked into pine trees, with a view of Silverpine Lake from the backyard.
Across the water, barely visible through the trees, is another cabin. I don’t know who lives there and don’t plan to find out. I’m here for solitude, not to make friends.
For a moment, my old life flashes before my eyes. I hiss, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The memory is painfully sharp and acute.
This is why I can’t let anyone get close to me. It hurts too damn much.
I cut the engine and climb out. My gaze roams over the cabin. It needs a little work, but overall, it’s in decent shape. It was formerly used as a summer rental until the owner retired and moved to Florida. When he put it up for sale, I snatched it up without seeing anything other than some online photos.
My gaze scans the porch, yard, and the part of the shed out back that’s visible from this angle. There are enough projects here to keep me busy, which will help with the boredom that’s sure to settle in.
After unhooking the U-Haul from my truck, I get in and back it through the yard to the shed. There’s a small garage attached to it, big enough to store my motorcycle and maybe a fishing boat.
I cut the engine and get out. The Harley sits wedged in the bed, matte black paint dulled by road dust, the low-slung stanceas mean as the day I bought it. It’s one of the few things I didn’t sell when everything went to hell.
I drop the tailgate and pull out the boards. Once they’re in place, I start the slow process of backing it down without help. I don’t have any family or friends anymore. Not since the tragedy that wrecked my football career and burned my life to the ground.
And if I’m honest? The more distance I put between myself and that life, the better. Silverpine is far enough away that no one here should know my name or the headlines that come with it.
Once the bike is unloaded, I fire it up, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia filling me.
It’s just me now… And the image of a girl in a summer dress, haunting me even though she shouldn’t.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I’m bad news. A broken man who barely pulled himself from the wreckage of my past.
