Page 112 of From the Wreckage
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.
CHAPTER 83
Everett
By the timeI 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.
