Page 120 of From the Wreckage
My stomach roils. “They aren’t my friends. Meghan practically handed me to him on a silver platter.”
“I’m gonna kill that bastard. Then overwater all her houseplants.”
A choked half-sob/half-laugh comes out of me. “You can’t, Dad. And as far as her plants... hopefully they all die.”
He hugs me, tucking me against him like when I was a little girl.
“I knew something bad had happened, but I had no idea....”
“Why would you? I never thought it would happen to me.” I slump against him, once again feeling broken. Damaged beyond repair.
My dad pulls back slightly. “Don’t, Bri. Don’t think you’re ruined. Broken. You’re not to me.” He pushes my hair away from my tear-stained face. “And not to Everett, either.”
I blink at him, still shocked by the change in his attitude toward Everett.
“I asked him to talk to you. I felt helpless. Like I couldn’t break through. But he did.”
I nod. “He told me to tell you.” I force a smile. “Although he didn’t tell me to blurt it out like that.”
My dad gives me a slight smile. “You know I’m all about honesty, Bri.”
I nod, a small smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah... I do.” My eyes move to a spot on the wall. Not just a spot. The place Everett was sitting when I came out of my bedroom.
“He told me telling you wouldn’t change the way you see me. That you love me too much for anything to do that.”
My dad nods. “He’s right. Man’s scoring serious brownie points.”
“I miss him.” The words taste like defeat. Like hope I shouldn’t have.
Then a knock rattles the door, and my heart nearly stops. For one dizzying second, I let myself believe.
Dad and I exchange a look before he stands. He opens the door, and when Everett steps inside, wearing a pair of dark jeans, the leather jacket he wore when we danced in the rain, and a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in his hand, I swear the world tilts back into place.
His eyes find mine, and I melt. He extends the flowers toward me. “These are for you.”
My fingers slide beneath my sweatshirt, grasping the sunflower pendant I never let go of.
His gaze catches it, his breath hitching, jaw tightening like he’s holding back a flood. When his eyes meet mine, I see it. Hope. And something deeper, sharper. Something that looks a whole hell of a lot like love.
“You’re still wearing it.”
I nod, tears streaming. “I never take it off.”
The flowers blur between us as I launch myself into his arms.
And just like I knew he would, he catches me instantly, holding me so tightly it steals my breath, as if letting go isn’t an option. I bury my face in his jacket, clinging to him.
For a moment, I forget the rest. The trauma. The pain. Even my dad in the background. All I feel is safe.
Safe… and loved.
“Goddamn onions,” Dad mutters behind us, his voice thick, the sound of his footsteps retreating toward his bedroom, giving us privacy.
CHAPTER 90
Everett
She’sin my arms again.
