Page 121 of From the Wreckage
For weeks, I’ve been walking around like a ghost—breathing, moving, speaking—but not living. Not without her.
Now she’s here, clinging to me, burying her face in my jacket, and I swear the air finally rushes back into my lungs.
I crush her against me, terrified that if I let go for even a second, she’ll vanish. My chest aches from how tightly I’m holding her, but I can’t stop. Won’t stop. Not when she feels like home.
Her tears soak into my shirt, hot and silent. I drop my chin to the top of her head, breathing her in like I’m starving. Sunflowers, vanilla, and rain. The scent I’d been chasing in every empty room since the moment she walked out of my life.
I force myself to pull back just enough to see her face.God, she’s beautiful.Even with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen. My thumb drags across her cheekbone, catching a stray tear.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I can’t… I can’t do this life without you, angel.”
Her lips part, trembling, but no words come out. She doesn’t have to say anything. The way she looks at me—like I’m the only solid thing in her crumbling world—says it all.
I’m grateful I heard Grayson’s soft footsteps retreating down the hallway and the creak of his bedroom door closing, giving us space. Thank God he did. Because I’m one second away from breaking apart in front of her.
I bend, pressing my forehead to hers, desperate for her to feel how serious I am. “You don’t have to say a word. Just let me stay. Let me prove I’m not walking away again. Ever.”
Her smile is small, watery, but real. It damn near kills me. “You better not.”
“I promise I’m never leaving. Cross my heart.” I glance at the table behind us, which is covered with plates and food.
“You need to eat, angel,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her cheek one last time before forcing myself to ease back.
She lets out a shaky laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Only if you’ll join us.”
I grin, unable to help it. “You better tell your dad to come out, then. I didn’t mean to interrupt dinner. I just…” My voice drops, rougher now. “I couldn’t be away from you any longer.”
Her fingers slip into mine, squeezing tight. “I’m glad you’re here.” She runs her hands over my shoulders, like she’s convincing herself I’m solid and not about to disappear again.
When she finally lets go, it’s a reluctant, almost painful release. “Let me tell Dad to come out and eat.”
She disappears down the hallway, leaving me standing in the quiet kitchen. My eyes land on the table—two plates, food still steaming, the scent of steak and garlic butter hanging in the air. I rake a hand through my hair, guilt gnawing at me. I shouldn’t stay. This is their time.
But when she returns, Grayson is right behind her. His eyes flick to me, assessing, guarded as always. Then he huffs and jerks his chin toward the table. “Stay. There’s plenty.”
I start to shake my head. “I don’t want to intrude?—”
“Son.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Sit down.”
For a second, I just stare at him, stunned. Then Bri tugs me toward the empty chair, her soft smile undoing me all over again.
The scrape of chairs echoes through the kitchen as the three of us sit down. The table feels too small suddenly, crowded not by space but by everything hanging in the air between us.
Bri dishes mashed potatoes onto her plate, her movements careful and deliberate. I can see it in the way her hand trembles slightly—she’s still raw, still carrying the weight of every word she just confessed. I want to take the plate from her, hold her, do anything to ease the load, but for once, I force myself to stay still.
Grayson clears his throat. “Don’t get used to me sharing my mac and cheese,” he mutters, spooning a generous heap onto his own plate before passing the bowl to me. “I make it once in a blue moon and usually don’t share.”
Bri lets out a soft laugh, her eyes darting between us. “You act like you’re some kind of chef. You made it out of a box.”
He huffs. “Still better than that cardboard stuff you college kids live on.”
I bite back a grin as I take the bowl. “I’ll take your mac and cheese over ramen any day.”
Grayson narrows his eyes, like he’s not sure if I’m mocking him or not. Bri nudges me under the table with her foot, shooting me a look that tells me to behave. For the first time in weeks, my chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in.
Conversation drifts between the three of us, uneven but steady. Bri asks about his job, her dad grumbles about a stubborn engine he worked on, and I chime in here and therewhen it feels right. It’s… normal. And that’s what guts me the most.
Every time I look at her across the table, the way her hair falls around her face, the way she pushes her food around when she’s lost in thought, I feel like I’m starving and finally being fed.
