Page 96 of From the Wreckage
By the time I pull into my driveway, misery is already waiting for me.
I’m back where it all began.
And where it ended.
CHAPTER 70
Brielle
Meghan leansagainst the hood of my SUV, sunglasses perched on her nose, scrolling through her phone. When she looks up and sees my face, her smile falters.
“What happened?”
I blow out a breath, fumbling with my keys. “Joey. He switched into my Intro to Sociology class. Sat right beside me. I can’t even drop it because I need the credits to graduate.”
Her brows lift, her tone careful. “That seems… a bit extreme, though.”
I freeze, narrowing my eyes. “Extreme?” My voice sharpens. “Don’t you remember what I said happened in Silverpine? At the bookstore?”
Her expression tightens, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. But it’s gone so fast, I wonder if I imagined it.
I push on. “He grabbed me, Meghan. Refused to let go. He was unhinged.”
She exhales, her shoulders relaxing too deliberately. Then her face softens into practiced concern. “I know there’s a lot that happened with Joey. But maybe… his determination to win you back shows he cares.”
I gape, heat prickling my skin. “What?”
Care? That wasn’t care or determination. It was obsession. Control.
My stomach churns, bile climbing my throat. A true hero would never?—
Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about Everett.
Meghan lifts her hands like she’s surrendering. Her voice is too calm. “I don’t mean to anger you. I just… want you to be happy.”
Happy.The word feels foreign, like a language I can’t remember.
I shrug, turning away, yanking open the driver’s door. “Yeah. Not happening. Not anytime soon.”
As I slide behind the wheel, I swear I catch her watching me from the corner of her eye, something unreadable in her expression.
But when I blink, it’s gone—replaced by the easy, supportive smile of a friend.
We grablunch at our favorite local diner. Meghan chatters about summer internships and how glad she is to be back on campus, her voice casual. Like nothing about our earlier conversation lingered for her.
I nod and laugh in the right places, picking at my salad while her pumpkin latte sits between us on the table, steam rising in the air. On the surface, it feels like old times—Meghan and me having lunch, carefree as we talk and laugh, like the way it was during our first year at Willow Glen. But every so often, unease prickles under my skin, replaying her words about Joey.“His determination shows he cares.”
I force myself to shake it off. Maybe I read too much into it. Perhaps she just phrased it wrong. She’s still Meghan. My roommate, my friend.
After lunch, I drop her off at the campus. She waves as she jogs through the rain toward her next class, clutching her bag against her chest. I watch her go, then sigh and shift into drive, planning to head back to the apartment to study.
But halfway there, the drizzle turns to a steady sheet of rain, blurring the road and drumming against the windshield. And with it comes a flood of memories I can’t stop.
I shouldn’t, but I turn onto the road that leads to Willow Glen Lake.
Twenty minutes later, I’m parked at the edge of the water, the wipers dragging furiously across glass streaked with rain.
The lake ripples under the downpour, silver and restless. My hands clench around the steering wheel, my breath catching as the memory consumes me.
