Page 101 of From the Wreckage
“Probably.”
“Then stick with them. Have some fun.” His voice softens, but then he sighs hard, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t want you with Joey. But you do need to get over…” His throat works, like the word itself costs him. “Everett.”
The name hangs in the air, heavy and final.
My chest caves, the echo of his voice slicing through me. I nod stiffly, but inside, I’m unraveling.
I force my lips into a weak curve, hoping it passes for a smile before I lower my gaze. My nails dig crescent moons into my palm, the only thing keeping me from breaking right there.
That’s the problem. Ican’tget over Everett.
Hell, it’s barely been two weeks, and everyone expects me to move on. To bounce back from what we had. Or what I thought we did.
Every minute of silence reminds me of what happened. The memory of him not fighting for us cuts sharper than any gossip or lecture. And I still feel his touch in every phantom breath of air.
I end the call quickly, choking on the lump in my throat. Dad’s words replay, merciless.“You need to get over Everett.”
But how do you get over someone who makes you believe in forever—and then leaves you with nothing but empty promises?
CHAPTER 74
Brielle
The stadium lightsblaze against the September sky, flooding the field and stands with artificial daylight. The noise hits me the second we climb the bleachers—horns, whistles, and the drumline pounding out a rhythm that reverberates in my chest. Students are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, painted in school colors, their laughter and chants rolling like waves through the metal stands.
It should feel exciting. Nostalgic, even. My senior year of college. One last round of games and traditions before everything changes. But instead, I feel like a ghost moving through it all.
“See?” Meghan nudges me, balancing nachos in one hand as we weave through the crowd. “This is what you needed. A distraction. Fun. Normal.”
Normal.The word tastes bitter.
I force a smile anyway, hugging the sweatshirt tighter around me as we squeeze into an empty row. The bench is cold beneath me, metal vibrating with the stomping of feet.
The field below explodes with energy—cheerleaders flipping, the crowd roaring as the ball snaps. Joey, our quarterback,launches it downfield in a perfect spiral, and the receiver sprints into the end zone. The stands erupt.
“Joey! Joey!” students chant, pounding the metal with their fists.
And there he is—the center of it all. Helmet tucked beneath his arm as he jogs off the field, his blond hair damp with sweat, his grin dazzling as teammates slap his back. Under the floodlights, Joey looks untouchable. The golden boy. Campus idol.
But I see the sharp edge in his smile, the glint in his eyes that doesn’t belong.
He waves at us, his eyes on me. Meghan nudges me with her elbow. “He looks handsome as hell with that new haircut. Don’t cha think, Bri?”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t argue. Not here. Not with Meghan watching me like a hawk, hoping I’ll give her the answer she wants to hear. Not with thousands of students’ eyes on him, chanting his name like he’s some kind of hero.
Instead, my gaze drifts upward, past the scoreboard and floodlights, to where the clouds are tinged pink at the edges, just like sunsets on the lake back home. My chest constricts. For a moment, I swear I can almost hear Everett’s laugh under the noise, the low rasp of his voice calling meangel.I blink hard, willing the memory away.
The game blurs after that. Our team wins, the crowd spilling onto the field, horns blaring, confetti flying from the student section. Everyone around me is glowing, buzzing with hope for the season ahead.
But none of it touches me.
By the time Meghan tugs me toward the stairs, my head is pounding.
And that’s when I see him.
Helmet gone, hair damp and curling at his temples, Joey cuts across the field with that too-bright smile. His stride is confident, shoulders squared, the crowd parting for him like he owns the place.
“Bri!” he calls, his voice carrying over the noise.
