Page 27 of From the Wreckage
We go back to talking about easier things—books we love, places we’d travel if money didn’t matter.
On the drive back, she threads her fingers through mine. She’s quiet, yet there’s a content look on her face.
“Text me tonight?” she asks softly as we pull into her driveway.
“Every chance I get.”
I kiss her goodnight, slow and lingering, before walking her to her porch. She disappears inside, and the second the door shuts, I already want to see her again.
The Timberline is loud,crowded, and smells like spilled beer. A band is crammed into the corner, playing too close to the pooltables. I spot Grayson at the bar, nursing a draft. He claps me on the shoulder when I join him.
“Good to see you, man.” His grin is easy. “Been too damn long since I had someone to shoot pool with.”
We play a few rounds, trading jabs, the noise of the band rattling the floor. After his second beer, Grayson leans against his cue. “My kiddo is having a rough summer. Boyfriend crap. Then a little accident on top of it.” His jaw tightens before he shakes his head. “I’m throwing a surprise dinner for her tomorrow. Just a small thing. A couple of her friends. You should come. Keep me company around the youngsters—and meet her.”
My stomach knots. The last thing I want is to sit at some family dinner pretending like I belong.
But Grayson’s looking at me like he needs this. Like he’s reaching out.
I run a hand through my hair, then nod once. “Alright. I’ll come.”
His grin is wide. “Good.” He starts to say something else, but the band kicks up again, loud enough to make conversation impossible.
When the noise dims slightly, he yells into my ear, “I’ll text you the address.”
I nod.
We play more pool and drink more beer. And every time Grayson disappears to the restroom, I pull out my phone, typing quick messages to Bri.
Missing her. Wishing I was with her.
And every time her reply comes through, a smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
CHAPTER 20
Everett
Grayson’s textcomes in just after midnight, once I’m already back home.
Grayson: Thanks again for tonight. I’ll send you the address tomorrow.
I drop onto the couch, still buzzing from too much noise and beer. But it isn’t the band I’m thinking about. It’s her. Always her.
I grab my phone and send her a text.
Me: Just got home. Played pool. Band was loud. Miss you.
Her reply comes quickly.
Brielle: Miss you too. Wish you were here.
We talk until our words blur into yawns. Finally, she sends me a “goodnight, my savior”text, and I fall asleep with the phone in my hand, dreaming of her smile.
The next day,her text hits me harder than it should.
Brielle: Running errands with Dad. Won’t be able to see you today.
I tell her it’s fine. That I get it. And I do… but it doesn’t stop the restless ache.
