Page 50 of From the Wreckage
I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my mouth against hers. It’s easier than telling her the truth—that the dream wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory.
My past returned to haunt me last night.
And if she ever knew the whole of it, she might look at me differently.
Or she might not look at me at all.
The morning stretcheswarm and slow, sunlight spilling across the sheets. Bri’s still tucked against me, her bare legs tangled with mine, her head resting over my heart. For once, I let myself lie here and breathe in her floral shampoo, sun-warmed skin, and the faintest trace of my own scent clinging to her.
She shifts, her hand splaying over my chest. “Mmm. This is heaven.”
I chuckle softly, kissing the top of her head. “Not sure I can compete with coffee.”
Her laugh is muffled against me. “Oh, you’ve officially outranked coffee. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”
We stay like that, trading small murmurs and soft kisses, until her smile falters. The shift is subtle, but I feel the way her body goes still, her eyes glassy as her thoughts turn inward.
I tip her chin up. “What is it?”
She bites her lip before whispering, “The Fourth of July makes me sad. It means the semester will be starting soon.”
The words land like a blade. College. Her world brimming with beginnings—friends, classes, a future wide open. And mine… Well, mine ended years ago. My career gone in twisted metal and fire. My life reduced to scraps I’ve been trying to piece back together.
I go rigid without meaning to. My thoughts churn, dark and sharp. What happens when she goes back? When she’s surrounded by people her own age, vibrant and full of the same restless energy she has? She’ll wake up one day and realize she doesn’t need me. That she deserves someone who can give her a future I can’t.
Her fingers trace my jaw, searching my face. “Everett?”
I force a small smile that doesn’t reach the melancholy clinging to my chest. “Just thinking.”
Before she can press, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Grayson’s name lights the screen.
Grayson: Got another project if you’re free today.
I rake a hand through my hair, guilt settling heavy in my gut. He’s become a friend, and if he knew the truth about last night—about his daughter in my bed—he’d put me through the damn wall.
I don’t answer right away. But Bri does what she always does. She reads me like a book.
“It’s Dad, isn’t it?”
I nod, a heavy sigh blowing from my lips.
“Take me to Pine and Page,” she says softly.
My brows pull together. “Bri?—”
“I’ll browse for a while. Drink a latte. Then I’ll text Dad to come get me. I’ll tell him Meghan had to leave for a family thing.” Her eyes are steady, even though I see the flicker of guilt in them too. “It’ll be fine.”
I drag a hand down my face, every instinct torn between wanting to keep her close and knowing we’re walking a knife’s edge already. “Bri?—”
“He’ll never know.” Her eyes catch mine, steady, even as guilt flickers there.
I glance at her. I should argue. I should put space between us. Instead, I nod, because I can’t deny her anything. “All right. Pine and Page.”
I respond to Grayson’s text.
Me: Sure. What time?
His reply is instant.
