Page 51 of From the Wreckage
Grayson: Already got the tools out. Come by whenever.
Me: Cool. See you in a little bit.
I set my phone down and pull her against me one more time, pressing a kiss to her temple, the guilt coiling tighter in my chest.
She deserves a clean kind of love. And all I know how to give her is one built on lies.
By the timewe reach her favorite bookstore, the sky is pale and hazy, heavy with summer heat. She slips her hand into mine before we pull into the lot, squeezes once, then releases it as if even that brief touch is dangerous.
When I park, she leans over, presses a soft kiss to my jaw, and whispers, “I’ll see you soon.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing inside with her hair swinging loose down her back.
I sit there a beat longer, gripping the wheel until my knuckles ache. Watching her leave feels like tearing something vital out of me.
CHAPTER 34
Everett
Grayson’s cabinsmells like sawdust and sweat, the rhythmic thud of hammers and groans of old boards filling the afternoon air. He works beside me, whistling a tune. Relaxed. Easy. Jovial. The opposite of the storm curdling in my chest.
Every swing of my hammer feels heavier. Every laugh he lets out twists the guilt deeper. He doesn’t know I spent the night with his daughter. Doesn’t know she’s still on my skin, in my head, branded into every thought.
“Not bad, huh?” Grayson straightens, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. He nods at the section of railing we just finished replacing. “We make a pretty good team.”
“Yeah,” I force out, my jaw tight.
He grins, reaching for another board. “You oughta come out to the bar with Tom and me next Sunday. Shoot some pool. Have a couple of beers. Enjoy good company.”
The thought makes my stomach knot. Sitting across from him, pretending that I didn’t betray him last night.
But if I refuse, he’ll notice. He’ll wonder. And I can’t afford that.
“Okay,” I say finally, nodding once.
His smile widens, like I just gave him a gift. “Awesome.”
We fall into a rhythm—him measuring, me cutting, working in quiet harmony. For a moment, I almost let myself forget the guilt clawing at me. Almost.
Then his phone buzzes on the railing. He wipes his hands and picks it up, squinting at the screen. “Text from Bri,” he says easily, like it’s nothing. He reads it aloud.
“I’m at Pine and Page. Can you come get me? No rush.”
The hammer slips in my grip, my body tensing so hard it aches.
His brow furrows. “Thought she was with Meghan in Willow Creek?” he mumbles.
I lean down and grab the hammer before he notices I dropped it. I’m sweating even more beneath the hot sun, my vision tunneling, worried her plan isn’t foolproof.
Luckily, he doesn’t notice my reaction. Just reads her text and says, “Oh, Meghan had a family thing.” He looks up at me. “My kiddo’s always wandering that bookstore. Not sure if she spends more money on lattes or books.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m lucky, though. She could have far worse habits.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“You mind grabbing her? I want to finish this section before it gets dark.”
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. My lungs seize, my pulse pounding in my ears.He trusts me. He’s asking me to bring his daughter home. His daughter, who is wearing the necklace I gave her beneath her shirt.
I swallow hard, gripping the hammer until the wood bites into my palm. “Yeah. I’ll get her.”
