Page 58 of From the Wreckage
I shut my eyes, battling myself. Every reason to saynoroars through me—her father, my past, the danger I’ll drag her into just by letting this go on.
But the image of her sneaking across the trail, the moonlight catching on her hair as she makes her way to me… It unravels everything.
My fingers hover over the screen, trembling, before I finally type what I swore I wouldn’t.
Me: Door will be unlocked. See you soon.
When the dots disappear and the screen goes dark again, I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, dragging in a ragged breath.
Guilt still gnaws at me. But underneath it, stronger, louder, undeniable—is something else. Anticipation.
I hang my head, knowing this won’t end well, but still powerless to resist the allure of her.
Every part of me screams that I should stop this. That I should walk across the lake to Grayson’s place right now, confess everything, and let him beat the hell out of me if that’s what it takes to end this.
But then I remember the look in her eyes when she whispered she was mine. The way her body trembled under my hands, trusting me, wanting me.
I sigh, the truth slapping me in the face. I’ll never be strong enough to turn her away. Not when she’s already carved herself into every breath, every thought, every goddamn heartbeat I have left.
So I sit in the silence, my muscles tight, every tick of the clock dragging me closer to her footsteps on my porch.
Closer to ruin. Closer to her.
The minutes crawl by, each one heavier than the last.
I pace the cabin, my jaw tight, my hands restless, telling myself this is the last time. The last secret. The last night I let her undo me like this.
But I’m a liar.
Because when my phone buzzes, I don’t hesitate.
Angel: On my way.
My chest seizes, then loosens in the same breath. The guilt digs in deeper, but so does the need.
I don’t reply. I don’t trust what I’d say.
I react to her message with a heart, then wait.
Twenty minutes feel like a lifetime.
Then I hear three soft knocks against my door.
I freeze, my pulse slamming against my ribs.
I drag a hand down my face as I move. Grabbing the doorknob, I pull it open.
And there she is.
Her hair’s down, tumbling around her shoulders. She’s in a loose hoodie that hits mid-thigh, her legs bare, her eyes glittering in the dark like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Hi,” she whispers, her lips curving, almost shy, but not enough to hide the heat behind her eyes.
Something in me breaks.
I don’t even bother answering. I just haul her inside, slam the door shut, and kiss her.
It’s not gentle or careful. It’s raw need and pent-up hunger, all my restraint unraveling in seconds.
