Page 72 of From the Wreckage
We leave Silverpine behind, trading pine trees and cabins for wide fields and back roads until a squat brick diner with a flickering neon sign comes into view. I ease the bike into the lot, killing the engine. Her arms linger around me for a beat too long before she slips off, tugging at the helmet with a grin that makes my chest feel too tight.
Inside, the place smells like coffee and fried dough. Old ceiling fans swirl overhead, and a glass case displays donuts in every flavor. We grab a booth by the window, two steaming mugs of coffee, and an assortment of donuts on the table between us.
Bri grabs a donut and breaks it in half, licking the glaze from her thumb, and my cock stirs like it doesn’t care that it’s 10 a.m.in broad daylight. I wrap my hands around the mug, trying to steady myself.
The waitress—a gray-haired woman with a soft smile—sets down a napkin dispenser and glances between us. She nods toward the older couple in the next booth, where the man is carefully pouring cream into his wife’s coffee while she teases him about the ratio.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” the waitress says. “Been married forty years. Still dotes on her like it’s their first date.” Then she looks back at us with a knowing smile. “You two remind me of them.”
Her words hang heavy between us.
Bri flushes, her lashes sweeping down as she fiddles with her donut, a small smile tugging at her lips like she likes the sound of it.
My gut twists. Because that’s not us. We’re not husband and wife sharing coffee in some out-of-town diner. We’re a goddamn secret. A risk. A line I’ve already crossed.
Yet when Bri sneaks a glance at me, shy but hopeful, part of me wants to believe it. Wants it so badly it aches.
Before she looks away, I see the question flickering in them. The one I don’t want to face.
What happens when she goes back to college? When we hardly see one another anymore. When she’s around other guys who have a bright future ahead of them. Unlike me, who’s already crashed and burned, destroying my career and life.
I clear my throat, reaching for my coffee. “Guess some people get lucky.”
She looks at me then, hazel eyes soft but uncertain. “Do you think we could get lucky, too?”
Her words hit like a sledgehammer. My chest tightens, torn between the hunger that consumes me and the voice that won’t stop whispering I’ll ruin her.
I don’t answer. I’m not sure I can.
CHAPTER 49
Brielle
The bellabove the diner door jingles as we step out into the sunlight. The air is warm, the scent of sugar and coffee still clinging to me, but that’s not what has my chest buzzing.
It’s the waitress’s words.You two remind me of them.The married couple of forty years. The husband still doting on his wife like it’s new.
Everett hadn’t said anything since, just tossed a couple of bills on the table and walked me out with his hand pressed low against my back. I felt the tension rolling off him in waves.
Now, standing by his bike, I glance up at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes averted as he hooks the chin strap, but I know him well enough to see it. He’s retreating into himself.
“Don’t look so grim,” I tease softly, trying to lighten the air. “She thought we were married. That’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”
His throat works as he swallows, his voice rough. “It’s not reality, Brielle.”
The sting cuts sharper than I expect, but I mask it with a small smile. “Maybe not right now. But it felt nice.” I shrug, trying to make it sound casual, even though my heart is beating too hard. “Being mistaken for yours.”
That gets him. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I see past the shield covering his face to the storm in his eyes. Longing mixes with guilt. It’s so raw it nearly brings me to my knees.
“Angel…” His voice cracks like gravel. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
But I do know. And the fact that he pretends he doesn’t hurts more than I can say.
When he hands me the helmet, his fingers brush mine, sparking heat down my arm. And when I climb onto the bike behind him, determination flows through me. I press myself tightly to his back, wrapping my arms tightly around him.
We aren’t married. Maybe we aren’t supposed to be.
But for a heartbeat, I can pretend.
