Page 74 of From the Wreckage
Bri’s sitting on the bench seat, bare legs stretched out, one hand trailing lazily in the water. The breeze lifts her hair, catching the sunlight, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more dangerously stunning. I stare at her, knowing the truth deep in my heart. I can’t stop wanting her.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, her eyes on the horizon.
“Yeah,” I rasp, but I’m not looking at the lake.
She catches me staring at her, and that smile spreads across her lips. The one that says she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing to me.
I clear my throat, running a hand through my hair.
She shifts closer, her knee brushing mine, and I go rigid. The boat rocks gently under us, but it’s nothing compared to the storm she stirs inside me.
“Relax, Everett,” she teases, her voice low. “It’s just us.”
That’s the problem.
When she stands and steps in front of me, bracing herself with a hand on my shoulder as the boat sways, her body is inches from mine. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her.
“Angel,” I warn, my resistance fraying.
She leans down, her lips close to my ear. “What if I like pushing you this far?”
My hands flex against the seat, fighting the urge to grab her hips and drag her down onto my lap. The water slaps gently against the hull, steady and rhythmic, as if mocking how badly I want to lose control.
She straightens, her fingers brushing my jaw before she drifts to the bow, curling up on the cushions like she owns the boat, just like every inch of me. “Come sit with me,” she says, her tone soft but daring.
When I finally settle beside her, I glance over with a crooked smile. “What’s your favorite holiday?”
Her expression shifts, pensive, as she rests her chin on her knees. “It probably sounds weird, but… Halloween. It’s the one holiday that isn’t about family gatherings.” She gives a dry, humorless laugh. “I used to love April Fool’s Day. Yeah, I know that’s not really a holiday to most people, but back then it wasours. Mom, Dad, and I would compete to see who could pull the first prank without the others figuring it out.”
I tilt my head, studying her. “What happened to change that?”
Her smile fades. Her gaze drifts to the horizon, her voice quiet. “Mom left on April first. She didn’t even stay long enough to make sure I was safe. Just left a note for Dad and dumped me at the neighbor’s house before disappearing.”
Even though I know the story, I want to hear it from her.
She wraps her arms tighter around her knees. “I lay on that woman’s couch for hours, sobbing, wondering if Dad had left me, too. Wondering what I did wrong to make them walk away.”
My chest caves, tight and aching.
“When Dad finally came to get me, I just clung to him and cried. I was relieved I still had him, but I knew something had just changed us forever. He carried me home and tried to make me eat dinner, but I couldn’t. Dread knotted my stomach, knowing things weren’t ever going back to the way they were.” Her voice wavers, but she pushes on. “I asked him if it was my fault. If I did something to make her leave. He squatted down, looked me right in the eyes, and told me there was nothing I could ever do that would make someone leave me. That he’d always stay.”
Her lashes lower, tears glinting in the sunlight. “Dad’s the only one who ever did. Everyone else—Mom, friends I thought I could count on, boyfriends—they all left. But not him.”
The pain in her eyes guts me. I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her damp cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault, angel. You didn’t do anything to make them leave.”
She swallows hard, her eyes shimmering. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She exhales a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. “But you’ll leave too.”
Her words cut straight through my bones, lodging deep.
“I should leave, Bri.” My voice cracks, raw and broken. “We both know if your dad finds out, he’ll be furious with me. It’ll hurt him. It’ll hurt you, especially when your relationship with him is strained because of me. And I shouldn’t…” I drag a hand down my face, shame burning me alive. “I shouldn’t do that to you. To him.”
She doesn’t say a word, but the haunted look in her eyes speaks volumes.
The words scrape out of me like glass. “But even so, I still can’t leave. Maybe it’s because we’re too much alike. Except you’ve got your dad. And me? I’ve got no one.”
Her fingers trace my jawline, soft and certain. “You have me,” she whispers.
I go still, staring into her eyes. My chest twists, restraint splintering. “You’d leave if you knew what I did. How badly I fucked up. How I ruined my future.”
