Page 82 of From the Wreckage
She stirs, lifting her head. Her hair is tangled, her lips swollen, her eyes hazy with sleep. “It’s dawn,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I brush my fingers through her hair, wanting to keep her here forever. “Go back to sleep.”
But she shakes her head, mischief sparking in her gaze. “Race you to the lake.”
At first, I think she’s joking. Then she bolts from the bed, laughter spilling from her lips that are still swollen from my kiss. She yanks my shirt over her head like armor.
“Bri—”
Too late. She’s out the door, bare legs flashing in the early light, sprinting toward the dock.
I curse, scrambling after her, pulling my boxers on as I go. My lungs are burning with panic and something dangerously close to joy.
She dives off the dock, a clean arc shattering the glassy surface. By the time I hit the water, she’s already surfaced, hair slicked back, laughing like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I drag her into my arms, her smile and laughter contagious, infecting me with a joy I’ve never felt before.
And it hits me hard—I’ll be destroyed if I ever lose her.
There’s no coming back from this. No erasing the sight of her glowing in the morning light, calling my name like it belongs to her.
I don’t regret a damn thing.
But I know, when this ends, it’ll destroy me worse than the wreck ever did.
CHAPTER 57
Brielle
The lake is shockinglycold at dawn, but I don’t care. I dive, surface, and splash water into Everett’s face, laughing until my sides ache. He catches me easily, his strong arms looping around my waist as I try to wriggle away.
“Cheater,” I gasp, kicking and splashing against him.
“You’re shivering.” His low voice stills me more than the water. His hand skims down my arm, goosebumps rising beneath his touch. “Angel, you’re freezing.”
Before I can protest, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, striding out of the lake with me clinging to his neck. My laughter dies into something quieter and softer, because even drenched and dripping, he’s still so careful with me.
Inside the cabin, he sets me down just long enough to strip my wet T-shirt away, his hands gentle, almost reverent. He nudges me into the shower, twisting the faucet until warm water cascades over us. Steam rises, wrapping us in heat.
He steps in behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his hands smoothing body wash across my skin. Not hurried or hungry. Just slow, patient strokes, as if he wants to learn every inch of me all over again. His lips trail over my shoulder, myneck, the shell of my ear, until I’m sighing under both the warm water and his kisses.
By the time he turns off the water, I’m boneless. He wraps me in a towel, rubbing me dry like I’m something precious, not a secret he shouldn’t keep.
“You’re spoiling me,” I tease, warmth pooling in my chest.
His grin is devastating, boyish, and unguarded. “Every moment of every single day, if I could.”
He carries me to his bedroom, wrapping me in one of his tees, and then pulls on a pair of sweats. Lifting me in his arms, his feet slap the wooden floor until he lays me on the couch, tucking a blanket around me. He turns the TV to my favorite show, then moves to the kitchen.
Instead of watching it, I watch him. The way his scarred back shifts beneath the waistband of his gray sweatpants. His dark hair sticks up since he didn’t bother to comb it. The muscles in his shoulders bunch and shift as he reaches for mugs.
The domesticity of it steals the breath from my lungs.
When he sets an iced caramel latte in front of me, I gasp. “You bought that machine for me, didn’t you? Just so you could make this.”
He leans down, brushing his mouth over mine, a whisper against my lips. “Of course. Anything for you.”
Tears sting my eyes, but before I can speak, he’s already back in the kitchen, pulling out flour, chocolate chips, eggs. The smell of sizzling bacon fills the cabin.
