Page 31 of Break

I look between them, confused. Knox nods to me. “Now you can splint it. Or tape it. It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Make it hurt, sweetheart. I broke my hand on your dad’s face. Rub it in a bit,” Jaxon says.

Knox snorts and walks out. He’s done with whatever’s going on, but my brow furrows. I don’t get why Jaxon thanked him. Jax watches as I tape his fingers. I swallow. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“Why did you thank him for hurting you?” I ask, probably using more tape than necessary.

“They leave it out of the textbooks, but ‘mean’ is a love language. You’ve seen him with most people. All charming and gentle or utterly silent, right?” Jaxon asks.

“You’re going to bruise,” I say. “Badly. I wouldn’t recommend playing on this.”

Jaxon’s eyes snare mine, holding me in place. I don’t want to focus on him. Not like this. I don’t want towantto understand. I just want things to be what they were these last seven years. I was free. I was totally and completely…

“When someone is different with you, when they show you who they are, that’s how they connect,” he says. “Remember that.”

I sigh. “Remember what I said. I don’t want flowers, Jaxon. I don’t want you three threatening or beating my dad. No matter what, it’s going to be too little, too late,” I say with half the resolve I want to say. “There were opportunities you missed, and I will never be able to trust you three.”

He watches me for a long, intense moment. It’s like he can tell me something if he just stares deep enough into my soul, but that’s not how life works. I should know. How many times did I try to get people to understand by showing the bruises? By giving them my most hopeful eyes, by essentially spelling it out?

“Hope,” he breathes.

“I’m serious. Professional only,” I hiss.

I think that will be the end of it. He walks out. He glances back once with his brow furrowed, and something in me cracks a little. My dad lied to them too. I’m sure of it. They were young, impressionable, saw truth and authority in him, but—but I was there too. I needed help, and they pushed me further and further down.

Even if I saw that flash in Jaxon’s eyes as he picked me up. Even though I saw the indecision on his face when he set me in Knox’s apartment, even though he punctuated my ‘no’ with a fist to the face… It was too late.

Too late.

Those two words echo through my head as I clean until I hear the door close. The hair on the back of my neck tingles, and I spin to see Dimitri.

“Fuck off, I’m closed. Practice is over, you’re not injured,and—”

He closes the space between us fast. He grips my arms, then looks at my hands on his chest, fingers spread wide as I shake. His stormy eyes drink me in, but it’s new. It’s like he’s seeing ghosts of the past. He shakes his head and focuses on me.

“Sweetheart, look at me, really look at me right now,” he orders.

I grit my teeth. I want to look away, but that feels like losing. So, I stare him down.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to believe. That’s on me, and nothing I can ever do will fix it. I get that. But whatwedid…”

“Was just as bad, and talking about it won’t change it,” I say. “I’ve been through enough. Just leave me—”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t want it. You were forced into it. But you liked it,” he insists, moving closer until his body is against mine. “It was wrong, dirty, terrible in plenty of ways, but we are terrible, all of us. And the only way we know how to feel is by choosing how we’re broken.”

I snort. “I didn’t choose that.”

“So you didn’t choose to move your mouth over my cock. You didn’t choose to watch me, to arch for the guys when they were inside you. You didn’t choose to grab my ass to have more of me, to leave scratches on me from how hard your grip was?”

It twists the memory. I know I came. I know that can happen. I know… I know that things get twisted. I moaned, I sucked. I licked. I arched and at some point, I welcomed the orgasm because it was bliss itself, but…

But that doesn’t fix things. I try to look away, but Dimitri turns my cheek—my cheek, not my chin. His touch is almost gentle, and I hate it because it’s like I’m made of glass now, something that he has to be gentle with because my shattered self is held together by flimsy tape.

They fucked me when I was already sharp and broken. No amount of softness will change it. I had to glue myself back together.

“You liked it,” he says gently. “And that’s not a bad thing. It started bad, worse than bad, and I know that, but don’t say that you didn’t like being filled with us, having our attention, and us.”

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