Page 45 of Broken By Silence
And me, so desperate to escape James and Lorenzo, that I chose the cliff instead of the bus.
Choosing silence instead of survival.
“I didn’t run,” I admit, my voice raw. “I tried to, but then they were there. And I couldn’t do it anymore, so I jumped. I just wanted to be free, I just wanted to disappear.” My hands shake, and I press them against his chest like I’m holding him here, making him hear me. “You saved me, but I couldn’t even save myself.”
Peter’s eyes close, and a strangled sound escapes his throat. “Jesus Christ. Scar…” He pulls me back into him, clutching me so tightly it almost hurts. His chest shakes beneath my cheek, and I know he’s crying. “I thought I failed you when I couldn’t find you. I thought every night about what I could’ve done differently, how I should’ve been stronger, better, clean. If I hadn’t been so weak, I could have saved you.”
“You weren’t weak,” I cut him off, even though part of me still wants to scream it. “You were my dad. You tried.”
He leans back just enough to look at me, tears streaming down his face. “I wasn’t there, Scar. Not the way you needed me to be. And I’ll carry that until the day I die.”
I want to tell him I hate him. I want to tell him I love him. The words clash inside my chest until they come out as another sob, raw and ugly.
Then a voice cutsthrough the moment, sharp and cold.
“Step away from her.”
Will.
I stiffen instantly, my pulse jumping, because I know that tone—deadly, and protective. He’s standing in the doorway to the hall, his eyes dark and unforgiving, his whole body coiled like a predator.
Peter doesn’t let go, but his grip softens, his hands lifting slightlylike he knows how close he is to danger. He turns his head slowly toward Will. “I’m her father.”
“You’re a ghost who’s suddenly decided to crawl back into her life,” Will snaps, moving closer, every word dripping with distrust. “And I don’t give a damn who you are. You don’t get to touch her. Not without proving you deserve to.”
My heart lurches. I step halfway between them, hands trembling. “Will, stop.Please. It’s okay. It’s my dad.”
Will’s gaze cuts to me. “He left you. He didn’t protect you. We’re the ones who picked up the pieces. I’ve seen what happens when he fails you, and I won’t stand by and let it happen again.”
Peter shakes his head quickly, his voice rough but steady. “I didn’t leave her. I sent her away to save her. I gave her everything I had left, and I told her to run because I couldn’t let her mother sell her to that monster. You think I don’t hate myself every day for what happened? For not being enough? But I never stopped looking. I never stopped loving her.”
Will’s jaw flexes, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Love isn’t enough. Do you know what she’s been through? What she’s survived? You don’t get to walk in here and pretend a hug erases the damage of years of abuse and neglect.”
I reach out, gripping Will’s wrist before he can move closer. “Stop. Please.” My voice cracks, but I force it steady. “He’s my dad. I… I can’t lose him again.”
The room goes quiet. Peter’s breathing is uneven. Will’s gaze burns into me like he’s trying to make sure I’m not making a mistake.
Finally, Will exhales sharply through his nose, stepping back a fraction. His voice drops low, turning to Peter. “One wrong move. That’s all it takes. If you hurt her again, I’ll end you.”
Peter doesn’t flinch. He just nods, his eyes still on me. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
I press closer to Peter, clinging to the part of me that’s still a little girl who needed her dad. His arms tighten around me, his breath shuddering as he buries his face in my hair.
Will lingers longerthan I expect, his eyes flicking between us, like he’s debating whether to drag me out of Peter’s arms or put a bullet in his chest. But finally, with a sharp shake of his head, he mutters something under his breath and stalks down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen. The sound of a cupboard slamming tells me exactly how little he approves.
The silence that follows is heavy. My heartbeat is a drum in my ears, my throat dry as I step back slightly from my dad. Peter looks wrecked—his face lined, his eyes wet and glassy, his hands trembling like the weight of holding me again might crush him.
“Come on,” I say quietly, gesturing toward the couch. My voice shakes, but I keep it steady enough. “We need to talk.”
He nods quickly, like he’ll follow me anywhere, and we sit side by side. Not too close, not yet. My body wants to lean into him, but my mind is a storm of questions, doubts, and memories of silence.
I turn to him, searching his face. “Why didn’t you find me sooner?”
His hands scrub over his face, like the question itself hurts. “I tried, Scar. I tried every damn day. After I got out of rehab… Elijah… he was the one who got me in, did you know that?”
My stomach twists. Elijah. The man who took James’s life. The man whose hands are stained with the same blood that destroyed mine. I shake my head stiffly.
Peter continues, his voice low and rough. “He showed up after James died. Said he owed me, owed you. He paid for the program and made sure I stayed long enough to actually get clean. And for the first time in years, I could think straight. And when I did, all I could think about was you. My little girl. I thought you had died, but I couldn’t accept it, not when there wasn’t a body, so I scraped together everything I had and went looking for you.”
