Page 65 of Broken By Silence
“Nothing criminal,” I say sweetly. “Yet.”
Crew materializes behind him, already reaching for one of the boxes, but I smack his hand away. Roman follows, slower, more cautious, his shoulders tense like he’s preparing for a trap. Before they can ask questions, I shove the boxes into their arms. “Care packages,” I announce with a flourish. “Open them.”
That’s the exact moment Archer wanders in, tugging a hoodie over his head, and Oscar trails behind him. Oscar spots the pile of torn cardboard and raises his brows at me in silent question. I mouth, “wait and see.”He grins, slides onto a stool, and elbows Archer in the ribs to make sure he’s paying attention.
Crew goes first, naturally. He tears into his with the reckless enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas. His grin falters the second he pulls out the pink satin eye mask with ‘killer’stitched across it in sparkly letters.
“What the?—”
“Self-care,” I explain innocently.
Oscar barks out a laugh, catching the gist without hearing a word, just from Crew’s expression. Archer smirks, arms folded across his chest, clearly settling in to enjoy the show.
Crew digs deeper. He pulls out the lavender-and-oat-milk candle labeled ‘To calm your inner dickhead’and holds it up like he’s been personally attacked. His eyebrows shoot skyward. “Really?”
“There’s more,” I say, all sugar.
The stress ball comes next, molded into the shape of a gun. Crew squeezes it once, snorts, and mutters, “Okay, that’s kind of genius.”
Finally, he hits the jackpot. The book. ‘How to fix your inner sad boy and stop being a pussy.’
Crew stares at the cover for two whole seconds before bursting into laughter so hard he nearly drops it. “You’re a savage, baby,” he wheezes. “I love it.”
Elijah’s turn.
He opens his box slowly, deliberate, as if bracing for an actual bomb. The pink eye mask earns me a flat, unimpressed glare. The candle gets a resigned sigh. The gun-shaped stress ball—a twitch at the corner of his mouth he tries and fails to smother.
But when he reaches the book ‘Working through your gaslighting tendencies, ‘ he makes a strangled sound. Almost a laugh, almost a groan. He immediately clears his throat and mutters, “Thank you, wife.”
“Therapy in a box,” I chirp, ignoring the way the word ‘wife’ on his tongue makes me feel. “You’re welcome.”
Oscar slaps Archer’s arm,“She’s not wrong.”Then cracks up at Elijah’s expression.
Archer signs back.“Not his wife, though.”
Finally, Roman.
He doesn’t tear into it like Crew, doesn’t inch through it like Elijah. He just opens the box, methodical, eyes wary. He pulls out the mask, no comment. The candle, no comment. His jaw ticks, his grip on the stress ball lingers longer than it should, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to crush it or throw it at my head.
And then the book.
‘You emotionally torture people… Why?’
For a second, he just stares at it. The silence thickens until even the air feels breakable. My pulse spikes, waiting for the explosion—the bite, the glare, the venom… everything I’m used to from him. But then he huffs a laugh. His shoulders shake, and suddenly he’s laughing for real, head tipped forward, one hand dragging down his face.“Oh, fuck off,” he mutters, still grinning.
Crew blinks like he’s just been robbed of a once-in-a-lifetime moment. “You can’tlikeit. That ruins the whole point.”
Roman tosses the book onto the counter with a thud, still chuckling. “It’s not wrong, though, is it?”
Archer snorts, a smirk spreading slow and smug. “Not even a little.”
Oscar signs something quick and then dissolves into silentlaughter. Archer translates between snorts. “He says Elijah should ask for the sequel.‘How not to marry someone without their consent.”
Roman actually laughs harder, his shoulders shaking, his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to keep it in and failing. The sound is raw but real, spilling into the room as if it hadn’t existed in years.
I’m frozen, but not with fear.
For the first time in forever, his laughter doesn’t cut like a knife. It doesn’t sound cruel or mocking or like he’s sharpening it on my skin. It just sounds… human.
