Page 73 of Broken By Silence
Crew grins like Christmas came early. “He likes us.”
“Don’t push it,”Oscar signs, but there’s no venom in it.
I sit back, watching them—the men she’s tied to, the men I swore I’d never trust—sharing a language, however broken. And forthe first time, I agree with it when Oscar signs,“If she wants you, then I’m okay with it.”
His fingers linger a little longer than usual on those words.
And just like that, the air lightens. Roman smirks into his drink. Crew butchers a joke in sign that makes Oscar roll his eyes. Elijah, stiff as ever, corrects his hand shape with deadpan seriousness.
For the first time tonight, the five of us aren’t circling each other like predators.
We’re closer somehow, and it’s all for Lottie.
Chapter 26
Lottie
The beach is too bright.
The kind of light that doesn’t let you hide. The waves glitter like someone smashed a mirror across the surface, throwing shards of sun back into my eyes. I dig my toes into the sand, damp and cold beneath the top layer, and let the tide creep close enough to kiss my ankles before it slinks away again.
I finally feel like I can breathe again.
It’s been a few days since the gym, since all the men decided to punch their way into some warped version of peace. But I can’t deny it hasn’t been nice. There’s less glaring across the dining table, which is something I never thought would happen.
Now it’s quiet. Just the sea and me until I hear his voice.
“Scar?”
The nickname hits hard. I turn. Dad’s coming down the slope from the car park, jacket zipped, hands buried in his pockets, squinting against the light. He looks smaller than I remember—leaner, clearer. He doesn’t have that jitter in his step anymore, that glassy distance in his eyes.
Rehab stripped that from him. Sobriety carved it into him, but it doesn’t erase the years.
I swallow. “It’s Lottie now.”
He stops just long enough to nod, like he expected that answer, before continuing toward me. “Lottie, then.” His mouth twitches. “Sorry. Old habits.”
Old habits. Like the drugs. Like drowning himself in a bottle to try to drown out the guilt. I don’t move as he reaches me, just stare at the horizon. The water swells and falls, endless.
We start walking without deciding to, side by side, along the shoreline. He keeps his shoes on, careful not to touch the tide, while I let it sting my skin.
I want to feel the cold. I want it to remind me I’m here.
“You used to love this,” he says after a while, voice soft.
“I used to love a lot of things,” I answer.
That shuts him up for a few beats.
Finally, I break it. “I still do love it. It’s weird, you know? The place I feel the most peace is the same place I almost died.”
“I never meant for it to ever get that far. I… I should have been better. Should have protected you from Tracey,” Dad’s voice cracks, like everything is all too much.
“She’s still alive, you know.”
His shoulders tighten. “I know.”
“I hate her.” My voice is sharper than I intend, but I don’t take it back. “I don’t care if that makes me a bad daughter. She’s not a mum. She never was. She was a needle. A bottle. A fist. She was every bruise I learned to cover and every night I lay awake listening to both of you screaming at one another.”
