Page 99 of Broken By Silence
Her voice breaks, just once. “I hate that I missed you.”
I swear my heart stops. I reach for her wrist, not to pull her closer, just to hold on. To anchor myself. Her pulse beats against my fingertips, wild and alive. “Let me make it right.”
Her eyes flicker over my face, searching.
Maybe for the boy I used to be.
Maybe for the proof that he’s gone.
After what feels like forever, she exhales. “You can’t fix what you broke.”
“I know, but I can rebuild.”
“It’s not supposed to work like that.”
Her words splinter through me, but I don’t move. I can’t because if I do, I’ll lose the thread that’s holding me here with her. She’s still so close that I can feel her breath against my lips. Warm, uneven, trembling like she’s fighting every instinct to stay. My hands hover near her, careful not to touch. Not unless she lets me.
“Maybe it’s not supposed to. But we’ve never done anything the way it’s supposed to be done, have we?”
Her mouth parts, and for a second, her eyes soften like she remembers. The nights I held her, the way she fit between us all seamlessly. Until we ruined it…
“Stop. Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you love me.”
My jaw tightens. “I never stopped.” Her breath catches. She shuts her eyes, shaking her head. But I see it, the crack in her armor. “You can hate me all you want, Lottie. You should. I deserve every bit of it, but don’t lie to me. You still feel it.”
“You think that makes it better? You think I want to feel like thisabout the men who ruined me? Who drove me to jump from that cliff?”
“No,” I admit. “But it means there’s something left to save. Something for me to fight for. The rest of it I can spend the rest of our lives apologising for.”
She lets out a bitter laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re still the same manipulative bastard.”
“Maybe, but I’m the bastard who’s your husband. The bastard who still knows how to read you.”
“I’m not the same girl you knew, Elijah.”
“You are and you aren’t. You’re stronger now, but you still breathe the same when you’re trying not to cry,” I stand, towering into her space. “Still the same girl who liked it when I forced her to her knees.”
Her eyes clash with mine, dark, wet, defiant, just like I remember. “Stop remembering me.”
“Can’t.” I lift a hand, slow enough that she can stop me if she wants to. My fingers graze her cheek, tentative, reverent. “You’re carved into everything I am.”
For a long, fragile moment, she doesn’t move. Then she leans into my touch. Barely, but it’s enough to steal the air from my lungs.
“I shouldn’t let you touch me,” she murmurs.
“You shouldn’t.”
“I shouldn’t want you to.”
“I know.” Her hand comes up, curling around the back of my neck. Her nails dig into my skin, sharp enough to hurt. “Stop me,” I say.
“I can’t.”
The words are a whisper,a surrender.
