Page 44 of Broken By Silence
At the house, the air feels different. Still. Like everything is holding its breath for what’s next.
She leads me upstairs, and when we stop outside her bedroom door, my whole body tenses.
She rests her hand on the knob but doesn’t turn it. Her eyes meet mine, dark and uncertain. “Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For inviting me out. Letting me pretend I was normal, even for a moment.”
It hits me hard because this could have all been prevented if we had saved her before.
She steps forward, invading my space, and it’s like all my senses fill withher.She rises onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, and I return it. Then I take a step back. “Goodnight, Lottie.”
Her brows knit. “You’re not?—”
I shake my head. “Not tonight. I’m trying to be a gentleman here,and god… do I want to, but I’ve not earned it yet. Keep making me pay, baby. I told you it was hot.”
Her eyes glisten, but she nods. Then she slips inside, closing the door softly behind her.
I stand there for a long time, staring at the wood, my heart beating like I’ve run ten miles.
Wanting her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But deserving her? That’s the fight of my life.
Chapter 17
Lottie
The knock is soft but deliberate, echoing in the quiet of the house. I glance up from the couch, heart thudding a little faster, and my chest tightens. I wasn’t expecting anyone—not today, not ever, really. My fingers fidget with the hem of my hoodie as I rise, the familiar anxiety crawling up my spine.
I open the door.
And the world tilts sideways.
Peter. My dad. Standing there, worn but sober, hands slightly trembling, eyes wide and uncertain, like he’s not sure I’ll recognize him, or worse, like he’s not sure I’ll hate him.
“Scar,” he says softly, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid that if he speaks louder, I won’t believe it’s really him.
“Dad?” My voice is a fragile thing, barely above a whisper, and I freeze. My stomach churns, tears prick at my eyes, but it’s not anger. It’s relief. It’s a longing I’ve tried to bury for two years. He’s alive. He’s actually alive.
Before I can think, before I can calculate whether it’s safe, my legs move on their own. I throw myself into his arms, collapsing against him with a sob that shakes my body. His arms wrap aroundme instantly, strong and warm, holding me as though he never wants to let go.
“Lottie,” he murmurs, voice thick, catching on his own emotions. “Scar… my Scar. I—” He swallows, and I can feel him trembling against me.
I squeeze him back, relief and fear and love all tangled in the hug. “I thought you were dead,” I whisper, voice breaking, burying my face into his chest.
“I never stopped looking for you,” he says, rubbing my back, his own voice cracking. “Never. Every day, I searched. I couldn’t believe you were gone.”
I pull back just enough to look at him, searching his face for the man I remembered, the man who had loved me even when my world was falling apart. The face staring back is lined, tired, but there’s an undeniable softness behind the fear in his eyes. “I… I thought… Roman… he told me you were gone. That you were?—”
“Not dead. Just searching for you, because I couldn’t believe you were dead. It would have broken me…” He shakes his head quickly, anguish etched in every line of his face.
My breath hitches. The air between us feels too heavy, thick with words we don’t know how to say. His hands stay on my shoulders like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
“I thought you left me,” I whisper, voice trembling with a pain I’ve never let myself admit out loud. “I thought you chose your addiction. I thought you had overdosed.”
His face crumples. “Scar, no. No, baby, listen to me.” He grips me tighter, desperate. “I was sick. I was so far gone I didn’t even know who I was half the time. But you were always enough. You were the only thing that mattered. That’s why I told you to run. That’s why I shoved the money in your backpack. Because I couldn’t protect you if you stayed. And I thought. God, I thought if you ran, at least you’d live. At least you’d be free.”
The memory slams into me like a tidal wave. His shaking handsforcing the bag into my arms. The frantic look in his eyes. His voice, harsh and breaking, telling me to go, to never look back.
