Page 46 of Broken By Silence
I close my eyes, the memory of the night he made me leaveplaying on a loop. His shaking hands, his voice breaking, the fear that I was finally going to be completely and utterly broken.
The night Scarlett died.
“You tried to save me,” I whisper. “You pushed me. You forced me out the door like my life depended on it.”
His shoulders collapse. “Because I was terrified. I knew if I hesitated, if I let you see how scared I was, you’d stay. And if you stayed, Tracey would’ve traded you like you were nothing. I thought I was saving you.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I shake my head. “You did save me. But not the way you think. I didn’t run. I… I couldn’t. I jumped off the cliff.” My throat tightens, the words almost choking me.
Peter’s eyes widen, his entire body jerking back like I slapped him. “Jesus Christ…” His hand flies to his mouth, voice breaking. “Scar, why? Why would you?—”
“Because it was easier,” I cut in, my voice sharp through the tears. “Because I couldn’t breathe with everything closing in. I thought it was the only way out. But I was wrong. Archer pulled me out of the water. He saved me. And I changed my name. Scarlett died that night, and I became Lottie.”
He stares at me, tears spilling down his face, his breathing ragged. “I thought I lost you forever. I thought I failed you so badly you didn’t want to live anymore.”
I flinch, because it’s true. For a long time, I didn’t.
“You didn’t fail me,” I whisper, even though the truth is messier than that. “You made mistakes, but you loved me. And that’s more than I can say for her.”
His jaw tightens at the mention of Tracey. His hands curl into fists against his knees. “If I could go back, if I could kill her before she ever touched a needle or a bottle, I would. I’ll never forgive myself for letting her near you. For not getting you away sooner.”
I shake my head, tears streaking my cheeks. “It’s not about forgiveness. I don’t have that in me. Not for her. Not for Lorenzo. And maybe not for you, not yet. You still chose addiction over me. Tohide behind the numbness it offered your guilt. But… I love you, Dad. I always did. I thought you were gone, and it destroyed me. But you’re here now. That’s all I want.”
His breath shudders as he pulls me into his arms again, burying his face in my hair. “I love you, Scar. I always have. I always will. And I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”
I cling to him, feeling the truth in his trembling body, the brokenness in his voice. For the first time in years, I let myself believe I have a father again.
From the kitchen, I hear Will, pacing like a caged animal, listening, waiting. I know he’ll never trust Peter the way I do. But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, I’m in my dad’s arms, and I’m not letting go.
Chapter 18
Elijah
Ishould leave.
That’s the first thought that claws at me as I stand in the doorway, watching Lottie fold herself into her father’s arms like she’s been waiting two years just to breathe again.
My chest aches, a hollow kind of ache, because I’ve never once seen her look at me like that. Not even when she was Scarlett and alive and burning too bright for this ugly world.
She clings to Peter like he’s the answer to every broken piece inside her. And maybe he is. He’s her blood. Her father. The man who should have been there when the worst of it happened, when my father touched her, destroyed her, left her mute because silence was safer than speaking.
I should hate Peter. Part of me does. He was too high, too weak, too gone to protect her when she needed him most. And yet here he is, alive, breathing, holding her, and she lets him.
She lets him.
I want to rip her out of his arms.
She pulls him toward the couch, her voice soft but trembling, andthey sit together, shoulders not quite touching. I see it—the hesitation, the distance she puts between them even while her heart is breaking. That distance is the only reason I can breathe. Because if she trusted him fully, if she loved him without question, she wouldn’t need anyone else.
She wouldn’t need me.
But she does.
My hands flex at my sides, a twitch I can’t control. She looks too small pressed against him, too fragile, too—mine. Always mine. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.
I force myself to stand still. To watch. To swallow the jealousy that tastes like blood in the back of my throat. Because this isn’t about me. Not right now.
Not yet.
