Page 47 of Broken By Silence
I stand there, long after Peter leaves to go to his motel. Lottie wanted him to stay, but even I know that would be too much for Will right now. He sees everything—us—as a threat to Lottie, and having another one that he perceives to be a danger to her living under his roof. Well… I think it would be enough to break him.
Roman insistson watching a movie in the living room, forcing me and Crew to drag him from his ‘bed rest’ to the sofa where he sprawls out, wincing as he does. Lottie settles between Archer and Oscar, hands moving in a silent conversation.
I pick up bits and pieces, or that Oscar has made her laugh when her head tilts back and she smiles at him like he’s the only thing that matters to her in that moment.
Because when she looks up, her eyes catch mine across the room. And for once, she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t flinch.
Her lips part. “You… you put him in rehab, didn’t you?”
The words aren’t accusing. They’re grateful.
And it hits me like a blade sliding under my ribs.
She knows.
My throat tightens, but I nod slowly. “Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than I want, betraying the storm inside me. “I did.”
Her eyes soften. Just slightly. Enough to make my pulse slam.
“Thank you,” she says. Quiet. Fragile. Like those two words cost her something.
It’s the first time she’s ever thanked me for anything.
And I swear to God, it feels like being absolved.
I drag a breath into my lungs, fighting for control, because this is the moment. This is the opening I’ve been waiting for. The chance to tell her everything, to lay it all out before someone else twists it against me.
“Lottie,” I start, my voice breaking before I can stop it. Everyone’s eyes shift toward me—Archer stiffens like he already knows I’m about to ruin everything, Roman lounges back, but his gaze sharpens, Oscar frowns, Crew stays unreadable. But none of them matter. Not when she’s watching me. “I need… I need a chance to explain.”
Her brow furrows, guarded but curious. “Explain what?”
“Everything.” The word is a rasp. A plea. “Please.”
For a moment, silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then she nods once, slow.
Because she thinks she owes me.
She doesn’t. But I’ll take it. I’ll take anything she’ll give me.
“My dad,” I begin, the word sticking in my throat like poison, “did things no father should ever do. Not to his own son. Not to anyone. But what he did to you…” My voice cracks, rage and shame tangling until I can barely breathe. “I didn’t know. Not at first. When I found out, I wanted to rip my own skin off because it was my blood that hurt you. My family. My name. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”
Her shoulders stiffen, her jaw trembling.
“I put a bullet in him,” I continue, my voice low and steady. “Not because it fixed anything, but because he didn’tdeserve another breath after touching you. He begged, and I didn’t care. I wanted him gone, and I made it happen.”
Her breath hitches, eyes wide and wet. She doesn’t say anything else, but I continue before someone can stop me.
“I owed you that,” I say, desperate now, needing her to understand. “Because you were supposed to be dead. I wanted you to get everything you should havebefore. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made sure your dad had a chance to live. To get clean. To be the father you deserved. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.”
Her lips part, trembling. “Why?”
Because I love you.
Because you’re mine.
Because I can’t breathe without you.
I swallow it all down and force the truth that will sound less insane. “Because I owed you. Because if I couldn’t give you back what was taken, I had to give you something even if you were dead.”
