Page 107 of Broken Pieces
A beat passes before he speaks.
“She ever get done for it?” His voice is steady, but there’s something buried under it. The kind of anger that sits in your gut when you hear something you can’t unhear.
“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “No one ever knew. When people asked, she said I fell off my bike.” I pause, eyes flicking to his face before dragging back up to the sky. “I didn’t even own a fucking bike.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“Yeah… You know I used to think if I stayed quiet, kept my head down, it would get better.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Turns out silence just makes it easier for people to pretend nothing’s wrong.”
“Have you ever told anyone?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “What’s the point?” I shift my head and look at him again. “No one wants the broken kid with the scar and the fucked-up story.”
“Maybe they’re just not the right people,” he says.
Zane clears his throat. “I got my first scar stealing a can of ravioli.”
That pulls my gaze back to him.
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Owner had this ancient mutt out back. It looked half-dead, all ribs and attitude. Bit my arm straight through my hoodie. Little fucker was faster than I thought.”
“What kind of dog was it?”
“A fucking Hellhound. I swear on it.”
My laugh bursts out before I can stop it. The sound is rough, rusty from disuse, but it’s real. The kind that burns through your chest because you didn’t know how badly you needed it until it was there.
When I glance over at him, he’s smiling.
A real one. Not that cocky half-grin he throws around when he’s being a smartass or trying to charm his way into someone’s pants. This one’s softer. It turns my insides to fucking mush.
It makes him look younger… almost innocent. But there’s nothing innocent about the way I ache just looking at him. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts, and the worst part is he doesn’t know what that smile does to me.
“What happened after?” I ask. “Did you get the ravioli at least?”
“Course I fucking did,” he says, like it should’ve been obvious. “Bled all over the damn can, but it still tasted like victory.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
His grin widens. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Have you ever thought about going back?” I ask, voice low, almost afraid to break whatever fragile thread holds us together in this moment.
His smile fades. Wiped clean in an instant.
“To where?”
“Wherever you were before the homes.”
Zane shrugs. It’s a move meant to look casual but it’s loaded with things he won’t say out loud.
“There’s no point. I’ve been in enough places to know the only person who gives a shit if I eat or breathe is me.”
I press my lips together. Swallow the sharp edge in my throat.
