Page 152 of Broken Pieces
He takes another, longer drink before speaking again.
“People leave. Things break. That’s the world, Sky. You get something good, and it slips through your fingers, no matter how tight you hold on. That’s how it goes.”
I study his profile.
His words are meant to sting, but they come across as the words of someone who has weathered countless farewells and lost faith in permanence.
“Maybe,” I say quietly, “but not everything that breaks stays broken.”
That earns me a glance.
One of those long, unreadable ones that steals the air from my lungs. His eyes flick over my face, like he’s trying to figure out what kind of fucked-up magic it takes for someone to have hope still even after the world’s tried to rip it out of them.
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, the bottle hanging loose between his fingers.
“You talk like you still believe in shit.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Even after everything you’ve seen?”
“Maybe because of it.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. They narrow just enough that I know I’ve touched something he didn’t want touched.
A memory.
A scar.
Something that still bleeds even if he swears it doesn’t.
After that, he laughs. It’s simply a breath of sound that catches in his throat. A laugh that tastes more like pain than amusement.
“You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice drops another octave, rough and soft all at once. “Fucking impossible.”
He pauses, eyes still on me. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, something that hits deeper. “But you make everything seem easier. Even when it’s not.”
Then he adds, almost under his breath, “You make me want to stay.”
It shouldn’t make me smile. But it does.
Because despite all his walls, all the sharp edges and fuck-off energy he throws at the world, this—him saying that—is more intimate than any kiss he’s ever given me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zane
ItstartedwhenIran into Griff.
I wasn’t looking for him.
I didn’t even recognize him at first.
Just saw a guy leaning against the side of a liquor store, hoodie up, jaw tight, smoke curling from his mouth. Then he turned his head, and it hit me. The twitch in his jaw. That scar near his temple. Eyes that always looked one wrong word away from snapping.
