Broken by Silence, page 25
And then that single, violent gasp that had her coming back to life.
That sound is burned into me.
The best sound I’ve ever heard.
But Luke… Luke didn’t get a second chance.
The guilt is a scar I can’t stop picking at. “Hey,” a soft voice says behind me. I turn, and Lottie is there, in one of my shirts, hair still damp from her shower. She smiles, but it’s small. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, too fast.
She walks closer, stopping just close enough that I can smell that she used my shower gel. “You’re thinking about what day it is.”
I nod, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah.”
She rests her hand against my arm, her eyes flicking to my phone that’s still unlocked. “Thomas texted.”
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re going right?”
I hesitate.
I want to say no. I want to stay here with her, hide from the ghosts that have been gnawing at me since I woke up, but I owe it to Luke.
To the men we were deployed with.
To myself.
“Thomas said partners can come,” I add, voice rough.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I look at her then. Really look. Life has felt so chaotic right now that I feel like I’ve barely been able to see her. She’s standing there barefoot in my shirt, collar slipping off one shoulder, damp strands of hair stuck to her neck. There’s no trace of makeup, no trace of the girl I pulled out of the waves.
She’s here. Warm, soft, and alive.
But her eyes… those are what get me because they carry the same heaviness I feel.
“It’s your birthday,” I remind her. “You should be here celebrating, not having to spend it at something like this.”
Her mouth curves, but it’s sad. “It hasn’t been my birthday for a long time, Archer.”
Something in my chest twists. I knew this, but it still guts me. “Lottie—”
She shakes her head before I can go on, wrapping her arm around herself like she’s cold. “I stopped celebrating it after that night. It didn’t feel right… I didn’t feel right. How do you celebrate being alive when someone else didn’t make it? I changed my name. I got to live because you saved me, but I tried to kill myself…” Her voice cracks a little on that last word, and it kills me.
“Lottie, that wasn’t your fault,” I promise, pulling her into my arms.
“I know,” she replies quickly. “I know. But still, every year when it comes around, I think of the way you looked that night. The water, the cold, the relief that was on your face when I opened my eyes… but I also remember the guilt, the absolutely shattered look on your face when you got the call that Luke was gone. I remember it all too clearly, and it doesn’t feel like something you put candles on a cake for.” She lets out a breath that sounds tired. “So now I celebrate a month later. That’s my birthday. The day I started living again. The day I stopped wanting to die.”
That silence after her words… God, it’s deafening.
My hands settle on her waist. “You deserve every celebration there is,” I murmur. “You deserve the whole damn world, Lottie.”
She tilts her chin up, eyes glistening. “Claire’s made sure the others know I’m not celebrating in case they got any ideas. So, I’m coming with you and we’re going to celebrate Luke because that’s what we both need to do.”
Her hand slides down, fingers finding mine. It’s such a small thing, that touch, but it grounds me. I let out a long breath and nod. “Okay.”
Thomas picked a bar that wasn’t too far. A quiet place by the harbor where the ocean wind stings your face. The drive there feels longer than it should. My hands are tight around the wheel, and Lottie rests her hand on my thigh, thumb brushing over the rough fabric of my jeans every few seconds, like she’s reminding me she’s here, reminding me to breathe.
The sky’s already shifting to that dull, steel grey, looking like it’s going to rain. The place Thomas picked isn’t flashy. A quiet pub tucked against the edge of the water, old wood, brass light fixtures, and the faint smell of salt, whiskey, and cheap beer.
When we walk in, I spot him immediately, same buzzcut, same crooked grin, but there’s something in his eyes, too. The kind of knowing that only people who’ve seen what we have and lost who we have recognize.
“Archer,” Thomas chirps, clapping my shoulder as I pull him into a brief hug. “You came.”
“Nearly didn’t.”
He nods in understanding, then glances at Lottie. “And you must be the woman who got his ass to leave.”
Lottie laughs lightly, shaking his hand. “I think it was all him, but I’m not complaining.”
Thomas grins. “Well, I’m glad you came too. Nice to finally put a face to the name we’ve all heard about for the last three years. Luke would’ve liked you.”
We join the others, the table crowded with pints and plates nobody really touches. Thomas. Declan. Reese. Men I’d lived with, fought beside, lost pieces of myself with. Glasses clink, stories about Luke and our time away start flowing.
They talk about the way Luked used to hum off-key during long drives, how he could never cook to save his life but somehow made the best coffee in camp.
Reese tells the one about Luke’s “lucky” jacket that he refused to take off during training. Declan brings up the time Luke got caught sneaking a dog onto base because “he looked lonely.” We all laugh, and for a few minutes it feels light.
Almost easy.
Then someone asks the question. The one I’ve been waiting for.
“You ever think about that night?”
Everything in me goes still.
Thomas’s eyes flick to me. He doesn’t stop it. Maybe he thinks I should talk. Maybe he’s right.
I swallow hard, fingers tightening around my glass of soda, because I refuse to drink while driving. “Every day.”
Lottie keeps her hand on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles. It’s like she can sense every time the guilt creeps up.
The words come out quieter than I mean them to, but everyone hears. “I was the last one to see him. I dropped him off and told him I’d see him soon. Then I stopped by the beach on my way home.”
They know what happened next. They know about Lottie.
“I don’t regret it,” I say, forcing the words through the lump in my throat. “Not saving her. But sometimes I wish I could’ve done both. That I could’ve saved him, too.”
Silence. Just the hum of low music and the clink of glass. Lottie’s hand finds mine under the table, firm and steady. Thomas gives me a look that’s more understanding than words. “You were where you were meant to be, brother. You saved someone that night. Doesn’t erase what we lost, but… maybe it balances something. You can’t carry the guilt of it forever, Archer.”
I want to argue, but the words won’t come because deep down, I know he’s right.
Lottie squeezes my hand. “Luke saved me, too,” she whispers. “You said he convinced you to take the drive home that night instead of staying. If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been there.” Her voice trembles, but her eyes stay fixed on mine. “He did save me, Archer. Just… not in the way you expected.”
And somehow, that breaks me a little more.
When we leave the bar later, the sun’s starting to dip, painting the water gold. We walk in silence for a while, shoes crunching against the gravel path that leads down to the beach.
She stops when the waves are a few feet away, wind lifting her hair. “You saved me that night.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, because I can’t stop the guilt creeping into my voice.
Her eyes stay fixed on the shoreline… remembering. “You still blame yourself?”
“Every day, Lottie.”
She turns to me then, eyes wet with tears. She steps closer, reaching up to touch my face. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t hate yourself for saving me.”
“I don’t hate myself. I just hate that it had to be one or the other.”
Her thumb brushes my cheek. “You didn’t choose who lived, Archer. You just refused to let someone else die.”
I close my eyes, breathing her in. “If I could go back—”
“You’d still jump,” she finishes for me. “You’d still save me.”
I open my eyes. “Yeah. I would.”
“Then stop punishing yourself for it.”
The wind picks up, tugging at her hair. She looks like she belongs here—wild, untamed, beautiful. The same girl I pulled from the ocean three years ago, only now she’s stronger. I stare at her, words caught somewhere between my chest and my mouth. “You think Luke would understand? That I couldn’t—”
She cuts me off with a gentle shake of her head. “I think he’d tell you to stop torturing yourself. That you did exactly what he would’ve done.”
The wind tugs at her hair, and I reach up to tuck a strand behind her ear. “I miss him,” I say quietly.
“I know,” she whispers. “But you honor him every time you live. Every time you let yourself be happy. Every time you love.”
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, holding it there for a moment longer. The ocean hums around us, a quiet heartbeat, and for the first time since that night, the air doesn’t feel heavy. “Happy birthday, Lottie,” I whisper.
Her smile is small, watery. “Not yet.”
“Then I’ll say it again next month,” I promise. I take her hand, fingers threading through hers. “You saved me, too, you know.”
“We saved each other… thank you for saving me that night, Archer,” she says softly.
The waves crash close to our feet, cool spray dusting our jeans. Luke’s name still echoes in my mind, but tonight it doesn’t sting. It settles. Like something I can finally set down. “Let’s go home, baby.”
The drive home is quiet are first. The windows are cracked, the faint smell of the sea drifting in as we drive away. Lottie hums along softly to the radio, some slow, old song that used to make Luke roll his eyes while we were in training. Her fingers are linked with mine where it’s on the gearshift, and every now and then, she glances at me with that small, tired smile that lets me know she’s ready for bed.
The road winds along the cliffs, and I ease it around a corner. I should feel lighter after tonight. I should feel free, but the guilt still sits on my chest… but I feel okay somehow.
But then, headlights flare in the rearview mirror. I squint, adjusting the mirror. “What the fuck are they doing?”
Lottie glances back. “They’re pretty close.”
I nod, easing the car towards the shoulder to let them pass, but they don’t. The lights stay bright, and the car gets too close.
My pulse starts to hammer. I press my foot down a little. The engine hums louder, but the car behind us matches the speed.
Then it surges forward.
“Archer!”
The impact slams into us. The steering wheel jerks in my hands. Tires screech against asphalt. I fight to keep control, but the back of the car fishtails.
Another hit—harder this time—and the world tilts.
Glass shatters. Lottie screams. The car spins, metal screaming against gravel and guardrail until everything explodes in white noise and pain.
Then… silence.
My head lolls forward, the taste of blood in my mouth. My vision swims, dark around the edges. Somewhere beside me, Lottie’s breathing is ragged, panicked.
“Lottie…” My voice is hoarse. I can’t move my legs—pinned under the dash. The smell of gasoline fills the air.
“Archer—” Her voice breaks into a sob.
I blink hard, trying to clear the blur from my eyes. Headlights. A door slamming. Heavy footsteps crunching on glass. Then someone’s tearing her door open.
“Hey!” I shout, or try to. My throat burns. “Get away from her!”
The blurry figure yanks open her door and reaches in. Lottie screams as they grab her. Her shoulder pops with a sickening crack, and the sound that tears from her throat is all pain.
“Stop!” I struggle against the seatbelt, clawing at it, at the crumpled metal trapping me. “Don’t touch her! Lottie!”
She kicks, fights, and I try to get a good look at who it is, but the man’s face is in the shadows as he hauls her out. She’s crying, screaming my name, and I can’t move. I can’t move. “Lottie!” My voice rips apart. “Lottie!”
Tires spin. Gravel sprays. The car peels away into the night, tail lights vanishing down the road until all that’s left is silence and the pounding of my own heart.
I can’t breathe. My chest heaves against the seatbelt. “No, no, no—”
My hands fumble for my phone, slick with blood. I can barely see the screen through the blur. One name. Dad.
It rings once. Twice. Then, “Archer?” His voice is groggy, worried. “Son? What’s wrong?”
I choke on the words. “Dad… they took her.”
“What? Who—where are you?”
“Lorenzo’s men,” I cough, the taste of copper thick in my mouth. “The road by the cliffs… Lottie… She’s gone. They ran us off—”
“Stay there. I’m calling the police. Don’t move. Do you hear me?”
“Dad, please—” My vision tunnels, the world fading to black around the edges. “They took her…”
The phone slips from my hand, clattering against the floor. The last thing I hear before everything goes dark is the echo of his voice through the speaker, frantic and breaking. “Archer! Stay with me, son… Archer!”
Chapter 36
Oscar
Roman’s sitting on the step, staring out at the driveway, a cigarette burning between his fingers. I watch the smoke curl into the air as I hesitate for a moment before stepping closer and sitting beside him.“I thought you quit.”
“I did. Just didn’t realize how hard it’d be having her away from us.”
“It gets easier,” I sign. “She’s with Archer. Nothing’s going to happen to her. So why the cigarette?”
He exhales. “Yeah. Guess the cigarette’s just… something to hold on to. A weird sense of comfort.”
Will appears out of nowhere, looking disheveled.
“What’s wrong?” My hands move rapidly.
“It’s Archer. There’s been an accident. Lottie’s—”
My whole body goes rigid. “What do you mean by accident?”
“She’s gone. One of Lorenzo’s men took her.”
For a second, everything in me shuts down. “What?”
The cigarette drops from Roman’s hand, ember scattering against the concrete. “Where?”
“They ran them off the road. Archer’s alive, he’s being transported to the hospital. They were driving near the cliffs, and he called me right before he passed out. I sent police out there, and he was found still strapped in the car, legs pinned. It was a hit and grab.” Will’s hands shake as he signs, and I can see how much this is affecting him. “We’re going to the hospital, and hopefully get there just as he does.”
I’m already on my feet. “Then let’s go.”
The hospital smells like bleach and blood. The kind of sterile nothingness that makes everything feel worse. Archer’s in a room down the hall when we get there, pale under the harsh lights, his face split open along his hairline, a bandage around his wrist.
He’s alive, is what I have to tell myself as I see the way his legs are already starting to bruise from being pinned by the car. Thankfully, it’s nothing serious like a break or nerve damage.
Will’s pacing outside the door, phone clutched tight in his hand, jaw clenched hard enough to crack his teeth. When he looks back through the door, I can see it all. Rage, fear… guilt—all knotted into something dangerous.
I turn back to my best friend, and his eyes can’t meet mine. “They said you got lucky,” I sign. “No breaks, only a few cuts and bruises. Should be able to leave tomorrow since they want to keep an eye out for any delayed issues and nerve damage.”
Roman appears just as I finish talking, Elijah and Crew right behind him. Roman looks like death incarnate, eyes like black glass. Elijah’s quieter, hollowed like he’s holding his fury back by a thread, but also like he doesn’t know how to exist without being in Lottie’s shadow anymore. Crew’s giving me nothing, it’s like he’s completely shut down. The only thing that tells me he’s losing it is the way his hands are shaking, like he’s desperate for a fix to numb out everything he’s feeling now she’s gone.
“They took her,” Archer’s hands move along with his lips. “They took her, and I couldn’t stop them. I’m not lucky, Oscar. This is every nightmare I’ve ever had all come to life.”
“Archer—”
“They ran us off the road. I tried to get out, to get to her, but I was pinned. I watched them drag her out of the car. Watched helplessly as they broke something… She screamed my name, Oscar. I couldn’t move.” His hands shake, and I see how broken he looks.
“It wasn’t your fault. This is what my dad does, Archer. He was never going to stop until he had her or he was dead, but we’ll get her back… I swear it,” Roman promises.
Crew steps closer, sad eyes tracing over Archer. “Is she really gone?” I watch as his lips move, see the pain twist his face, the disbelief that she’s gone. It’s the look in his eyes that breaks me—the quiet, aching certainty that she is… that we let him take her.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all Archer can manage to say, and I know the guilt will be eating him from the inside out.
Archer looks smaller in the hospital bed, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, hands gripping the hospital sheets like he could claw the guilt out if he just tried hard enough.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I sign, even though everything inside me feels like it’s unraveling.
“We’ll get her back,” Elijah says.
Archer’s head lifts, and the same look he used to get in his eyes when he talked about Lottie is there. “Your dad signed his death warrant, Roman.”
