Page 39 of Break Me

I can’t answer that. She’ll blame herself.

Me: I’m fine.

A long pause. Long enough that guilt starts to gnaw at the edges of the lie.

Raven: Samuel, tell me the truth.

My chest tightens. She sees through me. She always does.

I should tell her everything. How I’m pretty sure I have at least one broken rib. The way every muscle feels like it’s been torn open, but I can’t do that. She’s been through enough tonight.

Me: Don’t worry about me.

I stare at the screen after I send it, fighting the urge to send another message. Something softer, something real, something more like the truth.

But nothing comes through from her.

Only silence.

She’s worried, and that’s on me. I shouldn’t have shown up like that and let her see us fighting. I shouldn’t have said I loved her in front of her father and brother, as if it were a declaration of war.

But hell, it is a war. And I’m done pretending it isn’t.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, rib screaming in protest.

She’s going to hate this. Knox already does. Jon’s probably planning how to deal with me right now.

But none of that matters.

Because the thought of letting her go makes my chest hurt worse than the goddamn broken ribs. I drop my head into my hands.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur to the empty room, “please don't do anything reckless tonight.”

My phone stays silent, twisting the fear in my gut. Raven left me on read. I push to my feet again, pacing the small room despite my body protesting every step.

If Knox comes after me, it’s fine. If Jon wants me dead, I’ll deal with it. But Raven? If she gets caught in the crossfire. That’s something I can’t live with.

A soft thud sounds outside my window.

I freeze.

Another.

Then a soft voice. “Wolf?”

My heart stops and starts again too fast.

“Wolf, please open the window.”

For a second, I don’t move.

Partially from shock. The other part, raw, aching relief that knocks the air out of my lungs.

Then I’m crossing the room, every bruise screaming, but none of it matters. I unlatch the window and lift it, and there she is, perched on the narrow strip of roof outside.

Her hair's tangled. Her cheeks are blotchy from crying. But she looks at me like none of that matters. Like none of what happened tonight changes a damn thing.

“Raven,” I breathe, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”