Page 108 of Broken Blades

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice carried weight I didn't understand. "Because they're cowards. Because they can. Because some people destroy things just to prove they have the power. Ego. Pride. Insecurity. Fear."

I studied his profile. The scars. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands curled into fists against his thighs. "Did someone hurt you like that?"

His laugh was bitter. "Different kind of violence. Same betrayal."

We sat in the weight of that admission. Two people who'd learned the hard way that trust was a weapon.

"Did you see it coming? With whoever hurt you?"

His jaw worked. "No. I was too busy being in love to notice I was the punchline."

The vulnerability in those words gutted me. This man—scarred and sharp and terrifying—had loved someone enough to miss the knife at his back.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He shrugged, but the gesture looked painful. "Ancient history."

"Doesn't feel ancient."

"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."

Silence stretched between us again. Not uncomfortable. Just... present. Two damaged people sitting in the wreckage of their pasts.

Wyatt checked his watch and stood. "I need to get to practice."

I nodded, pulling the blanket up to my chin. "Okay."

He paused at the doorway, looked back. "Lock the door after me. Don't answer it for anyone."

"I won't."

"And Chastity?" His voice softened just slightly. "That documentary? That wasn't your fault. What happened to her. Whatever…" He stopped. "None of it."

My throat tightened. "Thank you."

He left without another word.

And I sat there in the quiet, staring at the blank screen, wondering how someone so damaged had become the safest person I knew.

Chapter 20

Wyatt

Practice was brutal.

I hit harder. Skated faster. Ground through drills like someone had lit a fire under me—and maybe someone had. The memory of Chastity crying on my couch, small and broken over a documentary about a dead girl, burned through every drill.

Ryker, captain and professional pain in my ass, skated up beside me during suicides. "You good, old man?"

"Fine."

"Translation: 'I'm spiraling over a girl.' Noted."

I glared. He laughed and skated off.

During water break, Jared—Southern charmer with a drawl thick as honey—dropped beside me on the bench. "Heard your lady friend defended you to Barbara yesterday."

I scowled. "Who told you that?"