Page 167 of Break Me

Something in him cracks.

I feel it before I see it.

In the way his breath catches. The way his hand trembles against my cheek like he’s trying to hold it steady and can’t quite manage it anymore.

“I was supposed to keep you safe,” he says, his voice rough, quieter now, like it’s coming from somewhere deeper than he’s used to letting me hear. “That was the deal.”

“You did,” I whisper, shaking my head slightly against his hand. “You always did.”

A sound leaves him.

Something broken.

He pulls back just enough that I can see him. His eyes are wet, the tears slipping free before he can stop them.

I’ve never seen him cry. Not even when we lost Mom. He always held it together.

Always.

“Raven.” My name doesn’t come out right. The sound is uneven, like it’s fighting to find its way out. “I don’t know how to do this again.”

That’s what breaks me.

Because I know exactly what he means.

Losing her nearly destroyed him.

And now⁠—

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to fix this, how to make it easier, how not to leave him behind. How to stay when I can’t.

His head shakes immediately.

“No,” he says, and even through the tears, there’s something firm in it. “No, you don’t get to be sorry for this.”

His hand tightens at my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, catching tears that don’t stop.

“This isn’t on you,” he says, softer now, his voice breaking again, the words uneven but certain. “None of this is on you.”

My fingers tighten around his wrist, holding on, needing him to understand.

“I’m leaving you,” I say, and this time I can’t soften it, can’t make it anything but what it is. “I’m leaving you, Knox, and Sam.”

His face crumples.

There’s no holding it back now.

The tears fall freely, his breath breaking with them, his forehead dropping back to mine like he needs the contact just to stay upright.

“You are not leaving me,” he says, the words unsteady, shaking, but held together by something stronger than the grief pushing through them. “You hear me? You don’t get to go anywhere I can’t find you.”

My chest shatters around that.

His grip tightens, both hands now, one at my face, one wrapped around mine like he’s holding on to something he refuses to lose.

“You will always be my little girl,” he says, and this time it breaks all the way through, his voice giving out on the word, his tears falling against my skin, his breath unsteady and close.

I don’t try to stop my own.