Page 64 of Broken Saint

The Colt I met last night. The one who cared about more than just getting his cock wet and ensuring he made his girl scream so he could brag to his friends.

I want the man who told me I was beautiful and strong. Who saw past the changes to my body and treated me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Without second-guessing myself, I drag his sheet from the bed and wrap it around my body before taking off toward the closed door.

If I want things to change, I’m going to need to fight for it.

I’ve made it this far; I might as well dive in deeper.

17

COLTON

My entire body trembles as I try to get a grasp on what I’ve just learned.

It was my fault.

All of this was my fucking fault.

I’m the one who hurt her. I’m the one who marked her body, put those dark shadows in her eyes, who made her feel less than she ever should about herself.

All because I was—I am—too much of a pussy to admit how I feel about her.

But I can’t.

And this is exactly the reason.

One way or another, I’ll hurt her.

And the worst part is that I won’t even mean to.

She is—always has been—the most incredible thing in my life. Right from the moment we first met, her smile alone would light me up inside. Being with her settles something within me that was out of place. But I knew it wouldn’t always be that way.

Happiness, contentment with another person only lasts as long as you don’t fuck it up. And I will fuck it up.

It’s in my motherfucking DNA. I will fuck it up, and after everything has exploded around us, I’ll leave her a broken shell of a woman.

Worse than she is now. Worse than he did.

It’s different. I’ve never met the prick who’s hurt her, but I can tell by the way she talks about him, the expression on her face as she thinks about him.

It’s not the same as when she thinks about me.

I have so much more power than he does. Than he ever had, I suspect.

And look at the pain I’ve already caused.

I can’t put her at risk anymore. One day, I’m going to lose control and she’s going to be the one left behind picking up the pieces.

I can’t do that to her. I can’t?—

The sound of the door opening rocks through me.

My grip on the sink tightens and my head drops lower as shame burns through my veins.

All those years I kept her at arm’s length, knowing how much pain I could cause if I really let her in.

But none of that mattered in the end.