Chapter 134 Broken
Cassie
The hours between Greyson's departure and his return. I'd tried everything to distract myself—reading, cleaning, even attempting to eat the now-cold breakfast I'd prepared with such hope that morning. Nothing worked. Every few minutes, my mind would replay that moment when he'd pushed me away, the flash of something raw and terrified in his eyes before he'd shut down completely.
I'd never seen Greyson lose control like that. Not once. He was always so composed, so carefully measured in every response. Seeing that mask crack had been both frightening and strangely intimate, like glimpsing something he'd never meant to show me.
The worst part was the not knowing. Had I done something wrong? Moved too fast? Crossed some invisible line I hadn't known existed? The questions circled endlessly, each one sharper than the last.
When I finally heard his car in the driveway, my heart jumped into my throat. I positioned myself on the couch with a book I couldn't focus on, trying to look casual when inside I was anything but. Part of me wanted to run to him, to demand answers. Another part wanted to give him space, to let him come to me when he was ready.
The door opened, and there he was—still looking haunted but somehow more grounded than when he'd left. Our eyes met across the room, and in that moment, I saw everything he was trying to hide: fear, shame, hope, and something that looked almost like love.
"Hi," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my hands were trembling slightly.
"Hi," he replied, and I could hear the uncertainty in that single syllable.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unsaid. I wanted to make this easier for him, but I didn't know how. So I waited, giving him the space to find whatever words he was searching for.
"We need to talk," he said finally.
Relief flooded through me. At least he wasn't running away, wasn't shutting me out completely. "I know."
I closed my book and set it aside, turning my full attention to him. Whatever he needed to tell me, whatever had caused that reaction this morning, I was ready to hear it. Or at least, I hoped I was.
Greyson moved slowly into the room, each step seeming to cost him something. He sat down beside me on the couch, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body but not quite touching. For a long moment, he just stared at his hands, his jaw working as if he were physically chewing through the words he needed to say.
"I need to tell you something," he began, his voice rough. "About my childhood. About what made me the way I am."
My heart clenched, but I kept my expression neutral, encouraging. "Okay."
"Jake's father..." He paused, closing his eyes briefly. "James Turner. He was my father's business partner. When my dad was too drunk or too high to pay attention, Turner would take an interest in me and my sister. He said he was helping us, teaching us things we needed to know."
The way he said "teaching" made my stomach twist with dread. I reached out slowly, placing my hand on his knee, letting him know I was here without pushing.
"He started when I was ten," Greyson continued, his voice becoming more distant, as if he were reporting facts about someone else's life. "Small things at first. Inappropriate touches, comments about how pretty I was. By the time I was twelve, it had escalated to... more."
His hands clenched into fists on his lap. I kept my hand steady on his knee, anchoring him to the present.
"He had a basement. That's where it happened, mostly. He'd make me..." Greyson swallowed hard, and I saw his throat work with the effort. "He'd make me do things. To him. And afterward, he'd make me thank him for the lesson, for teaching me to be a man."
Oh God. Oh God. The pieces were falling into place with horrifying clarity—his need for control, his careful calculation of every interaction, the way he'd reacted when I'd tried to pleasure him. My throat burned with unshed tears, but I blinked them back. This wasn't about my feelings right now. This was about him finding the courage to finally speak his truth.
"This morning," he said quietly, "when you were looking up at me like that, when I was in that position... for just a moment, I wasn't with you anymore. I was back in that basement, twelve years old and powerless. And I was furious with you for putting me there, even though I knew rationally that you hadn't done anything wrong."
"Greyson," I whispered, but he wasn't finished.
"I wanted to hurt you," he admitted, finally meeting my eyes. The shame in his gaze was devastating. "I wanted to make you feel as helpless as I felt. Part of me still wants that, and I hate myself for it."
I moved then, unable to stay still any longer. I shifted closer, wrapping my arms around him and pulling his head down to my shoulder. He resisted for a moment, then surrendered, his breath coming in ragged gasps against my neck.
"You didn't hurt me," I said firmly. "You stopped. You protected me even when your mind was somewhere else. That matters, Grey. That's what matters."
His arms came around me tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he deserved this comfort. I held him tighter, trying to pour every ounce of understanding and acceptance into the embrace.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured against my shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry you had to carry that alone for so long."
"I wasn't alone. Meagan was there too." His voice cracked slightly. "He did it to both of us."
The horror of it multiplied. Not just one child, but two. Sibling forced to endure something unspeakable while their father remained too lost in his own demons to protect them.
"Where is he now?" I asked, though I already suspected I knew the answer.
"Dead." The word was flat, final. "I killed him when I was eighteen. Your father helped me make sure the body was never found."
That revelation should have shocked me. Should have frightened me. Instead, I felt a fierce satisfaction that James Turner had faced justice, even if it wasn't the kind that came from a courtroom.
"Good," I said simply.
Greyson pulled back to look at me, surprise flickering across his features. "Good?"
"He hurt you. He hurt Meagan. He deserved whatever you gave him." I cupped his face in my hands, making sure he could see the sincerity in my eyes. "I'm not afraid of you, Greyson. I'm not disgusted by what happened to you. If anything, I'm in awe of how strong you had to be to survive it."
"I'm broken," he said, the words barely audible. "I'm angry and damaged and I don't know if I can ever be what you need."