Page 47 of Shattered Echoes

“You are right. Colette is caught up in all of this, and it won't go away if you choose to ignore it. It isn't your mess to fix, but you should address it. It will become her problem to solve. Do it for her sake, even if not for his,” Elias says, his voice reasonable.

I’m annoyed by his calmness that makes it seem like I’m being irrational, but he’s right, although I don’t care to admit it. I cannot leave Colette to face this all on her own.

“Well, he’s the reason she got hurt in the first place,” I yell, feeling the anger course through me again, rising high.

“That means he’s dealing with guilt now, a shit ton of it.”

“Good. He should feel guilty. He deserves even worse than that.”

Elias nods and then exhales. “Notwithstanding, Antonio. He’s right on one count. You shouldn’t have been drinking again, no matter the reason. Not so soon after rehab. Kinda defeats the purpose of all this.”

I groan and lean into the couch. “Not a sermon from you too, Elias.” I rub my eyes. “It was a mistake. A stupid one. One I won’t be repeating soon.”

“Good. I trust you.” He gets up from his seat and pokes at my jaw with a finger. “We should put some ice on that before it turns purple. I have some in the kitchen.”

“Sure. Lucky bastard caught me with a sucker punch.” I cock a brow at him. “What the hell are you, anyway? Some kind of therapist?”

He smiles at me. “Not exactly. I did study psychology though, and I’ve done some work with some patients who had bad tempers. And trust me, I’ve had my fair share.”

I remember his backstory with his abusive stepfather, and it makes sense.

“Huh,” I say, chuckling as I close my eyes. “Figures.”

15

Colette

Iknow something is wrong the moment I wake up and don’t see Antonio beside me. It’s a nagging feeling in my gut, one I can’t explain, but one that makes me very uncomfortable. It gets worse when I find his running shoes, the ones he always uses, sitting in their usual corner in the bedroom. A quick search of the house tells me I am alone.

There’s a dull throb in my head from last night’s drinking that mixes with the dread I feel, but can’t explain. I try to ignore both sensations, returning to the bedroom for a quick shower. If Henry noticed I didn’t sleep at home, he would let all hell loose. He’s always been overprotective of me, treating me like a child. I get dressed in slacks and a faded t-shirt, hoping I can sneak into the house and pretend like I’ve been there the whole time.

So much for taking a break from Antonio. I leave him a note on the kitchen counter, informing him I’m heading home and thanking him for last night.

I hear Henry’s distinct yell while I’m shutting Antonio’s door. The dread I’ve been feeling returns in force, and I rush for my house, a sick feeling in my stomach. There’s another voice in the shouting match, deep and assertive, although I can’t make out the words. Is that… Is that Antonio?

I rush down the driveway, my heart pounding. Something is very wrong — alarm courses through me at the thought of Antonio and Henry getting into an altercation. The truth sends fear through me. Antonio came here today to tell Henry about us. There’s nothing else I can think of as the reason for these two men to fight. I feel a bitter anger towards Antonio, who I had begged to keep this quiet, but I’m also worried about the two of them. The last thing I want to do is come between brothers.

I spot Antonio storming out of the house, and then down the front steps, his face twisted with anger. He runs right into me, stopping short when he sees me on the path.

"Antonio!" I exclaim, taking in his disheveled appearance with growing concern. "What's going on? I heard shouting."

He shakes his head, refusing to meet my eyes. "It's nothing. Just…leave it alone, Col."

Before I can protest further, he brushes past me, heading down the long driveway with heavy, purposeful strides. I watch him go, my brow furrowed. Whatever happened back there, it left him very upset, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Pursing my lips, I continue up to the front door, pushing it open without bothering to knock. "Henry?" I call out, stepping into the foyer. "Henry, what the hell is going on?"

I hear movement from down the hallway, and he appears a few moments later, storming into the room with his face set in hard lines of fury.

"You want to know what's going on?" he snaps, his tone scathing. "I just found out that my supposed best friend, who I encouraged you to talk to because he needed some company, has been screwing you behind my back!"

While I was waiting for it, I still wince at the anger in his voice. I breathe in, looking for what to say in my defense. Instead, I just stand there, unable to form a single word. Dozens of questions ricochet through my mind as my heart pounds.

But one emotion supersedes everything else — mortification. Shame floods my system, burning hot in my veins. Henry's eyes bore into me, assessing my reaction, and his expression twists into a sneer.

"So, it's true then," he says. "You've been letting that washed up junkie rock star fuck you while I've been here playing the fool."

The heat of indignation surges through me at his crude, insulting words. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I grapple for a response, irritation warring with humiliation.

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